JT Delivers

Airplane Etiquette

2011-11-19T05:01:00.001-08:00

This one is about airplane etiquette (yup, I'm still in the air). So, my traveling companion and I boarded the flight a little more than 1/2 way into the boarding process so the plane was a little more than 1/2 full. I know. My math skills are dazzling. Anyways. We found a window and middle seat next to this big dude on the aisle. After a few minutes we realize that we we sitting amongst a large group of 40-something year old football fans on their way to see a Chargers vs. Bears game. I'm not sure how many there are but it feels and sounds like 50 of them.

Drink service comes around and the party starts. These guys are getting absolutely loaded and are louder than if we had our heads inside the jet-engine. Now, anyone who knows us well enough (especially with the shenanigans my friend and I got into this week) is probably thinking that this a blatant case of the pots calling the kettles black but there are two major differences here. 1) We are delightful and charming 2) We carry on like this in a BAR. This is an airplane for f**ksake!

Speaking of f**k, I have heard about 30 F-bombs in the past minute and a half and some of the most inappropriate talk ever. Again, my closest readers are laughing their asses off at the thought of me and my potty mouth being offended by anything, but again..location, location, location! We are on a PLANE! A jam-packed flying bus full of grannies and toddlers and people from all walks of life. Not cool! I heard one guy say to another as loud as can be "...and by the way, thanks for making me shave your prostate earlier...". I can't even begin to imagine the origin of that inside joke, nor do I want to.

The flight continues and so does the drinking. You know how the pilot says "Feel free to move about the cabin"? I am relatively certain this is not what he means. These guys are chillin' in the aisle, leaning against people's seats.

(We are now on the second leg of our journey sans football fans so I will be switching to the past tense. Hold onto your hats!)

My friend and I got up to use the restroom. We went together to avoid having to ask the big dude to get up twice. While waiting to get in the bathroom I joked to the flight attendant "So, are you out of booze yet?" She shook her head and replied "Almost" at which point she showed me the racks of tiny bottles that were two thirds empty and whispers "These were full, and you girls are sitting right in the middle of those guys.". She shook her head, again.

Upon returning to our seats, one of the football fans said "So you girls went to the bathroom together, huh?" (insert drunken inappropriate laugh here). He continued to mutter more on this topic that we fortunately couldn't hear over his rambunctious buds.

Meanwhile, the poor blonde flight attendant was bringing drinks over as fast as she could and they were harassing her like it was 1960. "Which of my buddies is the best looking? C'mon, just lean over and whisper it in my ear." I think I heard someone call her a "good-looking broad". Kidding. Sixties joke.

Fortunately, the giant sitting beside me was one of the quiet ones, although every time he turned to talk to one of his buddies, I had half of his ass in my seat. My ass is big enough, thank you very much, there is no room for yours.

Soon enough, the loudest of the bunch was leaning over talking to the gentle giant to my right. They start taking about kids and the passage of time. Real "cats-in-the cradle" stuff. I guess this is the point in the drinking binge when guys get all mellow and deep and starting saying "I love you, man!"

Returning to the football talk, the conversation was heating up and they started singing the Chargers rally song (or whatever you call that. Can you tell I'm not a football fan?). I'm prayed they didn't distract the pilot.

While descending into Chicago, we ran into some wicked turbulence. The flight was bumping all over the place and they were cheering like it was fourth down and one yard to go (again, I'm clueless here. I just leaned over to ask my friend)

We landed safely. The pilot jokingly asked if the Chargers fans would wait on the plane until the preferred Bears fans has safely de-boarded. They booed and yelled things like "F**k you!" and "That's why you are just a pilot.". I'm not really sure how the latter one was supposed to be an insult. Pilots are pretty awesome because, like, they fly planes and stuff. Did he mean "just a pilot" as opposed to a drunk, obnoxious Chargers fan?

As they readied to get off the plane we hung back so we would't be in the midst of their group. One of them offered to let me go ahead. I said, "No, you go catch up with your friends.". One of the other guys said "She doesn't want any of us anywhere in front of her or behind her.". He was awfully perceptive for an drunken idiot.

In their defense, the guys did yell thanks to everyone for putting up with them. They were mostly harmless - unless you were the blonde flight attendant, someone trying to sleep or the nearby toddler who was able to say 10 more words than he could before the flight started, all of them bad.

It really is astonishing how obnoxious drunk people can be. When you aren't one of them, that is. I'll try to remember that when the tables are turned, but I'll forget because I'll be drunk.

Cheers.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Guilt-Free Mommy Time

2011-11-18T14:07:00.000-08:00

I don't travel for work often but I am returning from a conference today. As a matter of fact, I'm on the plane right now drafting this Pages on my iPad and wishing to Heaven I'd brought my bluetooth keyboard case. This will require much editing, otherwise, between my manicured nails, the iPad keyboard and autocorrect neither you or I will have any idea what i was intending to write.

Anyway, I typically travel for work about once or twice a year. My babies are 5 and 6 1/2 and it is hard to leave home. This time I was gone for a full week. Technically, 6 days but by the time I get home tonight, they will be sound asleep. I miss them terribly. I miss my husband. I miss my house. FaceTime has been a tremendous help.

Now that i have made it clear that I miss my family and you all think that I'm a nice person, I will let you in on a little secret (that won't be a secret after I hit "publish"). I had a blast and don't feel guilty at all! I know! A mom NOT feeling guilty about doing something for herself for a change? That's a travesty! What is this world coming to? What can I say? I'm a rebel.

But I don't feel guilty. The conference was well put together and intellectually stimulating. During the day, we discussed how to work with college kids and at night we went out and acted like them. I ate delicious food at restaurants that didn't have paper placemats and crayons on the table. I got to bond with one of my bestest girlfriends/coworkers and I'm so glad she came. As we are geeks, our industry tends to be a bit of a boy's club and it was essential to have her with me. I had loads of fun with a few new and a few old conference friends, though likely a bit too much fun as I'm feeling the achingly memorable twinge of a hangover as I write this.

But the very best and most selfish part of the whole week is that I only had to worry about me! I only had to think about what I was going to eat and wear and do. I didn't have to check anyone's book bags for teacher notes. I didn't have to take anything out for dinner. I was never interrupted in the shower to be asked if the 5-second rule applied to granola bars. I didn't have to stop to buy milk or mini-marshmallows to send to school for a class party.

Granted, the week leading up to the trip, my brain was in overdrive trying to take care of anything and everything that might be needed at home in my absence but I it was worth it not to have to think or worry this week. I also have my husband to thank for executing everything at home and my kids to thank for being "extra good" for daddy.

So, the moral of this is story is simply to remind all the other working moms out there not to ever feel guilty when it's mommy time. It's is necessary for our sanity or we are likely to snap and start spreading hand lotion on the sandwiches instead of peanut butter.

I know I've blogged about this before but it bears repeating. You are't just a mom, you are a beautiful, dynamic woman with your own personality and interests. It's important not to lose who you are in motherhood. Or, at least if you do, leave a trail of Reese's pieces so you can find your way back. I was lost for about 2 1/2 years after becoming a mom but I am glad I found myself again because I kinda dig me. I am fairly awesome after all.

Alas, the mommy vacation has to end and just in time because I miss the hell out of those little faces! I'm done with my little fantasy where I am the queen and am in charge of what session to go participate in, where I go out to eat or whether I'm going to spend the night partying or in my cozy hotel bed. I'm relaxed, rejuvenated and ready to go home and clean up legos and bake cupcakes for school. Game on!

Why Steve Meant So Much To Me

2011-10-06T13:59:00.000-07:00

I figure I would just join the endless list of RIP Steve Job posts. Read it if you like. Don't read it if you feel like you've heard it all already. I don't care. This isn't about you.

I am not just an Apple Fan-Girl (although I totally am!). I wasn't even an Apple Girl until '07 but when I drank the apple-flavored Kool-Aid I drank long and I drank deep. I became enamored with every Apple product I got my greedy little fingers on. It was shortly after I became deeply engrossed in the beauty of the usability that I wanted to learn about the genius behind it.

Shrine of Apple products accumulating at my workplace

The more I learned about Mr. Jobs the more impressed I became. I am a designer by career and visual person by nature. I've always been enthralled with all things shiny and beautiful. In addition, I have a real passion for usability and an outright disdain for poorly designed products and software. Steve Jobs had an unprecedented vision and commitment to the end-user. Take away the billions of dollars, the "up-by-his-bootstraps" backstory, charitable works and dozens of other things that made the man great and that is what impresses me the most. In the face of opposition, he has always kept his final goal as crystal clear as an iMac display - "EASE OF USE".

I've heard many people doubt his goals. Most geeks I know (that's not a slur - these are my people I'm talking about) feel that he's been too rigid with the iDevice designs by not adding ports or integrating flash or allowing file navigation. I've always said "with flexibility comes complexity" and that was not part of his plan. In Steve I trusted.

He's given us the very best end user experience in the design of the Mac OS. It is just brilliant in it's simplicity. To name just a humble few (feel free to comment your OS faves):

Built-In Screen Capture (Windows STILL doesn't have this right)
Spotlight
Preview
Cover Flow
The best mail search EVER in Apple Mail
Print to PDF

He's changed the way we think about...well...almost everything with the innovations in iOS. We can now carry our lives in our pockets or purses with the easiest to use mobile devices on the planet. He's made the world smaller by making it easy for EVERYONE to connect with these devices. It's not a special club for the tech elite. It's for everyone.

Steve, for the hundreds of ways you has made my life, my job and my computing experience, easier and more enjoyable, I will be forever grateful.

I am sure that you have left brilliance in your wake because, if you have inspired millions who didn't know you the way you have, those closest to you must be bursting at the seems with innovation. Carry on. Do him proud. The world is waiting.

The New Facebook Timeline is Coming - DON'T FREAK OUT!

2011-09-23T10:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Facebook announced a plethora of revolutionary changes at it's f8 developer conference. Among those change is the ground-breaking, Timeline profile.

I was able to already activate timeline because, I once developed a stupid quiz using Facebook's quiz API so I am technically a developer. You can pretend to be a developer and get it now too.

I think Timeline is pretty awesome. Basically, Facebook is building upon what its users already do, which is to post life events, by making it easier to do so and a cinch to look back upon. Facebook is also using what it already knows about you to build this timeline. As I said, I think it's awesome but most users are going to freak the f**k out!

I don't really understand why someone would freak out. It should come as no surprise to that Facebook has this information. Of course it does, the user put it there. Nevertheless, I think people are often surprised by the consequences of their own actions.

Once again, I remind you, as a fellow user, NOT TO FREAK OUT! It's not a big deal. This is your stuff, that you put there. It's only shared with the people you shared it with originally. Plus, you can go to your privacy settings and globally change the privacy settings for all of your past posts.

Timeline Privacy Setting

You can also go in and change who you have shared individual posts with. Finally, there is always the ability to "VIEW AS" which allows you to see how others or the public view your timeline. So if you don't trust what FB is showing the world, you can always double-check.

Facebook's "View As" Feature

Personally, I am jazzed that I can scroll back and see what I was doing years ago. I can quickly see pics of my babies or antidotes that I posted about them. I think it did a pretty good job of initially picking out things that belong on the timeline and it can only get better.

A Snapshot of My Timeline

In conclusion, change is good. Facebook isn't stealing your thoughts. The internet is not evil. Sharing is okay. You are in control of your information (for the most part). Take a deep breath --- and dive in.

Thank You, Irene!

2011-08-28T14:42:00.000-07:00

I, by no means, want to minimize the damage and loss that some have incurred from this storm. I, however, live in an area that was never really on the "path of destruction" outlined by NOAA. We are on the inland edge of the "cone of potential mayhem" but that didn't stop everyone from running around in a panic. There are some power outages and some flooding that I know of but the storm is nearly passed and we are, mostly, none the worse for wear.

I would like to take a moment to thank Hurricane Irene.

Irene,
Because of the threat of you, we were all forced to stay home. Because of this, I cleaned my house. I washed the floors. I cleaned a sh*t-ton of old toys out of my kid's room. My husband and I cleaned out the front hall closet and threw out a bunch of crap. My husband found "The Dangerous Book For Boys" that I gave him shortly after our son was born. Our kids handprints are inside from when they were 18 months and 3 1/2 years old.

Because the world was closed and the roads were unsafe, I took a long hot shower. I gave myself a facial and a salt scrub. I still plan to work in a pedicure.

I played with my kids. We all played a "Zack and Wiki" on the Wii and I got past a board I've been putting off for a bit over a year now. My husband cooked a bunch of food to put in the freezer for me because he's going to be out of town soon and he's awesome like that. The kids helped him cook.

I blogged.

Irene, thank you for the gift of time. There's nothing like the potential for a natural disaster to make you stay home with the ones you love - or evacuate with them, depending on where you live.

I know many people aren't going to say thank you, but I am. Now, that doesn't mean I want you, or any of your cousins to come visiting again any time soon, but I can appreciate the good in all the mess.

Sincerely,
JT

P.S.
I'd also like to thank who-or-whatever gave me the patience not to kill my damn kids today because no matter what they did they were bored and drove me freakin' batty - thus the glass of wine at my right hand.

Mortality

2011-07-30T18:10:00.000-07:00

"Mortality". Wow. Funny title, right? Not really. I'm going to try to make light of a semi-serious subject but I'm feeling somber and am moderately inebriated so this post may end up in the trash.

I am having surgery next week. It's not elective or anything. If it was, at least I'd have a flat tummy or perky boobs to look forward to. It is totally minor and not a big deal but I'm still kind of freaking out. It's weird for me because I'm a "tough cookie", as they say. Who the hell came up with that anyway? I've never had a tough cookie in my life. Stale, maybe, but tough, never.

As I was saying, it's weird for me to feel scared about this. It is so NOT a big deal. Many people have been through so much worse that it is not even funny. But, the thing is, I've never been in the hospital to do more than have my kids and going in for that is wonderful, despite the bloodbath and agony, that is. When you are going in for that, you have many things to look forward too, such as 1.) not being pregnant any more 2.) cute little pink babies 3.) not being a ginormous bloated whale anymore, etc. It's like going in for new boobs. There's a light at the end of the tunnel.

I guess there's a light this time too. I get to not have something wrong with me anymore. Yippee! Some how it is not as much of a motivator as perky boobs or pink babies but it's something and, regardless, it's necessary.

I've never been under anestesia before. I hear good things and, frankly, I could use the rest. However, there's that little nagging voice in the back of my stupid head saying "you know some people die, right?" Shut up! Logically, I know that the statistics are teeny tiny and that most of those people have other health issues causing complications but, still, the voice remains. I don't think I'd care so much about not waking up if I didn't have two little people who are expecting me to come home from the hospital. When I think about that, I realize that moms are a twisted breed. Do we really think so little of ourselves that our only reason for living is those little snot factories that can't put their underwear on properly without our assistance? Yes. Yes we do.

The other thing bugging me is that my ability to carry a child will be affected. That shouldn't bother me. I'm done having babies. My husband is very much in agreement that we are done having babies. When I told him my concerns, he immediately asked if I planned to remarry. I told him I wanted to keep my options open. That didn't go over too well. Of course, I'm kidding but I always thought that my ability to have kids would go the natural way of things. Again, I am well aware that I am dually blessed with two beautiful children and that there are so many people that aren't as lucky as I am but there's that nagging voice again. I hate that voice. That voice is really annoying.

My point, if I even have one, is that this little stupid surgery has caused me to confront my own mortality and it sucks. I much prefer living in la la land where everything is good and I think I'm going to live forever. I still plan to live forever. I am going to silence that stupid little voice or die trying. Ha! But, if by some million to one chance, I don't wake up from the anestesia, please take pity on my husband and offer to babysit or something. He'll need all the help he can get.

I'm sure, in a week, I'll be wondering what I was worried about. I'm sure the anestesia will nothing more than a really good nap and I'll be feeling right as rain in no time. Hey, maybe I'll check back in for new boobs one of these days after all.

Spa Fail

2011-06-22T13:46:00.000-07:00

On a lovely spring day, four ladies set out for a Spa Day at the beautiful Mohonk Mountain House in the Shawgunk Mountains of New Paltz, NY. All checked in to the spa, they decided to explore. They didn't think to take their phones, they didn’t pack water, they kept on their flip-flops and set out with no plan and tissues, lip gloss and a thermos of Mimosas in their arsenal. They intended to take a quick walk around the grounds. They were wrong.

Yes. I was one of these four knuckleheads and lived to tell the tale. Our intended stroll turned into three hours of wandering somewhat aimlessly through the greater Mohonk preserve without the first clue of how to get back where we started from. There was panic. There was hunger. There was thirst. There was talk of who would get eaten first if it came down to it. It wasn't pretty.

Once we found our way back from the brink of death, we picked up a map. Of course now we are aware that a map would've been useful BEFORE getting lost in the woods for three hours but clearly that thought never crossed our pretty little minds as we stepped out into the world. What do you want? We are cute. Do we have to be smart too?! Geez. You want everything!

Anyway, having examined the map, I was able to suss out exactly where we went wrong (over and over again) and I made a poster out of it to commemorate this horrific event with some of my dearest friends.

You can click this image for the full map but I'm going to break it down for you right here in the blog. By the way, you are welcome, in advance, for how smart you are going to feel after you read this.

First is our intended path. This is what we set out to do.

But that is not what we did. No. As it turns out, we set out on the wrong path almost from the get go. Unaware that we were already on "leg 1" of the walk of fail, we stopped to toast our awesome girl's day out with the mimosas I was toting along. Also, blissfully unaware that it is against the rules to have alcohol on the hiking trails. That's another tidbit I learned from the map I picked up afterward.

After walking a bit further, my friend Tami thought we should turn around. We all still thought we were on a path that would loop back toward the main house. We ventured on.

We had set out on our walk at 11:00. It was probably about 11:45 when Nancy's stomach growling began startling small forrest creatures. She tried to bribe Tami for the cheese she had packed but, sadly, Tami left it in her spa locker along with anything else that might have been useful.

We were starting to feel lost when we came upon a map of sorts at Rhododendron Bridge. It didn't say anything about the Mountain House but it mentioned a Trapps Visitor's Center. We had never heard of it but figured a visitor's center meant people who could potentially help us. My friend Jean thought that would take us away from where we needed to go.

This is the actual sign at Rhododendron Bridge.

Now on "leg 2" of the walk of fail, I tried to break the mounting tension as I offered to allow everyone to eat me if I died first. The didn't object much at all.

Before my friends could take me up on my generous offer, a jogger appeared wearing a Mohonk Preserve tag. She shook her head at us guessing that we came from the mountain house and were way lost based solely on our lack of appropriate foot wear or gear of any type. Who does she think she is?!?! Nancy thought the jogger "saved us". Looking at the map, I think she might have said "Hey, why don't you walk another 400 yards to the Visitor's center and see if someone can give you a ride back?" Or even "Come with me, I will help you!" Not exactly the heroine of the day in my opinion.

Following the joggers instructions, we headed wearily back to Rhododendron Bridge which I have dubbed "leg 3" of our walk of fail. We reached the bridge and headed in the direction she indicated. Her vague instructions said that the road would be "uphill" so when we came to yet another fork, we took the uphill fork. Wrong again.

On "leg 4" of the walk of fail, which is by far my LEAST favorite part of this journey, we were on some unnamed service road in the blazing heat. It was at this point that we began yelling for any nearby help. Tami employed her super loud whistling skills and got a bird to respond but nobody else. Nancy declared that we were turning back!

Little did we know that we weren't far from a more direct path back to the mountain house but with the decisions we'd been making so far, we probably wouldn't have taken that turn anyway.

Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. We could actually SEE the resort! We had been avoiding drinking any more mimosas for fear of dehydration. We were so relieved we took a much deserved break to quench our thirst. It tasted like heaven.

We finally reached the dining room for our complimentary spa lunch at just about 2:00. We burst in like the desperate lunatics we are begging for water and a phone so we could postpone our spa appointments to 3:30.

At last! With our thirsts were quenched, our appointments were moved and our food on the way we were able to laugh about our excursion... well, a little bit anyway. We realized that nobody would really feel bad for four dummies who set out unprepared and didn't even miss a meal.

It is true. We are dumb - dumb -dumb but would it kill someone to put an arrow on the bridge sign saying “HEY LOST KNUCKLEHEADS - MOHONK MOUNTAIN HOUSE IS BACK THAT WAY!” and signs on the trails saying “YOU ARE NOW LEAVING MOHONK RESORT PROPERTY AND ENTERING THE MOHONK PRESERVE WHICH IS VERY LARGE AND YOU PROBABLY DON’T WANT TO DO IF YOU ARE WEARING FLIP-FLOPS AND ONLY EQUIPPED WITH LIP GLOSS, TISSUES AND MIMOSAS!”

Sidebar:
More useful things we found on the map when we got back.

Stolen Glances and Why Women Lie

2011-06-01T13:58:00.000-07:00

It is a fact.

Men look at women. Women try not to notice and, if men are good at it, some times women really don't notice. Most many are very good at it. They have mastered the art of looking when nobody is looking and not getting caught. Especially as they have grow from boys to men. They've been looking at girls since the first one they didn't think was "icky" and figured out long ago that staring either gets you publicly embarrassed ("What are you staring at?!?!" / "Take a picture, it will last longer!") or assaulted. But even now, all of us ladies will occasionally run in to an ogler. This is the man who some how missed that day at "guy school" where they teach you how to do that without getting caught. Either that, or he doesn't care. He leers. He stares. He looks up and down without acknowledging the appalled look on his target's face. Well, to be fair, to see the look on her face he would have to look at her face.

I find this phenomenon fascinating. Does he really not know that we can see him? Does he think he is invisible? I can't figure it out and it is very vexing. He should know how to do this. Everyone else does!

Well, not everyone.

Women don't know how to do it. We fare pretty well when we admire a man (and we don't do it all that often, to be honest) but we always get caught when we are looking at another girl. Ewwww. Get your minds out of the gutter. We are not looking in THAT way (usually) and that is why we stink at it. We don't put any effort into averting our eyes because our intentions are not suspect. We are usually staring because we are wondering wear she gets her hair cut, or what size those shoes are, or if those are real. But we get caught. That is why women are always blurting things out like "I love those shoes." or "Your hair looks great today!"

That is also why we lie to each other.

For every time we are staring at another woman admiring her blouse, there's a time that we are wondering if she got dressed in the dark. Or we are looking at her new hair cut with amazement that she actually paid someone to do that to her. Then we get caught and what are we supposed to say? We can't say what we are thinking so we blurt out "I love that top!" or "Your hair looks awesome!". Sometimes we might say "That top is so you!" or "Wow, you changed you hair!" That is our way of being non-committal and a bit more honest.

Only your true friends will tell you the God's honest truth and even then, they will reserve it for things you can change. They might say "I'm not sure I love that color on you." And if it is something semi-permanent, like a haircut, they will sugar-coat it like "It's cute but I think longer is better for your face shape."

But we simply can't be brutally honest. Nobody likes that and we are liable to get slapped. Next thing you know, you've got a chick fight on your hands and there isn't a guy in America able to pretend he's not looking at that!

The Invisible Rapture: Your Soul Has Been Poked

2011-05-26T07:09:00.000-07:00

Harold Camping recently predicted that the world would experience Judgement Day on May 21st. His claim was that 200 million people (roughly 3% of the world's population) would be raptured, which means to be transported from one sphere of existence to another. The rest of us be damned... literally.

Now, I don't know what you were doing on Saturday, May 21st but I was sitting in a lounge chair on my deck, enjoying a particularly sunny and beautiful day and a tasty beverage as I watched my kids play. As far as I could tell, there was no rapture to speak of. I even heard some late breaking reports of rainbows, but maybe those were appearing over the chosen ones.

From the get-go, Harold's prophecy included reports that the world would end on October 21st but it was implied that the righteous would have been scooped up by the Lord in May and the rest of us heathens would be left for five months behind to contemplate our impending doom.

May 21st came and went and the world is not less 3% religious extremists. How do I know for sure? Well, Harold is still among us and I imagine he would've been one of the very first to be grabbed up by God. Considering, he and his followers are still chillin' with the sinners, he found himself with a lot of 'splainin to do.

Here is his explanation (Washington Post):

In a special broadcast Monday night on his radio program Open Forum that his predicted May 21, 2011 Rapture was “an invisible judgment day“ that he has come to understand as a spiritual, rather than physical event.

“We had all of our dates correct,” Camping insisted, clarifying that he now understands that Christ’s May 21 arrival was “a spiritual coming” ushering in the last five months before the final judgment and destruction.

In an hour and a half broadcast, Camping walked listeners through his numerological timeline, insisting that his teaching has not changed and that the world will still end on October 21, 2011.

“It wont be spiritual on October 21st,” Camping said, adding, “the world is going to be destroyed all together, but it will be very quick.”

In essence, what he is saying here is "Ooops, my bad! Did I say the rapture would actually HAPPEN on May 21st?! I meant God would tag everyone he wants to enrapture later. You can't actually SEE it."

It was an invisible rapture. Spiritual in nature, apparently. God took a look-see at the people of the world and marked the souls he wants to save for later. It's like some bizarre, ethereal gift-registry. Do you think he went around with a scanner? Do our souls have bar-codes?

Maybe it's like Facebook. He poked his favorite souls. Funny, I didn't feel my soul being poked. You would think that would be a noticeable event.

Unless, I wasn't among the chosen! Oh no. My wicked ways will be my undoing come October!

Oh well. I guess I better make the most of the end of days. Martinis, anyone?

Where Are The Chicks On The Market Research Team?

2011-04-20T18:48:00.000-07:00

I know I don't have a slew of male readers but for the few I do, I can pretty much guarantee you aren't going to want to read this post. It's about poor marketing in the feminine product world. Are you all gone yet? If you are not, go ahead and take this opportunity to reread my post about my car or one of my technology posts. Whatever you choose, I'm sure you aren't going to want to read on here - unless you are just dead curious.

So, ladies (and interested gentlemen) here we go.

I was in the feminine hygiene aisle of my local pharmacy, trying not to think too hard about what a terrible descriptor "feminine hygiene" is, and I noticed a new addition to the typical pink and blue packages we are used to seeing. It was a black box with some wild colors and patterns peeking through the clear window of the box. Intriguing. Now, maybe it wasn't new. It is entirely possible that I am just THAT unobservant but, in any event, it was new to me.

I picked up the box and pondered the merits of essentially the same product in a bright, shiny package. This is one product where the packaging truly does NOT matter. You can't polish a turd, right? (Actually, according to Mythbusters, you can!) Who is going to be swayed by this blatant marketing ploy? Well, apparently, I am. Hey, I'm a designer and a visual person. I like pretty things!

I got my new purchase home and waited with happy excitement for "my friend" to visit. HA! HA! HA! Seriously, I can't even fake that for a second! The only time any woman has ever welcomed that moment with a thrill is if she thought she might be unexpectedly expecting!

Sparing the gory details, I must admit that I was less that delighted with my new feminine hygiene purchase. I'm only 2 days in (suddenly realizing what a delightful way to let the world know when I might be unexpectedly bitchy - mark your calendars, people!) and, despite the pretty swirly things that not only appear on the package but on the pad itself, the "performance" is a bit of an issue. And it is all about performance!

The absorbency is fine. The issue, thus far, is with adhesion. This is one product that needs to have just the right amount of tensile strength. It needs to stay in place and then release, easily, when it's time to let go. It's the latter part where this product literally falls apart. The adhesive is so dang strong that the first time I went to remove it, I ripped it. Super yuck!

Second time, I approached the matter more gingerly. I had to fight to get the thing off! There are so many ways that this can go wrong! With adhesive that strong, imagine what might happen if you didn't properly secure all the wings before pulling up. OUCH! No need to go for that wax now!

It was at this time that I became astonished that nobody at Kotex had figured this out before going to market. Aren't there girls on the market research team? Didn't anyone say "Hey Sally. Next time you get a visit from your Aunt Flo, give these a whirl and let us know what you think."? It's crazy. I envision a roomful of cigar smoking, cognac drinking suits saying "Who cares?! A rag is a rag. Just make the packaging in neon colors and they'll buy them because they are pretty. Now. Give me a gun so I can shoot something."

To be fair, I am a "Stayfree" girl, not a "Kotex" girl so, for all I know, the adhesive has always been like that on their product and has nothing to do with the "New U" packaging. Also to be fair, I also bought the "New U" tampons and they worked out just fine. No adhesive problems there, thank heaven!

I need to do a bit more research. There are many factors. Panty material for one. Maybe some kind of incredible bond is formed when it touches micro-fiber or satin. Maybe it's fine on cotton. I'm not sure. Maybe it is length of time. Maybe it releases without issue after an hour but longer than and it has a death grip on your undies. But, I keep coming back to my original question. Where are the chicks on the market research team? Shouldn't they have figured all this out already! You'd think, but apparently not.

I guess the moral of this story is that all that glitters is not gold. Or if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Or buyer beware. Take away from this whatever you like but if you decide to try the "New U" be sure to handle with care.

How To Mod Your Oatmeal Poster To Make It Office Appropriate

2011-04-07T09:33:00.000-07:00

I got my new favorite book "5 Very Good Reasons To Punch A Dolphin In The Mouth (and Other Useful Guides)" earlier this week and was wowed. (Read "Top 10 Things I LOVE About The Oatmeal's Book").

I was also super-excited to tear out the poster of one of my favorite comics "Why I Believe Printers Were Sent From Hell To Make Us Miserable" and hang it up over my own torturous wide-format. I read the comic again, laughed my a** off and realized that some of the language might offend some stupid, humorless individuals.

Here is how I modified my Oatmeal poster to make it office appropriate. If you would like to do the same, you will need the following:

One of those tiny useless sticky pads which can be ~~stolen~~ obtained from your office supply closet.
A scissor.
A writing implement.
The ability to play Mad Libs.

The result:

Click for a larger version

Top Ten Things I LOVE About The Oatmeal's Book

2011-04-05T18:49:00.000-07:00

10. Airline passenger bringing a fridge as carry-on
9. Slutty Oompa Loompa
8. Excessive use of the name "Chad"
7. Calling the Easter Bunny an a**hole
6. Raccoon trying to eat HTML
5. Whored up Velociraptor
4. Bear holding a sign saying "Please Pet Me. I'm Not A Bear."
3. Not one - but two references of chewing on people while they sleep.
2. Nikola Tesla
1. Fruity Blergs

This is by no means an accurate list. I could easily choose 100 things I love about this book and still not be sure they are my favorite things. Except Fruity Blergs. My favorite is ALWAYS Fruity Blergs.

Why Winter Makes Me (and probably you) Fat

2011-04-05T08:51:00.000-07:00

T.S. Elliot said that "April is the Cruelest Month." And he was right for a lot of reasons that he doesn't even bother to mention in "The Waste Land".

April is dark and soggy. It's also very confusing. One day I think spring is coming and then there is a snow storm or something. Then there is April Fool's day which may be fun for the prankers but not for the prankees (fortunately for me, I am usually the former!) And let's not forget "Tax Day".

But the main reason I feel that April is the cruelest month is that it is the month I realize the catastrophic damage the winter has done to my body. I'm sailing through March without a care in the world when all of a sudden, the stores are carrying bathing suits and I suddenly realize how fat I have gotten! I blame winter.

Here are the top 5 reasons why winter makes me (and probably you) fat:

Human Nature. Our stupid-ass natural instinct is to eat more and store fat to keep us warm in the winter months. Obviously our instincts aren't up on the fact that we've evolved to have heated homes and constant access to food. I've got a fridge. I don't need to store fat in my ass. (Geek Alert! Sometimes I wish our brain was able to get firmware updates for just such an occasion.)
I bake. I don't know about you but I bake a lot in the winter because it's cold enough that you don't mind turning the oven on or you are snowed in and have nothing else to do. I wish I was a sh*tty baker so I wouldn't want to eat the final product. Sadly, I rock at baking so everything I make is irresistible. Pack on the pounds!
I don't drink enough water. It's too cold to drink water the same way I would in the warmer months. Also, I don't want to go pee every 20 minutes because the toilet seat is freakin' freezing and I don't want to undress.
Holidays. Who's dumb idea was it to make the biggest eating holidays in the winter? Thanksgiving, Christmas and Valentine's Day (not a lot of eating but ooooh the chocolate). Couldn't we spread them out a bit? We've got nothing going on in June or August!
Clothes. It's easy to forget what I look like because it's painfully cold be undressed for any length of time (seriously, just ask my husband). Therefore, I go from bulky sweaters to fleecy jammies in 3 seconds flat. I'd wear a snuggie in the shower if I could! (oooh... million dollar idea there - water proof snuggie!)

So here I am in April, staring down the prospect of bathing suits and tank tops with loathing as I munch on carrot sticks and drink gallons of water a day. It's a vicious cycle that I am not sure how to break. It's an annual event so, clearly, I shouldn't be shocked when it happens, but I am. I'm like a deer in headlights the first time I walk in to Target and see a rack of bikinis (SOOOOOO not wearing a bikini anyway but that's besides the point).

I think I need to remind myself that April is coming in February. I could get daily notifications that say "Stop eating, stupid." and "Sweater is almost over." Hmmm, I wonder if there is an app for that?

Dip-Dyed (Ombre) Hair Experience

2011-03-06T12:58:00.000-08:00

I don't usually style-blog but I tried this DIY hair color and I figured I would tell you all about my experience.

I always dye my own hair but this morning I decided I was bored with my hair. No big surprise. I do this a lot. I get bored and I cut my hair real short or dye it or get bangs or whatever. In my boredom, I started googling spring hair color trends. I saw this trend called Ombre (see also Color Streaming; see also Dip-Dyed).

Basically, it's the notion that your hair color starts out darker and gets lighter toward the end. It can be the opposite too but the former trend seems to be more popular. I had black dye and hair bleach in the house so I figured I'd give it a whirl. I was midly terrified because I thought, if the line between the dark and lighter color was too definitive, that I'd look like a black and white cookie or something.

(like this. yuck.)

The bleach I had was actually highlight box of Revlon Color Effects but I'm you sure could use whatever bleach or lightener you usually use. I put an old towel over my shoulders, split my hair in two and put one bunch on each shoulder. I mixed up the bleach and, using gloves, began applying it to the bottom 6 inches of my hair. In some spots I went a bit higher and it some spots not quite as high. Remember, I didn't want a hard and fast black & white cookie line going on.

I would definitely recommend using better gloves than the piss-poor plastic baggies they give you with the hair color. The key to this style is to be a bit free-handed but with those stupid things it is hard to be anything but plain old sloppy.

My lightener kit takes about 45 minutes on hair as dark as mine. For me, this is the hard part. I am used to solid hair color that takes 10-20 minutes. The wait was painful.

Now, you may able to be skip the next part but with all my gray hairs, there is no way I could skip it. I mixed up 1/2 box of black hair color and, when the bleach had 15 minutes left, I applied the color to the part of my hair that was uncovered by the bleach. I figured if the color touched the bleach they could fight to the death.

I let the color set for 10 minutes then readied the shower. I am always in a panic about the dye staining my shower so as I am rinsing my hair with one hand I'm rinsing the shower with the other. Once you have rinsed your hair thoroughly be sure to apply a deep conditioner. Both of my boxes of color came with conditioner so either of those should be fine.

I don't really know why I was worried about looking like a two-tone cookie because my hair is so dark that I can not even fathom the amount of bleach it would take to make it truly blonde. I really like the look but it is certainly much subtler than I intended. It goes from black to chestnut brown. It has a beach-bum feel which is just fine by me because I've had more than enough of winter and anything that makes me think of sun and surf is just fine.

Here is a crappy picture (crappy in quality and subject matter; Rachel Bilson I'm not) but you can see the reddish brown hue at the ends.

All in all I am happy with the results. I should've waited until after I got a trim so my ends would be healthier but, like I said, I was bored and impatient. Next time I'll get a trim first and try to get it a bit lighter.

Good luck if you want to give it a try, I would recommend having a box of fix-it color in the house (solid color of your choosing) in case you are unhappy with the results. Or you could just chop the bottom 6 inches off your hair.

Life's Rollercoaster

2011-03-02T06:34:00.000-08:00

I was driving in to work today and heard Cake's cover of Gloria Gaynor's 70s hit "I Will Survive". I love that cover. Back in college my brother and two of my closest friends were in a band called Hawking 67. They covered "I Will Survive" at a battle of the bands at my college and won.

Hearing that song today (and, mind you, I listen to that cover all the time) I was suddenly struck by the enormity of how much I miss those friendships. All three of those men are still very much in my life but in very different ways than they used to be. My brother is still my brother, of course, but before that, he's husband to my sister-in-law, father to my amazing niece, son to our parents and awesome uncle to my two beautiful kids.

My other two dear friends have wonderful families as well. I adore each of their wives and their incredible kids but, consequently, our relationships are fundamentally different than they used to be. We don't see each other as often as we used to. Hell, in once case we went from living in the same apartment building to living halfway across the country from one another!

In each case, when we do see each other, it's about the group, not the individuals. It is equally as wonderful, but in a very different way.

On the one hand, I have gained the joy of the friendships with their wives. I've got a bunch of unique and intensely lovable children in my life, including one beautiful Goddaughter who is celebrating her birthday today some 2,015 miles away. (sad face) On the other hand, I don't have the opportunity to experience those strong bonds that are the foundation our lives are built on. The bonds are still there, I have no doubt, but I miss the day-to-day of it all.

But that's life's roller coaster, is it not? People come in and out of your lives. Some move on quickly but leave a lasting impression. Some you are glad to be rid of. Others are always a part of your life, regardless of how your relationships may change. Each day, you know that are lucky to have them even though you may miss them.

Thank heaven for Facebook.

What I'm Looking For In A Dentist

2011-02-16T06:49:00.000-08:00

I'm not satisfied with any of the dentists I've spent time with. I simply can't find one that suits my needs. It's not easy.

The dentist I had before I moved here was a really nice guy and didn't try to make me do things I didn't want to do (like have teeth pulled or get braces when I was 22) but he cleaned my teeth like the dentist in Little Shop of Horrors. When I was were done, I'd look like I'd gotten punched in the mouth. I stayed with him a long time though. He was nice most of the time so I dealt with the abuse. Age-old story.

Then I moved. The first dentist I tried out was a minute-man. A cleaning took literally as long as it takes me to brush my own teeth. I can do that myself. What do I need him for?

The next one, the one I'm currently seeing, cares way too much. He wants to see me every three months. He wants follow up visits. I'm just not ready for that kind of commitment. I don't think I'll ever be ready. I want someone who I can see every 6 months, a nice quick cleaning and I'm on my way. I don't want to talk about my feelings. I don't want to try having my wisdom teeth pulled. I'm 36 years old, if I had any interest in that I would've done it in my 20s. I don't want to try anything new. And, also, accept my faults. I know my mouth is crowded, my teeth are crooked and I have a slight overbite. Stop trying to change me. Just clean my teeth and send me on my way. Don't call me, I'll call you.

There should be a service for finding a dentist that's right for you. 1-800-Dentist doesn't cut it. None of the search criteria suit my needs. I'm looking for more than someone in my zipcode but I don't care if they offer Invisalign or bleaching services.

I need checkboxes with criteria like:

straight up, no kinks
no commitment
easily available
accommodating

So, I find myself ever-searching and unsatisfied in the dental hygiene area of my life. I'm not whole until I find a dentist who completes me.

(Local readers: I'm totally serious. If you know a dentist like this, hit me up!)

Kids Are Not Sorting Blocks

2011-02-09T08:18:00.000-08:00

I know you usually come here for the humorous rants but I should preface to say that this one is more rant than humorous. I can only hope that you come for the comedy but stay for the stunning insight and social commentary.

As always, I continue to be concerned about our society but my latest concern is the extreme predilection for labeling children in our school system. I feel like the world has gone MAD in that everyone seems to have drunk the I.E.P. Kool-Aid (Independent Education Plan for the uninitiated). An I.E.P. is what they give a child after they have been evaluated and diagnosed with something. The I.E.P. dictates that this child is special and needs extra time to do their work, or to take a break when necessary, or any number of ways in which this child needs to be treated differently so that they can develop properly.

Here's the thing. Not every child has ADD or Asperger's or Generalized Anxiety Disorder or Pervasive Development Disorder. Or, they do, but they didn't have a name for it before, or a treatment. Back in my day (says the old lady) it was called being a kid. The one with Anxiety was "a bit nervous". The one with Asperger's was "a chatterbox" or "a daydreamer". The one with ADD had "ants in his pants."

I am certainly not saying that these disorders aren't real or that therapists aren't both talented and important. In many cases, diagnosis and treatment are both good and necessary. However, I think we are too quick to label or kids and sort them into the appropriate bucket. What ever happened to giving them a chance to mature a bit and figure out how school / life / friendship / the world works? Sorting seems to be the path of least resistance. The easy way out. Stick a label on them and make it someone else's problem.

I've seen parents outraged that their child was evaluated and not given an I.E.P. Isn't it a good thing that it was not deemed necessary for your child to receive intervention? Doesn't that mean that the professionals don't think your child needs it? The idea seems to be "Dammit, I pay taxes and should receive free help whether my child needs it or not!!!!"

And what ever happened to good old-fashioned (or in this case new-fashioned) parenting? Therapists are not magicians. They are not going to lay on hands and instill coping skills or anger management techniques into your child. They are going to teach them through play, pictures and words. It's going to take time and not only is it within our ability as parents, to do so, it is our JOB! We are fortunate to have a wealth of information available to us at all times. Resources on the internet. Books in the library. Videos to watch. Games to play. It's our job to know our children, inside and out. It's our job to understand in which areas they need extra help and their learning style to best receive the help we want to provide to them.

It's your job to be you child's advocate. It means knowing your child like nobody else possibly can. Yes. Sometimes that means fighting to get them the help you know that they need in the form of early intervention and an I.E.P. But sometimes it means fighting the new norm which seems to be that nobody is normal. It means putting in the time and effort to give your child the help they need instead of pawning it off on to a team of professionals and, in some cases, it means knowing when it's more than you can handle and getting help. Sometimes.

That's all for now. I'll be funnier next time, I promise.

Apocalypsish

2011-01-06T04:52:00.000-08:00

Long time no blog. Sorry. You may have been lolly-gagging around waiting for random idiots (like myself) to post some such nonsense (like this) on their blogs but I was quite busy with life in December. A little thing called "Christmas". Not sure if you've heard of it.

But enough of that! I'm here to write about the end of days that is clearly indicated by the mass bird and fish deaths all over the world!

I've narrowed it down to a few plausible theories:

Zombies. I don't know how they could be involved but they always are.
Government conspiracy. The animals were actually deep cover agents and they had seen too much.
The birds and fish interpreted Justin Bieber's unexplained popularity as a sign of the end of days and committed mass suicide.
God is pissed.

But, seriously folks. My brain automatically goes to the realm of sci-fi when I hear about birds falling from the sky and massive amounts of fish washing ashore globally but the reality is that this is not the first, nor will it be the last time that this sort of thing has happened. The media is sensationalizing it. Shocking, I know, but true.

Similar sensationalizing occurs when there are shark attacks in the summer months. All of a sudden, Fox News is making it sound like sharks around the world are united in their hatred of human beings and are out for blood. I feel like we are living the titillating plot of 1987's classic Jaws: The Revenge with the tag-line "This time, it's personal." Instead of panicking about man-eating sharks and avoiding the beaches, just take a moment to look up shark attack statistics and you will see no increase in the number of attacks, just the an increase in the number of attacks being talked about on the news.

The fact of the matter is that if you Google the history of fish kills you will see, once you sort through the recent news, that this sort of thing has happened many times. Finding information on "bird kills" was a little trickier. I'm not sure but I get the impression that, because it's happening along with the fish kills, that the media has just coined the term "bird kills" because if you Google "bird kills" you don't find much. However, if you Google birds falling from the sky you will see many past reports, including and incident in 2007 of birds falling from the sky in both Australia and Texas. I seem to remember everyone crying "END OF DAYS" then too!

So, what's the harm in people thinking this is the reckoning? If it causes people to straighten up and fly right all the better, right? Well. Sort of. Just remember that for every person who's getting "right with the Lord", there's another moron who will use the end of the world as an excuse to do something catastrophically stupid. Hopefully, just to his or her self but maybe not. All we need is Joe Loser saying "If this is the end of the world as we know it, I'm going to commit armed robbery so I can go spend money on hookers and beer."

Spread the sanity, please! If you see someone running around screaming "The sky is falling", tell them to sit down and go to Google.com, or better, yet, just send them here and I'll make it all better.

If the world doesn't end, you'll be hearing from me again soon.
If it does, thanks for reading and see you on the flip. ;)

Date Night At Home How-Tos

2010-11-14T14:24:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, nights out just don't happen. Especially once you've had kids it gets nearly impossible to get out of the house for a romantic dinner and, when you do, you are usually rushing home before you have to take a second mortgage out to pay the babysitter. But even without kids, you get caught up in your daily routine or don't really have it in the budget to go out as often as you like.

Worry not! I am here to help by giving you some handy steps to a fantastic date night at home! There will be a lot of references to what to do with your little ones so if you don't have them, either skip those bits, apply them to your pets or file this vital information away for future use!

Step 1: Clean the house
This is not to be taken for granted because, let's face it, one of the reasons we go out for nice dinners is to escape the chaos of our own pig-sty. So, take some time to clean up the joint. It needs it any way. You don't have to go crazy but there's nothing romantic about eating dinner sandwiched between a pile of folded laundry and your kid's race car set.

Step 2: Clean yourself
That's right! You heard me! Yeah yeah, I know you love each other no matter what and you're probably so sex-deprived that it doesn't matter what you both look like but it won't kill you to get out of your sweats and look your best. You don't have to put on a ball gown but some make up and a pretty top. For guys, shower and shave. Nobody feels sexy in a pair of fleece lounge pants and slipper socks.

Chilling in my fridge
at this very moment

Step 3: Food
I can't even believe I put food third but the key here is to enjoy yourself so if making a big fancy dinner is going to be completely taxing and make you dirty every pot and pan you own - don't do it. Order in or make ahead or make a simple one dish favorite like baked ziti. The most important thing is that it's something you both enjoy and isn't going to make anybody ill. Also, make sure you chill a nice bottle (or 2) of [blank]. It's necessary. More on that later.

Now, about those little people. What you want to do is get them something they love and is no work for you. For us, it's those stupid Kid Cuisine frozen meals that have very little nutritional value. (Sidebar: Those microwaveable trays they come make great kids plates and we use them over and over again!) For your kids it might be ordering a pizza or peanut butter and jelly or whatever they will eat without bugging you. If you are having appetizers, give them an appetizer too. You want them to be busy for as long as it's going to take for you to have a nice relaxing meal. Give them whatever they like for appetizers too. Cheese sticks, pretzels, chips. This dinner isn't about nutrition. You worry about their nutrition every other day. Tonight it's about getting to eat uninterrupted. Which leads me to...

Step 4: Staging
You want to set the little ones up in front of the TV (who says TV isn't a good babysitter?) with a favorite movie that ALWAYS holds their attention. This is not the night to try something new. If they've seen "Finding Nemo" 1000 times but they always sit for it, that's the DVD for you. You want something that is at least an hour and a half in length so that you don't have to get up to play something else half way through. You should set your own dinner in the dining room if you have one. You should also eat on nice plates. Guys don't really give a sh*t about this but girls do. We have pretty plates and we like to use them. If it's feasible to put some music on that is low enough for you to hear without disturbing the little tyrants watching "Spongebob's Mystery with a Twistery", then do so.

Step 5: Timing
If you typically eat dinner early, eat a little later. You may have to ply the munchkins with a late afternoon snack to keep them from gnawing your leg off. If it's bath night for the kids, wash them before dinner. (while you're at it, clean yourself up as well as mentioned in the all-important step 2.) If anything else needs to be done like homework or packing school bags for the morning, do it all before dinner. You don't want to be messing with that nonsense when you have a decent buzz from the chilled bottle (or 2) of [blank].

Step 6: Don't Sweat The Small Stuff
Maybe dinner isn't perfect. Maybe your husband forgot to shave because he obviously didn't read my blog. Maybe the movie isn't holding their attention as well as you hoped. Don't sweat it. This is where the bottle (or 2) of [blank] is absolutely necessary. During our last date night dinner, our son kept making up reasons to come in and ask us stuff. We started cracking up every time he came in and making jokes about it.

Step 7: Clean Up
This goes back to not over-doing the cooking, or, if you enjoy cooking a big meal, do as much clean up before dinner as possible. All you want to have to do afterward is pop a few dishes in the sink or dishwasher and forget it until tomorrow. If your kids are old enough to clear the table for you, even better!

Step 8: Afterwards
It's time to usher the tiny people off to bed. This is another reason why timing is important. You don't want to have enough time to get suckered into a game of Candyland or some other buzz-killing activity. Dessert is optional too. Sometimes we might just have a few squares of dark chocolate (as we finish off the second bottle of [blank]) or a small bowl of ice cream and a cup of coffee. If you are night owls, maybe you want to watch a movie or play a game. For me and my husband, we know the clock is ticking before the bottle(s) of [blank] have done their damage and we start to doze so we don't usually waste to much time with a movie. Just remember to proceed with extreme caution. It's evenings like this, and bottle(s) of [blank] that led to the existence of those to tiny people you just put to bed.

Happy date night, people!

My Bike Saga Continues

2010-09-22T18:32:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I updated the world on my journey to learn to ride a bike. If you are new, please read "35-Year-Old Learns To Ride A Bike or Dies Trying" first or re-read it if you've forgotten what an idiot I am.

I'm sorry for the lapse in my story but there is a very good reason. This story is a long and winding road and I was waiting to see where it lead before I shared the details of the tale.

I'd like to start by saying that I'm fairly certain that sh*t like this only happens to me.

You may recall that I was practicing on my old heavy bike that I so lovingly named "Two-Ton Tessie". Well, I locked Tessie up at my workplace on one of the many available bike racks. Then my summer got very busy, with work of all things. The nerve! I didn't have nearly as much time to practice as I'd originally hoped.

One day, as I was rushing from one place to the next, I rushed by the rack where Tess should have been. SHOULD HAVE been... but wasn't. As a matter of fact, the whole RACK was gone. At least, I thought the rack was gone. I am not known for my keen powers of observation and I'm embarrassed to say that I wasn't 100% sure. I asked my friend to go by and confirm that there did, in fact, used to be a rack where I thought there should have been a rack.   Thankfully, I was right. Whew! Turns out I'm not a complete space cadet.

That brings me back to Tess. The old girl was missing in action. Or inaction as the case was. I doubted that she was stolen because (a) she wasn't that pretty and (2) as the wrought iron rack was gone as well, the suspect would be hulking, green, wearing torn clothes and yelling "Hulk Smash!". He should be easy to spot.

I called the folks in charge of moving, removing and fixing things.   For 2 weeks, I didn't get a response.

Finally, I got the following message:
"Hi. Ummmm, yeah.... give me a call back. I want to tell you what I was told about your bike."

That couldn't mean anything good. I wanted to hear "Hi. Oh, your bike? We've got it right here! We tuned it up and painted it for you. We also added a little bell and some tassels for your trouble!" But, alas, that was not to be.   I returned the call.   They had needed to move the rack. Clearly. So they had someone cut the locks (I just BOUGHT that lock) with the intention of tagging and storing the bikes.   The locks were cut. The bikes, somehow, never tagged or stored.   Ouch.

I was told there would be reparations.   Reparations! COOL! Now we were talking! Maybe I would get the money to go buy a brand NEW (and hopefully much lighter) version of Tess! I was told to contact someone. Again, I made contact.   Again, I got no response for 2 weeks.

I was talking to colleague about my bike woes and she decided to make a few calls. Someone contacted me about my reparations. Apparently, they had decided it would be acceptable to offer me a suitable replacement from some bike graveyard housed in a basement somewhere.   Still, I had a chance of getting a suitable, if not better replacement. Only, they didn't deem me worthy to go visit the graveyard and pick out a replacement, lest I pick one of the more treasured and valuable discarded old bikes. No. They would choose one for me.

A few days later, I got an email with a picture of what was chosen as a suitable replacement. I really didn't think there could be a rustier old piece of crap than Tess but, low and behold, I was looking at it!

Really?!? Let's revisit, shall we?   My bike wasn't STOLEN. I didn't leave it UNLOCKED. "The Man" cut my bike lock, purposefully removed my bike from its place and left her to meet some awful, untold fate!   How is offering me some busted up POS an acceptable solution?!?

The same colleague was as incensed as I was. She made a few more calls and they cut me a check for a modest but acceptable amount. It's not like I was looking to upgrade to a $3,000 road bike.

My good friend and ex-bike instructor (you remember him? the patient and kind one that I relieved from his duties to save some dignity) went with me to pick out a bike.

I got a neat little mountain bike. She's pretty, too, and much lighter than Tess.

It had now been nearly 3 months since my last practice. I was a bit apprehensive but confident that with my new bike, I'd be able to master this skill in no time flat... and I did it! I got on and peddled and the bike moved forward and I stayed upright blowing right past my previous 30-foot distance record!

Whooo Hooo! That's right folks! This 35-year-old... ummm, correction... now 36-year-old, can ride a bike!

Now, I just have to master the steering and stopping!

God Bless The U.S. But I Hate My Damn Ford

2010-09-14T08:24:00.000-07:00

We are a three-car household.

The first car is the one my husband drives to and from work. He's an engineer in the sustainable energy industry and, suitably, drives a Honda hybrid. Much more appropriate than when he used to go to work in a honkin' pick-up truck.

The second car is my Honda. I love my Honda. It's cute and reliable and get's decent gas mileage.

19-something-something Ugly-Ass Green Windstar

The third is a used mini-van. We have two kids so, naturally, we have a mini-van. We got it so that my mom would have a reliable car with which to drop-off / pick-up my youngest at pre-school and get my oldest off the bus. "Why do you need a car to get a kid off the bus?" you say? Well, because you might be able to walk down my driveway but you would need some crampons and a few sherpas to get back up safely.

But, I digress. Did I say RELIABLE? HA! I should start by saying we bought it used from a friend and only paid a few thousand for it so I really a have no right to complain but when has that ever stopped me before?

It's a 19-something-something Ford Windstar Mini-Van in ugly-ass green. I think that is actually the name of the paint color. We've had it for just over 2 years now. Last winter, we had this vexing problem where a fuse would blow when starting the car. Before the repeating issue was identified, it had become a compound problem because the driver would try to start the car numerous times, thereby draining the battery. The kicker was, the fuse would blow after the driver had already started it up and gone somewhere and then tried to start it again. Of course it never happened in the convenience of our own driveway.

I spent most of last winter answering calls from my mom who had gotten the kids to pre-school, only to have the car refuse to start again. I would leave work, drive there, change the fuse, jump start the car and go back to work.

We have a great mechanic. He's awesome and honest. Really. It's not a myth!

I brought the stupid van in twice and he knew that the fuel-pump fuse was blowing but couldn't find out why. I did some research on the interwebs and discovered that many of the these crappy vans, particularly the ugly-ass green ones, had a problem with the fuel-pumps sh*tting the bed, so to speak. I told my mechanic, who said he didn't want to change the fuel pump until he was absolutely sure because it was expensive (see - honest!) but decided to change it and -- YIPPEE --- it worked! For a brief moment, I thought I'd miss the mid-day, GoToWork-LeaveWork-ChangeFuse-JumpStart-ReturnToWork Game, but, alas, I didn't.

That was last winter.

It's barely September and I got that fateful call from my mom yesterday. WTF?!?! What is this car's problem with impending winter!?!? Is it a frickin' senior citizen and needs to "winter" in Boca Ratton or something?

Battery Charger Thingy

We have this battery charger thingy (I'm certain that's what it is called) at work that you could use to jump start a car. I grabbed that and a borrowed a set of jumper cables. I was explaining the fuel pump / fuse scenario of the Winter of '09 to my coworkers and I really sounded like I knew what the hell I was talking about. I felt like Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny "It's a limited slip differential which distributes power equally to both the right and left tires. The '64 Skylark had a regular differential, which, anyone who's been stuck in the mud in Alabama knows, you step on the gas, one tire spins, the other tire does nothing."

Unfortunately, I'm only an expert on this particular problem with this particular ugly-ass green Ford Windstar.

Anyways, off I went with the battery charger thingy and cables. I'm sure I was quite a sight with my manicured nails, in a skirt, stockings and black patent leather heels.

I spent the drive there thinking,

"That is it! I am done with this damn car! IF I manage to get it started, I'm driving it straight to the Honda Dealership and getting a new car! Sure, we can't afford another car payment but I can't afford to leave work every time the car thinks it's a little chilly out!"

When I got there, I checked the fuse it was NOT blown. Phew. Not the fuel pump again. Still channeling Mona Lisa Vito, I called my husband and said "Yeah, I think it's the starter." Turns out I don't know squat about cars and it was just a dead battery. I don't know why it was dead or why it started up, let my mom drive the 10 minutes to school and then wouldn't start again but my husband bought a new battery and that will hopefully be the end of it.

Somehow I doubt it.

And if this happens again, well, God Bless the U.S. but I'm buying another Honda!

Where Babies Come From

2010-08-12T16:41:00.000-07:00

The age old question that every parent dreads getting asked.

The average kid begins to ask that question between ages 6-8. My daughter is 5 and a half and she didn't bother to ask. She drew her own conclusions, and, when you think about it, she's really not that far off.

Miranda's Baby-Making Theory

(get's cut off because my battery died but all she said after that was "...baby out. The end.")

She only missed the mark a tiny bit with the "pea" on the "conveyor belt". She came frighteningly close on the "magic potion" supplied by the dad. A little closer than I am comfortable with! And the baby coming out of a "secret door". I guess only the daddy knows where the door is!

Her 3-year-old brother, Jack, took a stab at it too but he pretty much copied his big sister.

Baby-Making Theory (Jack Re-mix)

His incorporates some kind of baby store. However, he was right about one thing. When you use the "door" twice, that's it. No more! At least in his mom's case! The baby-making door (and the store, for that matter) is CLOSED!

Where do you your tots thing babies come from?

An Asthetitician Without Pity

2010-08-01T19:05:00.000-07:00

This weekend marked my annual "Girl's Weekend". It's the one weekend a summer I spend with my two oldest friends. By oldest, I mean the girlfriends that I have had the longest, not that they are, in any way, advanced in age... which they are not... the "oldest-in-age" friends that I have... and if even if they were, which they are not, I would certainly not be implying that in this forum. (Whew! Age is a touchy subject when it comes to chicks.) I also won't say how long we've been friends, because, to admit that is to admit that we are not 29-years-old for eternity, which, in fact, we are!

The three of us have birthdays in July, August and September and we choose a weekend in late July or early August to hang out together. We rotate between each of our homes, kick out our husbands (and children in my case), go out to dinner, drink, play games, watch movies, drink, talk about boys, drink some more, giggle a lot, eventually go to bed and out to brunch in the morning. It's a blast!

That's not me - it's the Flirt! girl.

This year, we decided to throw some primping into the mix with a trip to Kohl's to try out their Flirt! cosmetics line. Some how, this got painted as my idea. I suggested the particular brand but my other friend had suggested the cosmetics counter makeover.

We arrived to find that they don't have a counter, per say. It's more of an un-maned (or un-womaned as the case may be) island of cosmetic samples.    We lingered. We browsed. We lingered some more. Eventually, a lovely young lady came over and asked if she could help us. My dear friends threw me to the wolves and said that I wanted a make-over. What happened to "we"?

The young asthetitician, (and I'm certain I'm using this term generously) will be called Lulu for the purposes of this story. Lulu asked me my interests, I replied and she began to seek out some toner to remove my make-up. As she began the unmasking (OH! THE HORROR! THIS IS A PUBLIC PLACE! HAVE YOU NO DECENCY! --- ooops, sorry about the outburst), Lulu nervously informed me that she "usually only does jewelry".    Panic.   I laughed apprehensively. My friends looked on, innocently, as they hadn't heard her confession. Lulu turned away and I mouthed "I'm scared!" They didn't know why. Lulu put on some powder foundation which is hard to mess up so I wasn't totally freaked out yet. Then she asked about my eyes. I figured, at this point there was no going back so I gave her some ideas and Lulu, again, expressed her discomfort with applying my makeup. Fortunately, this time she was within earshot of the REAL asthetitician, who was busy with another customer. The real one, we'll call her Maggie, said I could wait for her if I wanted. Ever gracious, I made it seem like I was doing it for Lulu and not because I was frightened that she'd paint me up like some kind of clown whore and send me on my way. We had dinner plans afterward for goodness sakes!

So, we waited for Maggie. We hovered. I scared a few locals with my makeup-less visage. We waited. One friend bought a card. The other bought and ottoman. We hovered some more. Eventually, she was done with her customer and ready to put some war paint on my exposed features. After a few moments, it was clear that Maggie knew what she was doing. It was also clear that she wasn't about to sugar-coat anything.

She started by saying "I'm sure you want something to cover those brown patches under your eyes." Yup. Surely, we do. Brown patches. Great. Maggie got some concealer.   During the application she remarked, "See this side is quite a bit darker and puffier than the other side."   Awesome. Not only do I have dark circles under my eyes, they are apparently horribly asymmetrical!

Next, Maggie got some powder foundation. As she's brushing it on my face she's saying, "...see the problem here is that your skin is two-tone. You see, it's darker through here, here and here, and light here and here."   Super. Dark, puffy, lopsided and patchwork. Just what a girl always wants to hear! When she was happy with the results, she turned her attention to my eyes. She picked out some lovely eyeshadow and liner colors. As she's making me beautiful, she added "You really need to get your eyebrows done, girl." Dark, puffy, lopsided, patchwork and hairy. Check.

At some point, she said something about me being pretty but, clearly I focus on the negative so I don't remember the details.

Awesome Mascara!

Some excellent mascara and great-looking, but not long-lasting, lip gloss later and we were done. The results were actually quite lovely but, by this time, my friends were hungry and I was shell-shocked so nobody else got in "the chair". I passed on the concealer and foundation for my horribly puffy, dark, uneven skin, figuring I had enough in my arsenal at home to tackle that particular problem. I passed on the awesome-looking lip gloss that I knew would wear off before I got to the parking lot. I bought the fabulous mascara and eyeliner.

The moral of this story is.... well... heck if I know! I guess it's that the chick at the make-up counter isn't there to make you feel good about yourself. No matter how nice they are, they are there to make you feel bad about yourself so you only feel good about yourself after you are coated in a layer of their products and, consequently, buy them.

The other moral of this story is that you can always count on your oldest friends (again, the ones you've had the longest - not the most advanced in age) to be there when you need them. They may not be there in the capacity you'd expect, but they will be there...
...to leave you at the mercy of the asthetiticians, qualified or not
...to buy cards and ottomans while you wait to face your doom
...to take pictures of you without any make-up on and post them on Facebook

But most of all, to ooh and aah at the results, whatever they may be! Because, hey, that's what friends are for!

It May Be A Fruit But It Ain't An Apple

2010-07-09T18:34:00.000-07:00

My opinion, on the matter of the Blackberry, is a day late and a dollar short to say the least. But, to be perfectly honest, I had neither the opportunity nor the desire to play with one until recently and to say that I am less than impressed, is the understatement of the century.

Earlier this week, I came to be in temporary possession of a Blackberry Storm 2. I've been wanting to blog about the experience for a few days now but I'm glad I waited, because now my opinions can be expressed in a Sangria-fueled rage, which will, no doubt, be quite a bit more entertaining for you, the reader.

Let's talk about marketing strategy for a moment, shall we? I've been in more than a few marketing meetings and I'll tell you about how the naming of the "Blackberry" came about:

Boss: We need our product to have a catchy name.
Lackey #1: "The e3000"?
Lackey #2: "The Matrix?"
Boss: No, let's take a page from someone who's doing well already? Like the iPhone?
Lackey #1: The "ePhone 3000"? (you see, his claim to fame is putting "e" in front of everything and a 4 digit number at the end)
Lackey #2: Maybe it should be a FRUIT! How about "The Pear"?
Lackey #1: Or "ePear 2000"?
Boss: No no. Pear is too similar to apple but I like wear this is going.
Lackey #2: "The Orange"?
Boss: Too different. Leaving ourselves open for the "comparing apples to oranges" schtick.
Lackey #1: Melons are different than apples. Or berries?
Lackey #2: "The Blueberry"
Boss: There was a Blueberry iMac...
Lackey #2: Raspberry... or Blackberry...
Boss: Blackberry. Hmmmm. I like the sound of that.
Lackey #1: What about "eBerry 5000"?
Boss: You're fired.

That's my assessment of how the naming went on. Don't get me started on the versions. There's literally zero sense to make of it.

"Pearl" - Already a tampon
"Curve" - Already woman's fitness franchise
"Storm" - Already a way cool X-woman

And their logo looks like a small pile of rabbit poop.

But enough about marketing-FAIL, let's talk about the device itself. Maybe I'm spoiled by my contact with relatively seamless UIs like that on the iPhone, iPad and iPod touch but I find the Blackberry UI completely unintuitive. (and psssst, I work in IT! If I stumble, how do you think Joe User is going to fare)

First and biggest UI fail. Why, for the love of all that is good and pure in this world would you deploy a screen interface that is a moving part? It feels like a loose tooth for Christ-sakes! Physically pushing the screen / button / lever... whatever... is fail with a capital F.

Second UI fail. The fact that the Blackberry saves the last place you were in its labyrinth-like navigation structure might be DANDY if I know the menus in and out but for a FTU (first-time user) you are stuck in no-man's land trying to figure out where to go. Three of us (all technology professionals) were huddled around the thing trying to figure out how to turn the ringer back on (which was off by default for some stupid reason).

Now, for performance. My first attempt to download an app was met with "The Blackberry Server could not be reached". Most actions surface a progress bar. Progress bar smogress bar. When I touch (touch, not click) something on an iPhone it just "HAPPENS" (except for 4.0 upgrades on 3Gs but that's a topic for another blog).

In short, I seriously can't wrap my mind around why someone would buy a Blackberry when there are other things out there that just work and work well. These smartphones should be simple to use. My cat (if I had one) should be able to launch an app. (Actually, I've seen it!). The design, interface and general function should be, well, SMART. I don't think that's too much to ask.

In reply to my proclamation, "Why do Blackberries suck so much?" my very wise friend replied "Because of all the annoying little seeds." I think that says it all.

A Shameless Self-Promotion

2010-06-27T18:43:00.000-07:00

Do you remember your wedding day? Mine was nearly 12 years ago, so my old brain is a bit foggy, but I remember feeling like a princess. People waiting on me hand and foot. Doing my hair. Fussing over my nails. Perfecting my make up. Helping me into my 50lb. bead-laden wedding dress. Hey, I'm Italian. Wedding dresses are a fussy business and mine was long-sleeve with an ornate bodice and a mile-long train.

In any event, so much fuss for this perfect day. All dressed in white. The center of attention... and it's all downhill from there. Get married, become a mom and it's never about you again. Everyone else's needs come first. Since I became a mom, do you know how many times I've realized on the day before a special occasion that I had outfits for everyone but me?!?!

It's not a bad thing, though. Having everyone's needs come first, that is. It just makes you a very powerful, very important woman! There's nothing more special.

But, that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to get a chance to feel like a princess again! Just one day for me. A reason to get all prettied up again. Someone to do my hair. Someone to do my makeup. Slip into that pretty white dress again... and then make a BIG MESS!!!

That's right!

I have a chance to wreck my dress in front of an exceedingly talented photographer, and I want to do it. Boy do I want to! Between you, me and the wall, I never really liked my dress all that much anyway!

So, here I am... whoring out the sanctity of my precious blog to shamelessly ask you to vote for me! Get out your laptops, your iPods, your iPads or all of the above and vote for me. I'm (B) -- the one in the big 'ol hunting boots.

(Sidebar about the pic. As I said, my wedding was a whopping 12 years ago, so I didn't think it'd be fair to submit one of my wedding pictures. My husband says I haven't aged a day, but I know he's full of it. Instead, I put my dress on when I heard about this contest and my good friend took a few very cool shots of me. It's a good one isn't it?)

Please vote for me and share this with others! I'll be your best friend!!!

35-Year-Old Learns To Ride A Bike, Or Dies Trying

2010-06-09T11:02:00.000-07:00

Hi, I'm JT and I never learned ride a bike.

Every single time I utter those words they are greeted with shock and gasps.

"How could that have happened?!?!"
"WHY?!?! What tragic event kept you from this essential childhood rite of passage?!?!"
"Oh! The humanity!"

Nothing happened.

I grew up in the city. I lived on a really steep hill that wasn't all that conducive to learning to ride. It lead to a major intersection under the "L" (elevated train, for the non-city folks). I also lived in a pretty bad neighborhood and my folks were protective. Being in a small apartment with no place to keep a bike didn't help either. My brother learned but he was older than I before we moved back to the city.

So, I am 35-years-old and trying to learn to ride a bike.

Why start now, you ask? Well, I've got these two tiny people in my house that are growing up quickly and learning to ride bikes of their own. We live in the country but, once again, on a steep gravel drive that leads to a major road. There is no place for the munchkins to ride so, I figure, someone has to take them some place to ride. That someone is me.

I have visions of taking them to a bike path and hollering as I trot behind them, "Okay, don't go too far! Please come back! Stay where mom can see you!" Not going to happen.

So, I am trying to learn.

I started about a month ago. My dear friend offered to teach me so I got a helmet and borrowed a bike and off we went. I felt like a giant idiot having him hold my seat and give me the same encouragement one would give to a 5-year-old.

"You've got it!"
"There you go!"
"You're doing it ALL BY YOURSELF!!!"

He was very patient and very sweet but I had to fire him to maintain whatever semblance of integrity I had left which wasn't much.

If I were to venture out on my own, I'd need a bike of my own. I didn't want to make a huge investment in something I'm not sure I can master so I picked up a bike at a yard sale for $20. It's about 2 inches too tall for me, squeaks like it's crying and likely made entirely of lead. Perfect.

I've attempted to ride three times on my own now.

The first time was still on the loaner bike and wasn't too bad. I almost quit after about 15 minutes but instead gave myself a mental spanking and said "CHILDREN DO THIS!" I managed to stay upright, about as steady as Bambi's first time on new legs, for about 15 feet. It was about 200% humidity that day and I got back to my office as sweat as a teamster but I consider it a victory.

The second time was on the new, lead bike, in my driveway. Remember that steep gravel drive I mentioned and how it isn't conducive to riding? Well, I should have heeded my own advice. I fell on my ass almost instantly and Two-Ton Tessie (that's my bike!) fell on my leg leaving me with 4 technicolor bruises from my inner thigh to my calf. I looked extra pretty in a skirt that week.

The third time was today. I took Tess out to the same spot I had my prior victorious 15-foot ride, only this time there was construction near by. Fabulous. I spent the entire time worrying that the roofers were going to record me on their camera phones and post it on YouTube. They may have. Only time will tell. Being a grown woman, wearing a helmet and struggling with a skill that is mastered easily by kindergartners all over the globe, I can only hope they thought I was mentally challenged. That would make me courageous instead of a giant spaz.

I wrestled with Tessie for about 25 minutes this go-round. I kept giving myself mini-goals such as "just make it to that bench" or "just make it to that tree". At one point my brain exclaimed "TO the tree not INTO the tree." I now know how to brake successfully. I had moderate success in that I didn't fall on my ass again and I peddled for about 30 feet before I had to keep myself from falling.

Some say this experience is enriching and that it builds character. Others say I should give up and get a Segway.

I'm on the fence.

On the one hand, I really want to be able to ride with my kids. On the other, I hate doing this. Not because I care what people think. Truly, I don't. I think it's amusing and makes for good blog material, if nothing else. It's more because I don't enjoy doing anything I can't do well. I know that I have to practice in order to be able to do it well, but I hate the journey to get there, especially if I'm not certain I will ever really be good at it. I am naturally clumsy and was born, tragically, without a sense of balance so I am fighting the current on this one.

I must say that I have learned a few things from this experience:

Adult Training Wheels are not called Training Wheels, they are called Stabilizer Wheels. I think it's supposed to help the buyer not feel like a complete tool bag for not being able to balance. That's nice of them.
Stabilizer Wheels cost nearly $200. Damn!
A heavy bike makes it easier to get momentum.
A heavy bike also makes it easier to fall down because if you tip you've got to keep up your weight and the bike's weight.
I don't look good in a helmet.

I think I'll keep at it for a little while longer and see how I manage. I'm not beat yet but I'm just not sure how much more "character building" I can take. I hope my kids appreciate what I'm doing for them. Either we'll all laugh about it one day while we are out on a leisurely family bike ride or they can mention it in my eulogy after I smash into a tree.

Dear Facebook, I Love iPad

2010-05-21T11:40:00.000-07:00

I know I went on and on about wanting and iPad for a while so many of you have probably been expecting a review, but, truth be told, Apple was so slow sending out institutional iPads that I think the "review" ship has sailed. You've probably already read all manner of opinion available on the web from "best thing ever" to "big bag of fail" so I won't bore you with the details. I'll leave it at "It's not perfect but it's plenty awesome."

Instead, I thought I'd take another approach. I have had my new toy for a day and a half and I've been seriously neglecting my favorite social network. I thought it only fair that I take a moment to write Facebook a letter to justify my unexplained absence.

"Dear Facebook,

I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. If you've been listening to rumors, you might have jumped to the conclusion that it is because haven't been respecting my privacy, but that's not true. I really don't mind. You don't share any of the "really" personal stuff and that's what's important. So, ignore what you've heard.

The truth is, I have someone new in my life. His name is iPad. He's really slick and cool. Right now, we're just figuring each other out. I know how to turn him on and what buttons to push but we are still trying some new things.

Honestly, I don't think I'll get bored of him anytime soon. But knowing me, I'll soon be using him to get to you. I'm sorry if this is hard to hear but I never said I wouldn't see other technologies. The two of you are just so different. You are all about the social scene and he just likes to be there for me. I can hold him in away I've never been able to hold you. But you have a lot in common. You are both easy to get along with and fun to be around. I'm sure you'd like him once you get to know him.

I hope this doesn't change things between us. I still love you and you know I'll always come back to you. Before long I'll be sharing my thoughts with you again, but I hope you are okay with sharing me because the new guy isn't going anywhere.

Yours Always,
JT"

P.S.
I must give credit where credit is due. A very talented student recently wrote a humorous letter to one of our systems in the campus newspaper. It was very funny and inspired me to write this one.

Time For Another Mother's Day Post

2010-05-08T06:29:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again. I don't really define myself as a Mommy-Blogger but I'm a Mommy and a Blogger so I feel I would be doing my readers a disservice if I didn't take the time to write a post. I've got a lot on my plate right now so you should all feel exceedingly special that I'm doing this. That's right. Thanks. I can feel the waves of appreciation.

Valentine's Day? Meh. I know he loves me. Supermarket flowers and a card are plenty special. A nice dinner at home and some "grown-up" time and everyone is happy. A bottle or two of champagne couldn't hurt.

Christmas? I love Christmas but for me it's more about giving than receiving. Ask anyone. I'm not full of crap, I swear.

My Birthday? Okay, I admit it. I'm a big kid and I love to celebrate my birthday (even if I'm not so thrilled with the "number" attached anymore). But nobody has to do it for me. It's MY birthday so I'll throw a party, or ask people to go out or whatever. I don't need to be catered to. I just want friends around me.

But Mother's Day? I hold Mother's Day in a high regard. I have two amazing kids who are (mostly) polite, sweet, loving, good sharers and good listeners. (Geez, I said MOSTLY) Plus they are cute as buttons. All that didn't happen by accident! It's some quality mothering, for which, I expect to be appreciated! It's one day. Do it up right.

All we ask is for some appreciation. It doesn't have to be expensive gifts or fancy dinners. Just something thoughtful that says "I know how hard you work to make this family happy and I know you well enough to know this would make you feel special." Not something that says "I passed the gas station on the way home from work and remembered that mother's day was coming up so I got you a lighter and a bag of your favorite chips."

I am not proud to say that my husband and I had an argument about this very topic a week ago. I won't embarrass either of us with the details but it wasn't pretty. Whatever. We worked it out. He understands how important Mother's Day is to me and I understand why he didn't understand that before.

Yesterday he called and asked me for my shoe size. YES! Nearly 19 years together was all it took for him to figure out that you can't go wrong with SHOES!!!

When I got home he said that wanted me to close my eyes so he could try them on me because if they didn't fit he wanted to make sure he could exchange them before Mother's Day. Awww! I did. I felt like Cinderella! They fit and BIG Kudos to him because he bought a size up because he thought they looked small. You should've seen his face. That look on his face is what it's all about! He was so proud that he found something for me that fit and I will like. He was slightly disappointed because he thought I could wear them on vacation and they are definitely not "walking around Disney World" comfortable. However, I'll certainly bring them to wear out to dinner or something.

I didn't peek but if I know anything, I know shoes and I have a pretty good idea of what they look like just from the feel. I can just about guarantee that they are espadrille wedges, open toe with a canvas knot on top and slingback. Just about they only thing I don't know is the color. I'm guessing it's some kind of print. They felt like a print.

He said he got me a matching hat too. Awwwwwwwwwww!

That's all I needed. Something that shows he thought about ME. Oh, that reminds me. There's one more thing I want. TO SLEEP IN! And I mean, for real. Usually sleeping in around here means he gets up with the kids and I sleep until 8:00 before the kids come to wake me up. I want to sleep until I wake up on my own. Whatever time that may be. Then I'll be happy to open my new shoes. After coffee, please!

See how easy to please I am!

Happy Mother's Day, Ladies!
Make 'em feel special, Guys!

Bubble Baths Are Way More Glamourous On TV

2010-04-22T18:11:00.000-07:00

I haven't taken a bath in a looooong time. By that, I mean I haven't soaked in a tub, not that I haven't washed myself. I typically keep on top of the personal hygiene stuff.

I decided to take a bubble bath. I take a pretty serious Pilates class and I am sore in places I didn't know could be sore, so I figured a soak in a hot tub would just about do the trick. I figured I could take the opportunity to exfoliate, have a glass of wine, listen to some soft music. Ahhhhhhh!

Be forewarned! It all sounds a heck of a lot better than it actually is. When I think "bubble bath", I think of Eva Longoria on Desperate Housewives sinking into a deep clawfoot tub in a big beautiful bathroom.

Before I could embark on this journey of relaxation, I had to wash my dirty little munchkins. I gave them both quick showers and got them in their jammies. I put on a Curious George DVD, got them a snack and some chocolate milk and told them mommy would be in the bath.

Next I had to rinse the grime they left behind in the tub. Then I had to fill the darn thing, which took like 20 minutes. On TV, doesn't it seem like they turn on the water, walk inside, get undressed pour the wine and come back to a steaming hot bathtub filled with impossibly foamy bubbles?

I moved the big net full of bath toys that resides where I'd need to lie my head, got my exfoliant, a towel and my bath wrap. You know those pretty silky robes they have on TV? Mine is terry cloth and has a monkey on it.

I went to pour myself a glass of wine. I really wanted to pour it in a beautiful wine glass but let's be serious! I am nothing if not a klutz and a piece of glass stemware, a porcelain tub and/or a tile floor, simply do not mix. I poured my Gewurztraminer into a plastic cup from Red Robin.

I put some music on my iPod, climbed over the net of toys on the floor and sunk into the tub. "Sunk in" may be a bit of an exaggeration. I sat in an inadequate amount of water, with a scant amount of bubbles that didn't come anywhere close to covering me. I felt like a GIANT sitting in a puddle. There's nothing less glamourous than staring at your own naked, partially bubble covered body. Eva Longoria, I am not. And I bet she doesn't like to stare at herself either. Most women don't.

I didn't relax very much. I lay there, exposed, not knowing whether a munchkin could come barging in at any moment. If this were TV or the movies, my handsome husband or, better yet, the strapping young gardener (D.H. reference, again) would come in and help me "scrub my back". Instead, I made the best of my little splash pool, exfoliated, drank my wine and got the hell out of there!

This is just another example of Hollywood setting unrealistic ideals for us. We don't all look perfect as we slip out of silk robes. Our tubs aren't 3 feet deep. Our wine glasses are breakable. Our bubbles aren't plentiful. Our privacy is minimal. Our romantic lives are normal and that's okay.

My bath was okay too. Hey, I'm clean, my skin is soft and I've had a glass of wine. It's all good.

A Few Pounds of Prevention

2010-04-18T10:24:00.000-07:00

I know what you are thinking.
You are thinking, "Isn't it 'An ounce of prevention...'?"

Well...

Not in my case.

I've just finished packing mine and my kids bags for vacation, which is 3 weeks away!

I know that I am completely nuts but I've never been one for the last minute running around. I don't want to find out the day before we leave that two of the tops I wanted to pack are in the laundry or that I'd forgotten that I threw out my kids bathing suits last year because they outgrew them. Last minute surprises = unnecessary stress and who needs it? Traveling is stressful enough without realizing you forgot to pack underwear.

(Which reminds me, I've packed all my underwear so the next three weeks should be interesting. Ha! Just kidding. I have enough underwear to go without doing laundry for a month and a half!)

As it stands right now, all of my kid's stuff is packed except their loveys because they sleep with them every night. All my stuff is packed except my hair products and makeup which I will undoubtedly be using up until the very minute we leave.

What angst did I save myself by this early endeavor?

I spent 45 minutes fiddling with a dollar-store-made-in-China-battery-operated-piece-of-crap fan that my son wanted to take on vacation because once the batteries were put in, it was in a perpetual state of being ON. It required a screwdriver and more patience than could muster before it finally completely fell apart and is now in the trash. But at least I didn't have to do that in a rental condo without a screw driver when I'm supposed to be chillaxin with a drink.

I also know that I either need to get him another one or remember to "forget" to pack my daughter's so neither of them have one.
I know I need to go buy blades for my razor.
I remembered to read the regulations and learn that I can no longer bring aerosol hair spray unless it's under 3 oz (which they don't make). How does this help me? I either have to go buy the pump kind or buy it when I land. Either option is going to make me lose sleep until I have said hairspray in my possession.
Researching the hairspray thing lead me to think about hair and realize that I'd better not wear the clip-in extensions I often wear in my hair. They clip in with tiny little metal fasteners. Just enough metal to likely set of the metal detector in the airport. How embarrassing would it be to have to take out my HAIR as I go through security?!?!?
I have plenty of time to locate my kid's sunscreen (which is a hard to find brand). It's likely in a bag of beach toys in the back of a car or in the garage. But if I can't find it, I have time to hunt down and buy a new bottle.

Call me crazy (oh wait, I already did that) but I don't see the down-side to packing early. So, I have 8 outfits out of the rotation. Big deal. I have plenty more where that came from and, besides, I don't think I'll be wearing shorts and tanks in the Northeast before I go away.

I am free to focus my looney pre-vacation energies on more important things like obsessing about dropping another 5-8 pounds, planning every last detail of our trip and nagging my husband to start packing his stuff. :)

(A RECIPE!!!) Leftover Easter Crap Crispy Treats

2010-04-10T17:11:00.000-07:00

For those of you who follow this blog, you know this is not a food blog. For those of you who know me personally, you know that I am a foodie and a confectioner and am constantly baking something or other.

Well, today my two worlds collide as I created a recipe that is the perfect follow-up to my last post entitled The Easter Aftermath!

I love a good peep as much as the next gal... especially a stale one but there are only so many peeps one can consume, or allow her children to consume, in good conscience. We got a ridiculous amount of peeps this Easter.

So, what is a peep? A sugar covered marshmallow. And what are the two best uses for marshmallows? S'mores and Krispie treats. For a S'more you are only sacrificing one peep per S'more. I wanted to do away with a lot of peeps so I went the Krispie route.

I know that I'm not the first person to make this particular leap (peeps in Krispie treats) but I know I'm the first person to make them this particular way. I'm pretty single-minded and when I get an idea in my head it's pretty hard for me to put it off. Case and point - I'm posting to my blog immediately after my cooking experiment because I got an idea for a post and couldn't wait.

Therefore, because I needed to implement my Peep-Krispie idea immediately if not sooner, and I don't actually ever have Rice Krispies in the house, I had to improvise. Hmmm... let's see. Uncooked Pasta? No. Ritz Crackers? No. Left-over Crumbfulls? No. Ah-ha! Annie's Cocoa and Vanilla Bunnies Cereal!

Now, if you are like me, you don't have 6 cups of cereal in the house... or at least not 6 cups of any one kind of cereal because half the box has been eaten. Or you might not have as many peeps left as I did. I worked out the ratio and this should help you make treats out of whatever cereal or peep remnants you have in your house. The ratio is 7 peeps and 1/2 tablespoon of margarine to every 1 cup of cereal. Scale accordingly.

In my case, I had two cups of cereal. Into the pot went one tablespoon of margarine. I must say that me and the kids got a perverse thrill out of tossing those cute little chickies into the hot pot and watching them melt. Okay, maybe I did. My daughter told me to quit it with the evil laugh.

(Please excuse the quality of my pictures. I had one glass of wine too many to care about going to get my other camera. Sue me! It's Saturday!)

The combination of Yellow and Pink peeps made a really cool neon orange color. Once the peeps are all melted, stir in the cereal of your choice. A fruity cereal, a cocoa cereal. Really anything would work. Or, maybe not. I'm not sure I'd try it with Wheatabix or Grape Nuts unless you like that sort of thing. Any puffed cereal should do the trick. As I stirred my Annie's Homegrown Organic and Natural cereal into the marshmallow mush and added in Easter M&Ms and Reese's Pieces, I realized that Annie herself would be CRINGING at the bastardization of her natural product. Oh well. It's a "TREAT", not breakfast.

If you have ever made the official Krispie treats, you know the drill. Melt margarine, melt marshmallows, stir in cereal, stir in add-ins and press into a coated pan. Cut when cool.

That's it. Ours came out as tasty as they are good-lookin'--- Not that you can tell from my crappy picture but you'll have to take my word for it!

RECIPE
Left-Over Easter Crap Crispy Treats

1 tbsp of margarine or butter
to
2 cups of cereal of choice
to
14 marshmallow peeps
M&Ms or Reese's Pieces or Chocolate Chips or Jelly Beans (optional)

Spray or grease a pan appropriate for the quantity of treats you are making (9x9 should work for the above - muffin tins would work too and then you don't have to cut.) Melt Margarine or Butter. Add in Peeps (cackle maniacally as they melt.) When Peeps have fully melted, remove from heat and stir in cereal until fully incorporated. Working quickly, stir in add-ins. Scrape into prepared pan and press evenly. Once cool, cut into squares.

Enjoy!

The Easter Aftermath

2010-04-06T09:37:00.000-07:00

It seems like such an innocuous holiday. A simple diversion to keep the kids busy between Christmas and the fourth of July. The meaning seems a bit muddled but I think it has something to do with Jesus rising from the dead and hiding eggs. Not really sure how the eggs figure in to the whole Easter thing. Are the eggs supposed to symbolize the risen Lord and how the disciples "hunted" for him after finding the empty grave, which, I guess would be symbolized by the empty egg basket? If so, where does dyeing them bright colors come in. Is "DYEING" really a euphemism for "DYING"?

Whether your celebration trends toward the religious or the secular, it seems to have grown into something nearly unmanageable. When I was a kid, Easter consisted of a day and a half of festivities. Coloring eggs on Saturday, finding them on Sunday and eating copious amounts of candy. In between, we went to church and ate some ham.

These days the festivities start up almost right after Valentine's Day with the Easter Bunny arrival at the local mall. In someplace, it's the Easter Bunny and his / her body guards. Before this Easter rolled around, my kids had already been to one Easter party together, a party in each of their classes complete with egg coloring and attended the town egg hunt. Before Easter Sunday, they'd received no less than four baskets of goodies each from various family and friends. Then we made Jello Jigglers. Then the actual egg coloring. Then the real Easter Bunny came and hid eggs and baskets. Plus my dad made an egg hunt for them.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I don't think my kids are spoiled. They are very appreciative and thankful for everything they get and I'm so happy they have so many people who love them and think of them at the holidays.

For me, the issue is the after-math. My house has more baskets in it than a basket weaver's convention. (Not the best analogy but I couldn't really think of something that has a lot of baskets.) There are countless coloring books, boxes of sidewalk chalk, wind-up chickies, hair pretties and assorted other little toys. I have enough Jello Jigglers for a small army. And CANDY, CANDY, CANDY. Oh, I forgot to mention the dozen and a half brightly colored eggs that nobody will eat but me. Hard boiled eggs for breakfast, egg salad for lunch, cobb salad for dinner. Repeat.

But it's all good, right? The kids are happy. They have lots of little diversions. I could do without the Jelly Bellies I keep sneaking but I'm sure I'll get sick of them, eventually. And even though my house looks like the site of a dollar store explosion, I'm sure I'll have us dug out of the mountain of easter grass and plastic eggs before Memorial Day.

Enjoy your Easter after-math, everyone!

How To Be A Mom and A Whole Person Too

2010-03-21T05:56:00.000-07:00

This goes out to all the new moms or even the old ones who haven't quite figured it out yet. I know some of you are out there because, until recently, I was one of you.

I love being a mother. I know it sounds cliche but children are truly the greatest gift. They make you laugh all the time. It's incredible to watch them discover the world and to see things through their eyes.

But becoming a mother is life-changing and it's very easy to lose yourself. It's even "okay" to lose yourself... so long as you know how to find yourself again. All the baby books tell you to make sure you "make time for yourself" but it's almost like a foot note.

"Do everything the babies needs. Feed them when they are hungry. Console them when they are crying. Change them when they are wet. Bathe them when they are dirty. Repeat this cycle all day every day. Oh, and don't forget to make time for yourself."

I'm sure I'm remembering it wrong but I feel like that part of the book was in tiny print that you could scarcely read without a magnifying glass. Besides, even if it was written on a billboard, those are empty words. "Make time for yourself." That's IF you remember who you are!

Sorry if I'm confusing you. Of course you remember who you are! You are so and so's mother, for goodness sake! You also have a name, address, social security and phone number which you can recite as if someone asked a soldier their name rank and serial number. But you probably have lost your "sense of self". I swear to you that after becoming a mother, I couldn't remember anything I enjoyed doing BK (before kids). I knew there was some sense of excitement and pleasure that didn't involve finding formula on sale but I'd be damned if I could remember what it was.

It takes some time. For me, it took nearly 3 years to remember that I'm a funny, interesting person who can do more than discuss the contents of a diaper or how nicely my child can write her letters. Maybe it took me so long because I didn't know I was lost. Maybe knowing is half the battle and I wish someone had told me.

Here are some steps you can take to hang on to the amazing woman who became an amazing mother:

Have Sex: Yup. I figured I'd get the one you don't want to hear out of the way first. Sex is tough after kids for sure. You are tired. You don't feel sexy. But I think the biggest obstacle is the state-of-mind. It can take a woman a really long time to stop thinking "I can't do THAT anymore! I'm somebody's mother!" Lest we forget where babies come from! Get over it.
Work: Whether it be full-time, part-time, from-home or volunteer work, just work. Do something, anything, that is separate and distinct from your life as a wife and mother. Something you can get excited, or angry, about.
Socialize: Get together with adults. And this does not mean simply hanging out with other moms after the kids are asleep and talking about your respective days. I am fortunate enough to have some friends without kids and others who's kids are grown so it makes keeping the conversation outside the realm of blocks and Crayolas much easier. I'm not saying to ditch your mommy friends. Certainly not! They are your war buddies! But maybe lay some ground rules when you hang out. Get all the bragging and bitching about the munchkins out of the way in the first 15 minutes and then it's time for grown-up talk.

Get A Hobby: Stop saying you don't have time for a hobby or that your hobbies include finger-painting or making things out of play-dough. Try to remember something you used to enjoy and do it! I forgot how much I liked writing until I started doing it again.
Stop Feeling Guilty: In order to succeed at all of the above you need to find the time. In order to do that you have to shed the mom-guilt. It is very difficult. I'm still not that good at it. I find, especially as I work outside the home, I feel horribly guilty whenever I want or need to do something for myself. But the time has come for all moms to understand that time for oneself doesn't mean pooping alone with the door closed or finding time to sort out the underwear drawer.

Speaking of guilt, hopefully your not reading the above and thinking; "I can't do all those things. What kind of mom would I be?! I need to dedicate myself to my children."

It is my hope that you can see the ultimate truth as I have. The ultimate truth is that if I'm a better ME than I'm a better MOM. It means that when I'm spending time with them, it's quality time. I'm fully present and invested in the game of Chutes and Ladders or in making bean-bag sock bunnies.

This is not meant to scare you out of becoming a mother. It's absolutely worth every second. This is also not meant to scare you if you are among the lost. You'll find your way back. I don't wish I'd never gotten "lost" and I don't feel as though I simply found my way back to who I was. Instead, I feel as though I became a richer version of the person I used to be, enhanced by the journey, and more importantly, by the fact that I am also the greatest thing I could ever hope to be. A mother.

More Apple Magic

2010-03-07T05:24:00.000-08:00

Everyone always talks about how Apple is magic. Apple has even started using it in the own marketing (see Magic Mouse, or the iPad Keynote in 180 seconds where the word MAGIC is repeated countless times).

But one unsung bit of Apple Magic is Apple's built-in iSight camera. It's just a web-cam right? What's magic about it?

I use it to take almost all of my online profile pictures for Facebook, Blogger, Google, etc. I'm forever getting compliments on my pictures. Everyone says that I always look "beautiful" or "gorgeous" or I'm so "photogenic". I always tell them it's the magic of the iSight camera but they don't believe me!

It's true.

Here's my current Facebook Profile picture, taken with the iSight Camera on my iMac.

(And no, that's not a real iPad. My job is awesome
in that I get to do stuff like make prototypes out of foam
board and glossy printouts. Pretty slick, no?)

I've gotten so many comments on this picture both on and offline. Frankly, it's embarrassing because, in point of fact, the credit belongs to Apple magic. It's the technology, not the subject. I'm fully convinced there are tiny gnomes, probably wearing cute little apple costumes, that instantly apply all kinds of filters to the photograph before displaying it.

Don't believe me?!?!

Here's the same photograph taken with a regular point and shoot.

See! Hideous!

Now that you've seen the truth, I recommend that everyone lug a Mac around for all their photo taking needs. I know I will take all my pictures with the iSight Camera from now on.

Apple does it again!

The Customer Is Always Right... Unless She's A Moron Like me

2010-02-19T17:39:00.000-08:00

I like to think that I'm a pretty bright chick. I'm somewhat technical. I've been noted for my ability to turn a phrase. I can usually figure stuff out and think on my feet.

I work in a technical and creative field. Typically, I'm assisting those less capable and swallowing my frustration at their inability to understand what is seemingly simple, at least from my perspective. Hell, I'm paid to write guides to help people understand things!!!

Well, reality check time, self! It's a good thing I'm cute because I'm not that bright, after all.

My parents gave my son a Guidecraft easel for Christmas. The little wooden stand up kind with the primary colors that you can use a chalk on one side and wipe off board on the other. Very cute and just what he wanted. Of course it didn't come with markers so I let them use some crayons and some old dry erase ones we had lying around. Only, I couldn't get them to erase. I scrubbed the crap out of it and only got a little to come off. I used Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. I used soap and water. My husband even got into the act and tried rubbing alcohol.

I figured I'd better get some good dry erase markers. Figured "Expo" is the go-to brand. I bought them and had the same issue, throwing every thing but the kitchen sink at this thing to clean it.

I asked around and got a lot of home-remedies and tried them all. The latest was Lysol Wipes. Not Clorox Wipes or Pledge Wipes. LYSOL-BRAND wipes. Tonight I bought them and began the scrubbing game again. Elbow grease does not begin to describe.

I was ANGRY. I got my camera and took a picture, gearing up to write a scathing letter to the company in response to their shoddy craftsmanship. I scrubbed a little more and notice some curling in the corner. I couldn't believe it! Is this piece of garbage DE-LAMINATING TOO!??!

I scraped at the corner some more until it began to peel... and peel some more... and that was the moment that I began to laugh heartily at what I'd almost done! I'd almost wrote a blistering complaint to a toy company about their sorry excuse for a wipe-off board and I could just imagine their reply:

"Dear Valued Customer:

Thank you for your letter. We are sorry you are experiencing difficulty with our product. We've looked at the picture you enclosed and we believe we have a solution to the problem you are having.

If you'd simply remove the protective covering from the easel, we believe you will no longer experience any issue wiping away the marker. To accomplish this, simply start and any corner and, using your fingers (the fingers are the things at the ends of your hands) peel the plastic up and away from the surface of the board.

This should right the situation. If you have any other issues, please DO hesitate to contact us until you've thoroughly examined the situation. We're busy people and, frankly, don't have time for your stupidity.

Sincerly,

The Smart and Competent People at Guidecraft"

Yes. I'm that dumb.

But in my defense, that plastic covering was REALLY ON THERE!!!!

If The iPad Is Such A Big Fail, Then Why Do I Still Want One?

2010-02-03T08:20:00.000-08:00

I guess the iPad is supposed to be a big Apple Fail. I think, like a long anticipated Sci-fi blockbuster, there has been too much speculation and fan fiction. The bar was set so super-high that the iPad would've had to have rocket boosters to get there. I'm pretty sure I saw an early rendering of the imagined tablet that actually HAD rocket boosters.

I agree that the name sucks for sure. We'll get used to it. I'm sure many iPod jokes were made when it was first released. "What is it, an alien space craft?!" "Why call it an iPod? Does it have PEAS in it?"

Many say it's just a giant iPod touch or are upset that it can't be used as a phone. I agree, a little bit. I must admit I'm itching to get my hands on one so I can take a picture of myself holding it to my ear like a giant novelty phone. (Hee Hee! I get the giggles just thinking about it!)

(insert that silly image here one day)

2/25/2010
For my work I had a need to prototype a faux iPad out of paper and foam board. and now I have my picture. Wouldn't we all look ridiculous trying to have a phone call converstation?!?!?

Many are pissed off it doesn't have a camera. Me too. Although, I was certain Apple would omit a camera, before the evidence of a camera in a future generation was uncovered. They can't give it a ALL up at once. Like my Grandma always used to say, "Why by the second generation of the cow if you got all the milk from the first cow for $499?" (or something like that).

Still doesn't support Flash. Another low point for sure, but neither does my Touch and I still have one of those.

Not powerful enough to replace a laptop or a netbook. True. But I don't think anyone is expecting that you will go toss all your other personal computing devices in the trash. And, be honest. What are you doing on your laptop 85% of the time? Surfing. Watching video. Listening to Music. Email. Gaming. If you say that you are compiling complex data or working feverishly on spreadsheets your a dirty rotten liar!

Not small enough to replace an iPhone or an iPod touch. Also true. But I would argue that, as a woman anyway, I have PLENTY of purses that would neatly accommodate an iPad in a pretty little neoprene case. And I'm sure there are going to be many more stylish bags on the market with a perfect little iPad pocket. Hmmmm... my credit card is tingling just thinking about the possibilities.

So, those are the reasons why it's supposed to be a fail. Well, here's why I think it's a win (maybe not a home run, but still a win).

1.) Tight. Have you seen this video on the Apple website? Call it good marketing but it just makes you want to hold one. They show the guy curled up on a couch watching video on his lap. Ever try to curl up with your laptop? Not comfy, at all.

2.) Data Plan. Big win! The only device available (I repeat, ONLY DEVICE) with a very inexpensive data only plan. No phone. Just data. Who talks on the phone anymore anyway? I am *this* close to dropping my phone and rolling solely with email and text on an iPad while I'm on the road. Hey. I have a Google Voice number that sends a transcribed text message (however imperfect) and a link to a voice file. I'm good to go.

3.) eBooks. Kindle this. Kindle that. Blah blah. eInk, my Aunt Fanny. Who cares?!? So the iPad has a reflective screen which makes it hard to read in the sun. Go sit under a tree. It's more poetic anyway. Plus, the sun is bad for your skin. Kindle is a big fat UNITASKER. "Ooooh, look at me! I can read digital books!" "Yeah, well I can read digital books, too. Only my digital book reader is using this new-fanged invention called COLOR. Oh, and the content is in enhanced with these still and moving pictures, I think it's called something like 'multimedia'. Oh and the pictures can TALK too! Amazing!"

4.) Interface. Call it a giant iPod Touch if you want but did you see how you go through pictures, browse your music library or your book shelf. It's hot! Suddenly my touch seems woefully inadequate.

5.) Feel. I think many people are underestimating the touch-ability factor of this device. Personally, once it's in stores and people can hold it in their hands, I think it's going to explode.

Sure it's not perfect but neither am I. (close, but not quite). It's a personal media and gaming device with Wifi and 3G. How can that NOT be a win.

I'm not running out to buy one right now but mainly because a.) They are not in stores yet and 2.) I don't have the money. But if someone wanted to give me one (anyone?), I would love it and cherish it and call it "Touchy". I'd take really good care of it. It'd feed it (data) and walk with it every day. I'd play with it and tell it I loved it.

Can I have one, Mom? Pleeeeeeeeeeeease!!!!!!!!!! I'll be good.

Is "iPad" The Best Name They Could Come Up With?

2010-01-27T18:58:00.000-08:00

The Apple Tablet has caused quite a bit of hubbub. Both prior to it's proven existence, (Does it exist? Will it have 3G? Does it do windows --- ha, get it!? --- Will it make all my dreams come true?) and now that we know it does exist (Why no camera? Does it have a microphone? Will it kill the Kindle?). But a question that's not getting as much web-time as the rest is "Was the iPad really the best name choice?"

Why not?

Well the first and most obvious reason is that it's a mere one letter away from iPod. Not even a letter, just the little tail you add to an "o" to make it an "a". One fat-finger into the inventory control system and someone's going to get a whole truckload of the wrong item.

Then there's Mad TV's 2006 spoof on the name iPad (yup, 4-years BEFORE the creation of the iPad) in which they imagine an electronic device to handle all your... ahem... feminine needs.

So, if not "iPad", then what should they have called this super-sized iPod Touch?

My first choice would be "iBoard" because that's what my 3-year-old has been calling my Touch for the past year and I think it's hilarious. "iBook"'s been done. " iSlate"? "iTablet"? None of them are all that exciting.

They could have gone with some of the more obvious and appropriate names, such as "iWouldBeALotCoolerIfICouldRunBackgroundApps" or "iCan'tBelieveIStillDon'tSupportFlash" or, my personal favorite, "iCould'veHadACameraButIDon'tSoAppleCanPutOneInTheNextGen".

However, even with its short-comings, it is still a pretty slick device. Therefore they could have named it "iAmJustCheapEnoughToMakeItWorthwhile" or "iAmTheFirstDeviceThatSupportsDataOnlyPlansStartingAt15Bucks".

Call it what you want, I can't help but think of it as the "iReallyWantOneBad".

People Don't Kill People, Technology Kills People

2010-01-13T07:57:00.000-08:00

I don't know how to cope with the world as it is. Micro-blogging kills. Technological advances in cinema drive people to the brink of suicide. Vampire fantasies have made it so that women can't possibly be satisfied with mere mortals as companions. It's getting so that I don't feel safe to turn on my computer anymore, or go to the movies. Facebook notifications make me cower in fear. Text messages send me over the edge. I saw Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs and it was so very real to me, I'm afraid we might never live in a world where there are jello castles and spaghetti falls from the sky. Frankly, that's just not a world I want to be a part of. I'm too much of a wuss to commit suicide so I think I'm going to go @reply some borderline psychotic incessantly until they put my boring, normal-precipitation-filled, Edward-less existence to a timely end.

Seriously, people! Your reality check is in! Get a grip on it!

If you don't know what I'm talking about, you need to catch up on current affairs. I am talking about Twitter being blamed for a recent NYC murder. Of course, it was Twitter's fault!!! Before Twitter two men would've actually had to argue face-to-face over a women and we all know that type of thing has historically NEVER ended in bloodshed! It couldn't possibly be that the a**hole responsible has no regard for human life. Twitter pulled the trigger. Absolutely.

I'm also talking about the people who get so caught up in fantasy that they can't continue with their normal lives. CNN wrote about an Avatar forum where people (not PERSON, people, as in 'more than one') are expressing their extreme depression and sense of loss that the fantasy world of Pandora isn't real and never will be. Some are having suicidal thoughts because their world is so ordinary. Is there some kind of fund I can donate to in order to get them the help they need? Help to end it all that is. This is the new "natural selection". Maybe we should call it "technological selection".

Similarly, there's the Twilight phenomenon. I read the first book. It made for half-decent light reading. I couldn't sit through the awful shallow acting in the first movie and didn't attempt the second. However, scores of girls (and sadly, women) relate so strongly to the characters in this series that they compare their real-life relationships. Just Google "post-twilight depression" or "why can't you be more like Edward Cullen" and marvel at the sheer nuttiness. Not only is it crazy with a capital "C" to compare your boyfriend with a FICTIONAL VAMPIRE (I shouldn't have to use the word FICTIONAL because VAMPIRES ARE FICTIONAL. IT'S IMPLIED!!!!) but even if Edward were real, he'd be a terrible boyfriend. He's emotionally stagnant, enigmatic and borderline abusive. If you ladies want a man like that you should have no trouble finding one. Happy trails. (By writing this I have probably lost 6 - 12 of my female friends / readers. I hope they can forgive me.)

I feel for the innovators. They shouldn't have to worry that someone might use their tool as a vehicle for bad blood or be afraid to create a cinematic experience that might be "too real" for some people to handle. Like I said before "survival of the fittest". If you can't take the technology, get out of the way. If you can't separate fact from fiction, you've got bigger problems than you think.

In the meantime, don't worry about me. I'll find a way to cope with reality as it is. My husband will never be a 10-foot tall blue warrior with an Australian accent. The flowers in my garden will never glow iridescent blue and I'll just have to get my next gigantic ice cream sundae from an ice cream shop instead of waiting for it to fall from the sky. Sigh. Reality bites.

Ask A Stupid Question...

2009-12-27T16:14:00.000-08:00

I was trying on dresses to wear for the New Year's Eve party extravaganza that we are hosting. I turned to my husband and asked, "How's my neckline in this dress?" He, in turn, raises his eyebrows... cue the wolf-whistle and cartoon like eye-pop. It was a fashion question. I wasn't asking if he liked boobs. But, hey, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.

But it gave me a great idea for a website, although I don't know how to implement it. I imagine a website where women from all over the world can upload pics and ask for fashion advice. Yes, I know this exists already but MY site would be different. Because seriously, we want honest advice from other women, or gay men only.

This is where it get's complicated.

I'd have to have a way to gender authenticate. Like an estrogen meter but then that's a whole hardware component you'd have to buy. Or maybe I can ask really specific questions about menstruation or child birth. The male OB / GYN's would slip through that security and those women who've never experienced the sheer joy (ha!) of child birth would be excluded. Or maybe it can be a combination of questions about the female reproductive cycle, Desperate Housewives, shoes and Twilight. Although I might fail the Twilight questions myself.

We'd also want to let the gay men in because, seriously, who better to give you fashion advice than a guy who can look past your boobs and actually observe what you are wearing. But how to do that? Some detailed questions about Judy Garland and show tunes?

There's one other flaw in my plan. I did says HONEST advice, didn't I? How do I weed out the caddy chicks who would say "OMG! You looks so totally amazing!" when, in fact, you look like a fat, stupid, cross-eyed tranny. You'd think that they'd be honest, because they are strangers. It's not like they'd be going to the same place as you are and they want you to look fat and stupid so that they look better by comparison. However, I think there are still some women, no matter what, who will want you to go out with your dress tucked into the back of your pantyhose. So, how to weed out caddy bitches? Maybe have them rate a series of "seed" pictures and see if they say all the train-wrecks look "beautiful" and if all the super-models are "okay, if you like that sort of thing."

Alright, my idea needs work. I'm just saying, it'd be nice to have. When I need fashion advice, my only nearby options are my kids who always think mommy looks beautiful, which, though very sweet, isn't helpful. They tell me they "like my hat" when I come out of the shower with a towel wrapped around my head. My other option is my husband, and I already told you how that story goes.

See you in 2010, everyone!!!!

Crystal The Christmas Imp

2009-12-21T06:04:00.000-08:00

This is not my typical blog post. It's an illustrated children's story. In 1989, my dad had the idea for a new addition to the Kringle Family and the overall Christmas legend. I, at the tender age of 15, wrote the following poem. At the time I painted it on the window of a store I worked at in the mall and it was published in a local paper. In 2002, my dad's friend illustrated it. We always hope to get it published but it never happened. So here I share it with you. Please share it with your family this Christmas.

________________________________________________

Foreword:
The Legend of Santa Claus
By Anthony J. Solicito

In 1822, Dr. Clement Clark Moore, a classical scholar, composed "The Night Before Christmas" to read to his children on Christmas Eve. Unbeknownst to him, a friend sent it to a newspaper and it was published. Other papers and magazines reprinted it, and soon, Moore's every word became an integral piece of the legend of Santa Claus.

Over a century later. in 1939, the poem "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" appeared in a Montgomery Ward Christmas booklet as a marketing ploy to have customers save it and remember the department store's name each holiday season. The skyrocketing success of "Rudolph" marked the only new addition to the folklore of Santa Claus in this century.

The following poem brings a much needed helper to our aging St. Nick, so that he may better serve our ever expanding population. Who better to assist him than a long overdue child ... a daughter. Yes, the world is about ready to have a female sharing some of the credit for those wonderful presents!

_____________________________________________

Crystal, The Christmas Imp

by Jean Tagliamonte
Illustrations by Gunn Orachantara

One Christmas Eve, some winters ago. Something happened that not many know.

When the air was especially crisp, and the stars were especially bright. The sky was especially black and the snow was especially white,

A very special child was born to a very special pair. Sparkling blue were her eyes and golden was her hair.

The baby was quite a beauty to see and Crystal was her name. Through her birth, it came to be, Christmas would never be the same!

Crystal was an imp, you see, which is a very special gift. She's very small with silver wings that make her very swift.

With a shake or her tiny fingers, there's magic all around. Once where nothing was before, presents can be found!

It was on that day, of birthday twelve, that it came to be, Santa took young Crystal Claus, and placed her On his knee,

Crystal, my dear, the time has come that you should understand. The very special power that's been placed upon your hands.

"The gift that you were born with, is wonderful, you see, Because now you are old enough to begin a journey with me."

"Crystal, my daughter," Santa said "This is a growing world. And I cannot possibly reach every boy and girl!"

Then Mrs. Claus began to add, "Together you'll spread joy, all over our beautiful planet, to every girl and boy!"

"I'll be glad to help you, Daddy" She said In a voice so small, "I'll do my best, around the world to spread joy to one and all!"

Now on Christmas, children. if you fail to hear a sound, don't think that nobody's there, Crystal just may be around.

And you may not hear the sound of sleigh bells clanging. Just the little chiming of jingle bells dangling,

Or instead of reindeer hoofs, you hear tile fluttering of wings and at night, you are dreaming of sweet and special things.

It just may be a sweet little imp. who's quiet as a mouse, spreading joy and leaving gifts, all throughout your house.

And if you wonder why your parents. are especially filled with joy. That's Crystal's very special gift to ever girl and boy!

Whether Crystal or Santa was there, you may never know, but in the morning you may find tiny footprints in the snow.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
JT

Is A Few Hours Of Fun Worth A Full Day Of Tantrums?

2009-12-12T05:57:00.000-08:00

I wasn't sure if this was blog-worthy (and every time I say the word blog-worthy, I think of the episode of Seinfeld when Elaine is trying to decide if her boyfriend is sponge-worthy. Genius!)

Anyway, I wasn't sure if this was blog-worthy but what are my other options? A Facebook "Note"? Nah. That's sooooo early-09. A long status. Lame. Squeeze it into 140 characters? Impossible. Keep it to myself. Also, impossible. Blog it is!!! So if it's not the most awe-inspiring, hilarious or life-affirming post ever, I apologize.

I went out to a Holiday Lights festival with the kids last night. We had a great time even though it was booger-freezing cold out. By the time we were done exploring and they were loaded in the vehicle, it was an hour past their bed time and I still had to get them home, free of the 86 layers of clothing they were wearing, pottied, pajamied and tucked in bed. By myself, mind you, as my husband got to escape the freezing activity of the evening and go to his work holiday party.

The munchkins dozed in the car but of course I had to wake them to strip them down. I longed, briefly, for the days of sleeping babies I could undress, change diapers and dress again without waking but then I remembered that they'd be up once every three hours and I stopped longing.

Lights out was 9:53, nearly two hours past their regularly scheduled bed time.

Fortunately, my daughter adjusted and slept much later than she usually does. My son however, has an inconsistent wake up time to begin with. He wakes anywhere from 6:15 - 7:30. Today it was 7:20. On the later side but still, clearly not enough sleep for him as he has been awake an hour an a half and has lost his mind no less than five times.

It must be me. It must be that I'm such a horrible, evil mother to make him scream and cry like he's being murdered! Thank the Lord we don't live in an apartment building.

Let's see. What was the first AWFUL thing I did today? Oh yes! I decide to make them chocolate chip pancakes in Holiday shapes using cookie cutters as pancake molds. The horror!!!! He melted-down because his tired brain couldn't comprehend that we were using them in a hot pan and not like we would to cut cookies and he wanted to do it himself. When he finally settled down I made one round pancake and let him cut it with a cookie cutter.

What torture did I have in store for him next? Muwahahahahahah! Just to rub salt in the wound I gave them extra chocolate chips to decorate their pancakes with! I'm simply diabolical!!! He fell apart because one of the chocolate chip "eyes" was slightly melted and smudgy and he wanted me to throw the pancake away and give him a new one.

It goes on like this. In my maniacal plan to destroy him, I gave him a malformed white chocolate chip that he thought was melted, made the chips fall off his pancake when he picked it up and made the bottom of his pancake all LUMPY. Call CPS! I must be stopped!!!

I'm sure it will go on like this all day, or at least until blessed nap time which is a looooong 3 1/2 hour away.

I still haven't figured out if it's worth it. It's hard to run a tight enough ship that everyone is tucked in by 8PM but, when I don't, the next day is usually full or screaming. Sometimes them, sometimes me, sometimes all of us. I know, with absolutely certainty that their sleep directly affects their behavior so I try to hit that magic bed-time number but I can't always make it. Is the ruin, worth the reward? I certainly don't have the answer and I know I'll run into this again soon with Christmas and New Year's Eves upon us. If anyone has the answer, I'd love to hear it!

The Juggling Act

2009-11-26T07:40:00.000-08:00

As a parent, I spend most waking moments attempting anticipate and meet all the needs of my tiny overlords. Typically, I pride myself on being a exceptional toadie; breakfast ready before their highnesses awake, clothes laid out in the morning, each meal served with a generous helping of ketchup. But, as it turns out, I am human. I have quite a lot of balls in the air. Some are rubber, some are glass. It's inevitable that I'm going to drop one and I only hope, that when I do, it's not a breakable one.

I dropped one earlier this week and I didn't even know it until the next morning when my daughter told me that I forgot to pack her a snack for a library visit with Grandma. Mom FAIL. Technically, I just didn't pack a drink because there was still a box of cheese crackers in the bag. When my daughter told me about it, it seemed innocuous enough. She said "Yesterday, you forgot to pack my snack for the library so Grandma took me to A&P and got me a juice box and fruit snacks!" The way she relayed it, it sounded like it was an adventure. Seemed like a rubber ball. Phew.

The rest of the day was fun-filled. We put up some Christmas decorations, I did some baking, we went to the diner for dinner and the kids sampled the treats I made. About 10 minutes after they were snug in their beds, I heard my daughter calling me. I went in her room and she was sitting up looking like she was about to cry. When I asked what was wrong she said, in the most heart-breaking voice imaginable:

"Will you give me anything AT ALL to eat tomorrow?!"

Freeze. Isolate this moment. If anyone saw or heard just this phrase and how it was delivered, they would think that I had her locked in her room all day with some stale bread and water. This is a kid fresh off a huge dinner of diner grilled cheese, fries and juice followed by handmade chocolates from mom's kitchen! Not some orphan from a Dickens story!!!!

She began to cry and it took me about 15 minutes to calm her down. The impetus for her crying fit was the fact that I forgot her snack the day before. I think, in her busy little brain, she started thinking that maybe it wasn't an accident, after all. Maybe I didn't give it to her on purpose and she was heart-broken at the thought that her evil-witch-of-a-mother withheld her snack in some kind of punishment attempt.

So much for a rubber ball. Hopefully this glass one is only cracked. However, I have a feeling that won't be the last I hear about "the forgotten snack heard 'round the world". About a year from now, we'll go to a library and she'll say, "Hey! Remember the time you forgot my snack and I cried and cried and cried."

It just goes to show how fragile their tiny little psyches can be and makes me fearful for the times that I'm NOT on my best mom behavior and say things like "Why would you do something that dumb?!" and "If you don't listen to me right now you're going to be in time-out forever!".

I must say, the crying fit was a brilliant move on her part. I can almost guarantee I won't forget her snack again. EVER! Way to whip mom into shape!

Tiny Overlord "1" --- Toadie Mom "0".

Go Bah Humbug Yourself

2009-11-12T08:53:00.000-08:00

Hi. It's me. I'm the one you hate because I'm done shopping well before Thanksgiving. I'm the one who starts playing Christmas music at the first sign of a nip in the air. My office-mate just loves it too, so there's it's no problem at all. I'm the one who hopes for a white Christmas (but just a dusting of please!)

I'm a big giant KID! I love it. I love the shopping. I love giving gifts. I love baking and making candy. I love decking the halls. I love tradition. I love getting together with friends and family. I love getting dressed up. I love cutting down a tree so GINORMOUS that needs to be anchored to the wall in my home lest it fall over and crush my family in a horribly ironic holiday tragedy.

Here are the 5 thinks people B&M about the most and why they should stow it:

People bitch that it's too hectic and rushed. Shush! Start shopping earlier. Waiting for the last minute is stressful. I do 95% of my shopping before Thanksgiving so I can cruise leisurely through the last 5% and if I find myself with a extra time and money, I can splurge on something special for someone deserving like the person who makes all the magic happen (in other words ME!).

People grumble that it's too expensive. Double-shush! Don't spend so much. Do a grab bag with family members. Make gifts for each other. Bargain shop. Clip coupons. And, again, shop early! You end up spending too much when the only thing left in the store on the day before Christmas Eve is a $90 coffee maker for someone you would've normally spent $20 on. I know the economy bites this year so even if you decide to forgo gifts entirely, you can still enjoy the season with your loved ones.

People complain that they eat too much and put on weight. Zip it! (Oh wait, maybe you can't. HA HA HA!) Two bits of advice. Either "Live A Little" or "Control Yourself". You can choose whichever bit suits your particular eating style and pant size.

People gripe that the true meaning of Christmas is lost. You know what?!? Shush up, you! Christmas is what you make it! If you make it a capitalist orgy of spending and consuming and hate seeing your friends and family, then yup, your holiday is devoid of meaning. Remember that your supposed to be giving gifts that are meaningful and will lift people's spirits. Don't forget that you should be gathering with the ones you love and enjoying these moments because life is short and precious. Keep in mind that there are those less fortunate and don't forget to help in whatever way you can.

People claim they're not religious or Christian. Note these are usually the same folks who accuse Christmas of being devoid of meaning and a capitalist orgy, so you can see why the "I'm not religious" argument doesn't hold water --- so, shush! I'm not talking about those who celebrate something else like Hanukkah or Kwanzaa during the winter season. I'm talking about those who used to be Christian or still are on paper. I feel, if you do all the giving and caring stuff I mentioned before, you are respecting whatever deity or spirituality you subscribe to. If you subscribe to none, hell, being nice to others is just good Karma. Happiness is good for your health.

The moral of my story is, if you are going to be a Grinch, go stash yourself up on Mount Krumpet with your abused dog, Max. If you are going to be a Scrooge, stay home with your Ba Humbugs and ghosts. Or for the McDuck's among us, go swim in your vault full of money. If your going to act like the Burger Meister Meister Burger, go play with your yo-yo by yourself. If you are going to be as mean as Professor Hinkle, just leave Frosty's hat alone and go practice being a less of a suck-ass magician.

Of course, if you truly are any of these things then you probably aren't getting my classic holiday character references.

In other words, don't come to the office Holiday party and spout your anti-Christmas propaganda. Don't go to the mall and groan loudly about the crowds and this hateful season. Don't invite people over and don't go for visits. Keep your stupid frowny face hidden until January and we'll see you then.

Oh... and Happy Holidays!

Cujo + Deliverance = My Halloween

2009-11-02T07:03:00.000-08:00

I used to live in NYC. I used to work in Greenwich. I considered myself quite metropolitan. So why did I find myself cowering in my car on Halloween afternoon like something out of some scary backwoods horror movie?

We live in a beautiful house in a rural area. We have a lot of acres and we like the outdoors. My husband is an very avid, and very responsible hunter. Having grown up in the city, he always longed for a place of his own on a lot of acres he could hunt. We have that but lately we've been invaded by dogs! Dogs scare deer away and chase them until the deer die of exhaustion (which is illegal). Plus, having strange dogs around is just unsafe.

We have not one, but two neighbors who apparently have never heard of NYS Lease Laws. The first is on our road. Dealings with her have been interesting but that's a story for another day.

The second neighbor is over a road. We'd never been there before but we were told that they'd gotten an electric fence for the animals and if we saw the dogs around, that the batteries must have gone dead. We'd seen the dogs every day for a week so we decided to let them know. This was on Halloween. Before we could get over there, one of the dogs came and stole the head of the 7-point buck my husband got last week. This was the biggest trophy he's ever gotten on our property and he was mad. He asked me to do the talking as he didn't think he could be civil.

We turned down what we thought was their driveway. We were driving and driving through the woods on a dirt road thinking "This can't be right". We passed a few... well... shanties, I guess. Basically, what I'd refer to as "good places to hide the bodies." We came across a teenage boy shooting at a bee hive in the tree. Fantastic. We rolled down the window and I asked if the house up ahead was the family that owned the German Shepards. He said yes and we continued into what was quickly turning into my worst nightmare.

We pulled up to the house, if you could call it that, amongst piles of garbage, old cars, furniture, trailers, etc., etc. To quote the late, great Dr. Seuss, it was an "appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of rubbish imaginable mangled up in tangled up knots."

There was a woman and young girl standing outside the shack and three very large dogs, two Shepards and a St. Bernard mix that I like to call, Cujo, barking at the car. I got out of the car and they were barking and growling at me. The woman shouts "I wouldn't get out of your vehicle if I were you. The big one will kill ya." (Sidebar: Last year, before the electric fence, when these little darlings were turning up on our property, we were told they were harmless. Yup. They sound harmless. I think it's the snarling that makes you just want to go scratch their bellies.)

I got back in the car and beckoned her over. I explained that the dogs are the reason for our visit, that we understand they have an electric fence but the dogs had been on our property every day for a week. She asked if it was just the Shepards or Cujo as well. I told her just the Shepards but that we'd seen Cujo quite a few times before they got the fence. She seemed shocked and stressed again that he's a killer. Lovely. She claims the Shepards are harmless but I told her I still wasn't to fond of them being around and that my mother had opened the door to find one of them right there. Fortunately she was very civil and she agreed.

Of course there was still the business of the snatched buck head to deal with. I couldn't believe I was hearing the words come out of my mouth as I uttered them. What has become of my life that I find myself telling a woman, who could so easily dispose of my body, that her dog stole my husband's deer head? As she reacted with shock, the Shepard ran by with the smoking gun, a.k.a. the deer's EAR in it's mouth. And I used to be sooooo classy.

They promised to go look 'round the pond where the dogs like to drag things, or, as I like to refer to it "another good place to hide the bodies" and we got the flying fig out of there with our hides in tact.

It's been two days and no sign of the dogs, but no sign of the disembodied head either. Whatever the outcome, I am NOT going back there. I wish I'd taken pictures but, did I mention that I'm NOT going back there?

I could not have asked for a scarier Halloween experience. A lonely dirt road, a scary young man with a gun, creepy shacks, snarling, angry dogs, a disembodied head and dismembered ear. Kevin McCurdy's Haunted Mansion has got NOTHING on this place. They should charge admission.

Mysteries Abound

2009-10-29T10:29:00.001-07:00

I'm not the most observant person in the world, it's true, but there are certain things that I pick up while walking around this kooky marble we call Earth that really make me stop and scratch my head. I think, back in the day, C&C Music Factory called it "Things That Make You Go Hmmmm."

There are always those little things that I see that I can't quite figure out the series of events leading up to what I am witnessing. Imponderables, if you will.

Earlier today, I visited the ladies room. As I went to enter a stall, I couldn't help but notice, there was a huge mass of toilet paper hanging from the flush handle into the bowl, but suspended above the water level. I don't know how to describe this large wad other than a hastily constructed beehive of toilet tissue or maybe a ill-conceived pinata. Good Lord, I hope there was nothing inside of it! I should clarify. I wasn't USED toilet tissue left behind by the regular occurrences in the loo. It was unused. It was almost as though the person in question was attacked by the roll and when they were able to free themselves from the entanglement of the malicious TP, crumpled it up and recklessly threw it at the potty in their rush to escape, leaving it suspended over the bowl. What? Do you have a better theory? It was one of those rare times I wished I had a camera in the little girl's room with me. Although, using the restroom in my office building is often an adventure so I ought to know better than to enter camera-less.

A week ago I took my daughter to a kiddie party at a bowling alley. She had to use the facilities and being as germ-conscious as you can manage with an uncooperative 4-year-old, I reached for a NeatSeat -- one of those little paper rings to protect your tush from the invisible evils lurking on the toilet seat surface. Luckily I looked before I reached because someone had stuffed their underpants in there! What could have gone so horribly wrong that someone found the need to dispose of their clearly soiled underwear with such urgency that they couldn't throw it in the trash? Not to mention that they looked like they may have been men's briefs and we were in the ladies room. I didn't really get that close of a look.

I'm a naturally curious person. These things give me pause and I wish there were some way to unravel these mysteries, or explain why they keep happening in the bathroom. Any theories?!?

UPDATE!!!!
Another visit to the ladies room resulted in more confusion. As I was walking out, the garbage pail beside the door contained not ONE, not TWO but THREE open and partial consumed bags of snacks in different varieties. As far as I'm concerned, this begs two questions. One: Who is eating chips in the bathroom? Or anything for that matter? Gross. and Two: Considering each was only partially consumed, were none of them satisfactory? Apparently none were tasty enough to satisfy the discerning palette of one who chooses to snack in the bathroom.

This time I got a picture, however poor quality. I learned my lesson.

Define "In Bad Taste"

2009-10-15T03:49:00.000-07:00

Pepsi recently released an iPhone app (application) called Amp Up (Before You Score). It categorizes women into types. The user taps to flip the card and get relevant information to help him (or her, if that's how you roll) close the deal. The tips are anything from appropriate pick-up lines to a chart to judge the wealth of a married woman's husband by the size of her diamond (HA!)to stretching exercises if you are about to try to land twins (Double HA!).

The fact of the matter is... it's funny, well-designed and possibly even helpful. Okay, so I agree that the BRAG button that lets the user instantly tweet or FB their conquest is a bit much but, that is a judgment call. The loser who taps that button would be the same tasteless slob who'd tweet his victory anyway. But, I guess Pepsi doesn't need to make it easier for guys to be insensitive assholes. Maybe they could drop the BRAG button but the rest of the app is gold.

What I'd like to know is who's defining "in bad taste" these days? It seems like anything goes. Apparently 36% of us tweet after sex (and that's only counting those who admit it!). One look at Oversharers.com and you'll see a whole lot worse than a guy tweeting that he just landed a smoking hot foreign exchange student. If you've ever sent or received a Someecards you'd know that just about any topic is fair game. For goodness sakes, there's a site called Poop Tweet and I'm sure you don't have to visit to figure out what that site is populated with.

With today's net-culture, who's looking at the Pepsi App and saying "WELL! I NEVER!" as she drinks from her silver tea cup with her pinkie held high. C'mon. Cut Pepsi some slack.

I think we are all grown-ups here (at least I hope so). If you don't like the app, don't download it. If you don't like the Tweeter, don't follow. If you don't like the blog, don't read it. Except mine. You should TOTALLY keep reading mine. But you like mine, right? And I'm never offensive so I won't worry.

Perspective

2009-10-13T03:23:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post is not funny. Okay, maybe it's a little funny but I'm actually trying to be serious for a change. Nothing to worry about. I'm sure I'll be back to my regularly scheduled shenanigans in no time.

Today I'm talking about keeping things in perspective in regards to conflict. Everyone argues. It's a fact. People are different and will clash. It's something we have to deal with every day, and frankly, life would be pretty uninteresting if everyone agreed with each other all the time. Everyone would be smiling and happy... practically skipping and hugging with the joy of their conflict-free lives and I'm pretty sure I'd have to be punching them in their stupid faces on a regular basis.

Life is conflict. The key to harmony is keeping those conflicts in perspective. I've seen so people fight with their friends and loved ones over little things and turn those little things into something all consuming. They turn the disagreement into something much bigger than it needs to be: a huge, ugly, angry monster that seethes and grows until it consumes the people involved. Ick. Who needs it?

A conflict doesn't necessarily require a resolution. It just requires the strength and presence of mind to move past it.

It only takes a few minutes of thought and a little effort to take a step back and see the conflict for what it is and not make it into something it's not. If a woman fights with her husband over who's turn it is to empty the dishwasher, she shouldn't make a disagreement about a household chore into a show of disrespect or a power play. "He knows full-well it's his turn, he just wants to see if he can control me and I'm not going to let that happen." Chill. Maybe he's just an idiot. Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe he did empty it last time and she didn't realize it because she was at the grocery store. In any case, she married the guy for a reason, right? It might be hard for her to see that reason clearly when she thinks he's being an ass but it's still there. She just needs to adjust her perspective.

I know that I have a lot of friends reading this right now and thinking it's all about them. It is, and it's not. It's not ALL about anyone. It's about everyone. It's just some advice. I think it's good advice. You may think it sucks and that's fine. I still love you. (look at that, a conflict... and now it's done.)

I'm not a Pollyanna (okay, maybe a little). I don't think people can just put all of their differences aside. Sometimes it's hard work. Sometimes it's a family member or a co-worker. Sometimes it's a friend that you work with and you get along famously outside of work but butt heads constantly in the office. In these cases, you have to work harder to compartmentalize the disagreements. "Sure, we fought for a day and a half over how to handle that account but that doesn't mean we're not still going to watch the game this weekend."

I used to work closely with one of my best friends. To be clear, we didn't make friends on the job, we were friends BEFORE working together. Actually, I was his supervisor. At work, we used to fight. Not bicker, not banter but FIGHT. That didn't make me love him any less. I didn't twist it into some crazy notion that he had some other agenda or vice versa. We'd fight at work and let it go. We've been friends for 20 years.

My point is, these conflicts, in the grand scheme of things are so minor and insignificant. They are what they are an nothing more. Differences of opinion. Conflict of views. They are nothing more and to let them consume you is, well, just dumb.

Life is so much better when you count your blessings instead of counting your misfortunes.

(There. I'm done. We now return to our regularly scheduled silly posts about parenting, fashion and other nonsense.)

Faux Celebs on Twitter

2009-10-03T05:25:00.000-07:00

I'm not, by any stretch of the imagination, a celebophile. I don't watch E! I don't check the news on TMZ. I don't follow Brittany Spears on Twitter. I have followed a few celebs on Twitter but I remove them if they are boring or obnoxious or repetitive (read: Kevin Smith, who tweets solely about Hockey and banging his wife). I don't keep following the rich and famous for the simple fact that they are a celebrities and, therefore, worthy of my attention. Blah.

Of course, anyone who knows me knows that when I do catch the obsession-bug, celeb or otherwise, it is with stalker-like severity. It's scary, really and sometimes useful (ask my husband how we met). But that's not what this post is about.

I do follow a few celebs on Twitter. Usually attractive male celebrities, go figure, like James Roday, Hugh Jackman and Michael Johns. Sometimes I'll pick up some celebs because they are just funny or interesting, like Mike Rowe, Adam Savage or Stephen Colbert.

But what I don't get is what some one gets out of impersonating a celebrity Tweeter. Where is the thrill in pretending be a famous person in 140 characters or less? Is it just so fanboys or fangirls will @reply telling them how cute/talented/sexy/funny they are? How can that be validating? Sure, everyone loves a compliment but they aren't actually complimenting the twit-faker, just the persona they've assumed. Or maybe they're hoping someone with Twitpic them something risque. If that's the goal, they should realize that could go horribly wrong (read: fat, hairy, wrong gender).

I also don't understand how some celebs get many more impersonators than others. It seems very random. There are quite a few fake Wentworth Millers on Twitter. He's not a super star. Most people are sadly unfamiliar with the sexy brooding star of Prison Break (now off the air) yet there are dozens of people pretending to be him in micro-blog form.

What is even more astonishing is the number of followers these impostors have and that they continue to send them messages of adoration when it's so obvious that they are faking it. It's sad, really, that some people so badly need to make a connection that they'll ignore the warning signs. It is the same formula that makes people stay in relationships with cheater, abusers, addicts, etc.

I guess we all have our voids to fill.

For me, I prefer to pretend that I actually AM an Internet celebrity, rather than impersonate one. I like to imagine that I have tons of adoring fans anxiously awaiting my next blog or tweet or status update. I like it here in my fabricated "JT World". It's pretty. There are rainbows and bunnies and chocolate ice cream for everyone! I don't want to go back to reality. You can't make me.

Entertaining 101

2009-09-22T18:31:00.001-07:00

My husband and I love to entertain. We both like to cook. He's better and faster than I am. He's also a back-seat chef so he does most of the cooking, otherwise I'm liable to hit him with a frying pan. I like to bake and I'm damn good at it. They call me "Cupcake". Okay, they don't actually call me that but I wish someone would.

We very much enjoy having people in our home, plying them with delicious food and libations. We've been told we do it with flair. We have all the appropriate accouterments: bread bowls, olive dishes, appetizer plates, etc. I've even got fancy martini glasses with squiggly stems which are quite the challenge to hold after consuming 1 or 4.

My point is that, apparently, this doesn't come naturally to everyone. As a matter of fact, there are people out there who can't put together the simplest BBQ or Picnic lunch without horrifying their guests. I won't say how I know this. I just do.

Here's a quick list of what to do and what not to do when you invite people over. I know this sounds like common sense, but believe me, it is NOT.

1.) No surprise guests unless it's a big party. For an intimate gathering, people should know who, or what to expect when they get there. It's not nice to show up and find out your the only college friend among colleagues.

2.) If people don't know each other, make introductions, especially before leaving them alone together while you go tend to preparations. No joke. People skip this obvious and essential step all the time.

3.) Beverage should be cold (or warm if your serving coffee or something like it) and ready. They should not still in a box on the kitchen counter that you let people forage around for. It's a dinner party, not a treasure hunt.

4.) Don't ignore your guests. If you need to tend to things in the kitchen, invite them along or if you're a couple, divide and conquer.

5.) Have appropriate seating available. Believe it or not I've heard of rock-hard backless benches for 4-hour dinner parties, plastic lawn chairs in the living room and even adults being seated at child-sized tables.

6.) Have food to serve shortly after arrival. Appetizer, veggies, chips...anything. It's simply rude to keep your guests hungry. They came, expecting food and probably didn't eat McDonald's in the car on the way over.

7.) Have enough food. If you never have a single piece of food left over, you are doing something wrong. People shouldn't have to awkwardly drooling over the last cheese-laden Ritz.

8.) If you have children, mind them. Nobody is expecting little angels but they shouldn't be sticking the carrot sticks up their noses and then putting them back either.

9.) Clean your freakin' house first. 'Nuff said.

10.) Okay, maybe not enough. If you are cooking in front of people, whether on a grill or in your kitchen you should be cooking on equipment as if the health inspector is about the walk in. This is not a "Greasy Spoon".

11.) Know your strengths. For goodness sakes, if you can barley boil water, order in. If you're a basic cook, stick to the basics. Don't attempt Beef Stroganoff if your specialty is opening a can of Beefaroni.

12.) Don't kill your guests. You don't win friends with food poisoning.

13.) Hide your penny pinching. If you're going to buy all generic brand stuff, disguise it by taking it out of the packaging. Decant your stop and shop ketchup into a bowl with a serving spoon. Plate your A&P cookies on a pretty plate. Your guests don't need to know that they are only worth a $2.99 apple pie.

14.) Have everything your guests will need. Utensils, napkins, plates, soap in the bathroom, toilet paper. Make sure there's some extra toilet paper visible too so they don't have to go rummaging around under your sink.

15.) Don't be rude. Don't abandon your guests for the football game or go off and play with your dog for hours at a time.

Basically, if you don't like people, don't invite them over. If you've invited them over, then, theoretically, you'd want like them to come back again. You don't have to be Martha Stewart, in fact, I'd rather you not, but nobody wants to have dinner with The Clamppett Family either.

However, if your goal is to get these so-called friends to hate you and never, ever want you to invite them over again, then, by all means, do the exact opposite of what I've said here. Either way... you're welcome.

Will Work For Pants

2009-09-12T14:38:00.000-07:00

Though we didn't get much of a summer this year, that undeniable nip in the air forced me to admit that fall is, in fact, upon us and my capris, sandals and tanks need to get packed away in favor of long pants and knits. I undertook the bittersweet task today. I say bittersweet because I love fall fashion but I hasten to say goodbye to sun and sundresses.

As I was was making the switch, I turned to my husband and said "I have NO PANTS." He instantly assumed the male anti-shopping stance. "I find it hard to believe you have NO PANTS! You've got a closet full of clothes for God Sakes!" I quickly put an end to his tirade by reminding him that I lost nearly thirty pounds between February and May of 2009 and all of my pants are about 2 sizes too big. His half-joking response, "Well, you'd better EAT UP." Nice.

I didn't kill him (yet) because I understand where he's coming from. We don't have much disposable cash these days as I'm sure is the case for most people in our particular type of boat (mortgage, kids, economic strife causing no raises or bonuses in sight). That said, I can't walk around pants-less. I did happen to uncover a stash of jeans from the ear 2000 BK (that's "Before Kids") that fit me nicely but if I were to wear jeans every day, I'd have to consider a new career, possibly as a construction foreman.

I suppose I can afford a few belts just to keep my pants from falling down but the "baggy-ass" look doesn't really work for me.

I have lots of skirts that fit but, gosh, I hate wearing skirts in the winter. I'll have to invest in some heavy tights as well. Water-proof, fur-lined ones, preferably, if last winter was any indication.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. Okay, so, I AM complaining but I'm aware that I could have worse problems than my clothes being too big. "Oh, woe is me! I'm too thin for all my pants! Boo hoo!" Yeah. I could see how a lot of women might be rolling their eyes right now. But, hey, it's not like I'm a size 2 either. I'm far from skinny so I'll won't feel too guilty about my rant.

In any case, I need pants.

I'm planning on standing in the mall with a sign hastily scribbled on cardboard with a black sharpie marker that reads "WILL WORK FOR PANTS" I'm not picky. I'll hand out fliers. I'll spray people with perfume. I'll be that annoying person who asks people in the mall if they'd like to take a survey. Of course, I'll need a babysitter so my kids don't scare away potential customers. Babysitters are expensive. Damn, there goes my pants earnings. I need a new plan.

Harper's Bazaar Thinks We're All Idiots

2009-09-01T15:49:00.000-07:00

I don't read a lot of girlie magazines. Ummmm... by that... I mean magazines FOR GIRLS, or women rather, not CONTAINING PICTURES of scantily clad women...although these magazines do, also, contain pictures of scantily clad women. Sheesh.

I'm referring to magazines marketed at the female population and containing articles with tempting titles such as "How to wear this season's hottest colors" and "Are you pleasing your man?"... because that's undoubtedly what we live to do.

Honestly, with these new-fangled Interwebs, I don't read many magazines at all, but when I used to thumb through such publications I was more a reader of Food and Wine, Bon Appetit and Maxim, believe it or not. Maxim is just plain FUNNY and it's interesting to see a male perspective, even if it is on how to make your own rocket car.

This past weekend, however, I found myself at Barnes & Noble with some time to kill. I picked up my usual reads. Everyday with Rachel Ray, Hairstyles (I'm always ready to do something different with my mop) and Better Homes & Garden's Halloween Issue. Seriously, how could I go on not knowing how to make a pumpkin man out of matchsticks and masking tape?!?

I thought I had all the reading material I could handle, considering I was with my family and would have one eyeball on each kid and no eyeballs left for the mags. I was about to walk away from the rack when one of those tempting titles caught my eye. The June/July issue of Harper's Bazaar beckoned me with the big, bold caption "Sexy at Every Age: How To Be A Style Icon From Your Twenties To Your Seventies"

Well THIS I've got to see.
I skipped right to the good stuff, thumbing quickly past the twenties to check out the thirties. I thought the model looked mighty good for being in her thirties but figured maybe she's only 30 or 31 and has a young face. I moved on. I'm in my thirties but I'm half-way to forty and I like to plan ahead.

This model looked just as young, if not younger than the last one. C'mon now! Do you really think we're THAT gullible?!?! There's NO WAY that chick is in her forties.

Moving on. They couldn't possibly use a young model for a woman in her fifties. You can only push the envelope so far, right? I turn the page to see another youngin'. They are not even TRYING!

I was relieved to flip to the sixties section to see a woman clearly in her sixties (and looking FABULOUS, by the way) and the same for the seventies.

The moral of this story must be that the editors of this magazine think that women under the age of 60 are very easily duped. Apparently, once we turn 60 we become shrewd enough to identify another woman our own age but before that we think we are all sprightly wrinkle-free twenty-somethings.

There's a reason I don't read these kinds of magazines. I'll stick to my trashy vampire novels and the occasional issue of Maxim. Maxim's July issue featured: America's Best Beaches, The Rise of Recession Sex and Hot Grill-on-Grill Action. Now THAT is smart writing.

Facebook is Profiling Me!

2009-08-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

I'm about to redefine the term "Facebook Profile".

Not those pages we so painstakingly compile that brings together the best of our photos, the movies we love, our interests and talents. I'm talking about "profile" as a verb, as in the targeted advertising the Facebook decides will interest each user.

Many of you probably ignore it completely. After all, that's not why you are there. You want to know about the latest iPhone app your techie friend recommends or to see see pictures of your adolescent niece's weekend drinking binge. But, believe me... the ads are there... lurking, judging, pretending they "know you".

What does Facebook think of me?

Well, currently, they think I might be interested in a Hot Pink Macbook Air from Chooseyourcolor.com. It could be mine, FREE, if I agree to let them use my personal information in any way they choose. In this case, I declare Facebook to be half right. I'd absolutely LOVE a Hot Pink Macbook Air, however, they were wrong in thinking that I'm a complete moron.

They also think I might want some coupon deals from a guy named, Brad. Maybe.

I frequently get ads for "Moms Go Back to School!" They obviously don't check the profile closely enough to see that I have my degree. Or maybe they think I want to get my Masters Degree. Even if I did, I don't think an ad featuring a sexy, windblown avatar with glasses is going to do the trick.

I particularly love when they surface ads for "The Flat Belly" diet and "Anti-Aging Cream". Brilliant. Women in their 30's just love being called fat and old. It's our favorite. You'd think with advanced technology they could analyze your photos and do a better job of targeted advertising. The ad should say, "Even though you're 34, you don't look a day over 24. Keep it that way by using this cream." Simple. Butter me up. I'd click that ad in a hot second!

Why do they think all moms want to sell AVON?

I love the one that reads: "ATTENTION MOMMY BLOGGERS." Okay, I'm a mommy blogger, I'm listening. "ARE YOU BUYING OR SELLING A HOME?..." Ah, I see! The old bait and switch! Get my attention then give me a real estate pitch. Who thought that would work?

There's one about "Coping With Diabetes". Come on! I know I like my chocolate but let's not jump to conclusions here!

Occasionally, the ads are spot on. They surface ads of pretty shoes. Wine and chocolate. Shiny jewelry. Unique clothing stores. I've clicked a few times.

But most of the time, I just I feel insulted. I feel like they've got me labeled in a database as "Overweight, Undereducated, Aging Mother who's interests include Blogging, Belly Dancing and Parenting."

There may be some truth in there but it's not something I plan on slapping on a T-Shirt any time soon.

Bite me, Facebook.

Clean Your Room!

2009-07-31T17:41:00.000-07:00

Awwww, Mom! Do I HAVE TO?!?!?

Yes, you do, and don't come out until it's spotless!

Believe it or not, this was grown-up me arguing with my inner whiny teen, earlier today.

I am a good mother, wife, and housekeeper (shudder) for lack of a better word. I'm no neat freak but I have a beautiful home and I like it to stay that way. It's tough, though. My mother watches my tots, both under the age of 5, every day and they are in the house, most days, all day. In my pretty house. Eating crumbly corn chips. Using sticky stickers. Brushing linty, furry stuffed animals. The mess doesn't end. There's no shortage of things that need to be vacuumed or straightened or put away. Somehow, we manage. Most days I'd be horrified if I had an unexpected guest but in reality, we are hardly ever more than an hour away from a presentable home.

Except for our bedroom.

To say it's messy would be the understatement of the century. Forget dust bunnies, I have dust PONIES in there!

How does this happen?

Believe me, I have read all of the articles about how your bedroom should be a beautiful and serene haven of relaxation. Better yet, it should be an exotic retreat for you and your spouse to connect on a romantic level.... hang on.... can't... stop... laughing.

Okay, I'm done. I've heard it all but the fact of the matter is, nobody visit the bedroom. At least, not in my case. It's the place to hide everything so the rest of the house doesn't look like a dump. Under my bed is the graveyard of unused video game consoles. On my dresser are the shoes my son wore for his Christening. He's now almost 3-years-old. It's the room with the huge pile of pants that (thankfully) are much too big on me now but I haven't quite figured out what do do with. Hell, it's the room that we never got around to adding window trim and closet doors to when we built our house 6 years ago!!! 90% of the things that happen in there happen in the dark anyway. Who cares if my sweaters are hanging there exposed?!?! It's dark... I can't see them!

Why the sudden urge to kick my own ass into cleaning it? There could only be one reason. I'm having overnight guests and one of them will be using my bedroom. PANIC!

This was a MONUMENTAL undertaking. I actually took a half-day off work to do it! There were about six-billion receipts from Christmases past, costume jewelry all tangled up into something resembling modern art, enough orphaned socks to assemble a formidable sock puppet army and an oscilloscope. Yes, I'm married to an engineer and no, I don't know what he was planning to measure with it in there.

I washed my sheets and my comforter. I emptied the waste basket. I straightened my many, many shoes. I stowed away those over-sized pants. I waded through the muck and dust and the occasional spider (EEEK!) and, eventually, found my bedroom.

It seemed impossible that I had finished the job. I didn't come out, as per my own orders, until it was spotless. And I'm so glad! It looks lovely. I should invite more people to come stay in my bedroom...umm...that could mean something other than I intended.

I am happy to report that the end result is just like that haven of serenity and relaxation I've always read about... only without closet doors!

Google Voice Telephone Game: The Results Blog

2009-07-26T09:15:00.000-07:00

Last week, I blogged about the hysterically inadequate transcription service employed by Google Voice. I gave an example of a transcribed message that would lead you to believe the caller was having a stroke when they left it. Finally, I invited you to call me with some... uh... creative voice messages. You responded in kind.

Below are some of the funnier transcriptions I received since the Telephone Game was underway. I thought it would actually be more interesting and amusing if you don't get to hear what the caller actually said.

Not sure what this is about but sounds like this message was intended for a coach named Dean, not me.

A Shakespeare buff (I think.) Either way, I plan to re-evalutate my relationship with this person who, according to the transcription, thinks my name is James. Original "To Be Or Not To Be" text.

This caller's purposely cryptic message gets even more cryptic with images of dogs parking and flying.

Personally, I've never seen a sleaze triangle. I know you're probably curious so "scared process it was a box" was actually "scarecrow said in the Wizard of Oz" and "maxwell physics" was "math, not physics".

Sounds like a drunk dial from Captain Jack Sparrow who's currently working third shift as an office assistant in an building with a bad leak.

I think JK Rowling would love to know that Google voice translates VOLDEMORT to "hold of more", AVADA KADAVRA to "a part of the barbara" and DUMBLEDORE to "on the floor".

What do these results tell us? Does it mean that Google Voice SUCKS and is a waste of time? No. Of course not. It's FREE and, besides, I "less than three" my Google Voice account. It just means text-to-voice isn't perfect. It means that you should go the extra mile and listen to the voice file. You might be thinking that you could get the gist from the transcription, but here's why you shouldn't go by interpretation alone.

"Don't forget, I'll see you at the game." could be misconstrued to read "Just for that, I think you're lame."

"This is your mother's seamstress, I'm calling to find out when to meet with you." might be transcribed to "This is Roger's mistress. I'm calling to find out what he sees in you."

"I might be late, I'll have to text you from the car." could be erroneously translated to "I might be late, I'm having sex in the bar."

Listen to the voice mail before jumping to conclusions. Don't be that guy (or gal) that we read about in our twitter feed "Mistranslated Google Voice message leads to public humiliation."

Sidebar: I had both of my kids try to leave a message but Google Voice didn't seem to hear them at all... if only...

The Telephone Game Goes High-Tech: An Evaluation of the Google Voice Transcription Tool

2009-07-22T18:43:00.000-07:00

Technophiles world-wide are chomping at the bit to get their very own invitation to Google Voice. I was thrilled to get my email invite on Friday and I must admit it's pretty slick.

If you don't know about Google Voice, Google gives you a FREE phone number that will ring your other phones, send you texts, deliver voice mails to your email inbox, transcribe your messages and much more. I haven't even played with all the awesomeness yet.

First, I had the challenge of acquiring my phone number. The interface gives you the opportunity to request combinations of letters and numbers. Therefore, I was left typing in as many combos of the ideal awesome phone number I could imagine. (845) JTROCKS, (845) 2CALLJT, (845) JEANTAG. I think I did this for 20 minutes. Eventually I was successful with (845) 475-84JT. Not bad. I got the "4JT" in there. I later looked over the buttons on the telephone and came up with the mnemonic (845) ISJT4JT but I'm not sure what that means or if it'll help anyone remember anything.

I found some of the advanced set-up features employed some backward logic, like setting up a schedule of when NOT to ring a certain number, instead of when TO ring the number. After burning a few brain cells, I figured out the best schedule for me. I made a few test calls and let it go to voice mail so I could check out the transcription feature. First time, it got my message 100% straight. Second time, it said "transcription failed". I don't remember exactly what I said but apparently it confounded the system.

Then, today, someone called my Google Voice number. I missed the call and it went to voice mail. I was in a meeting when I got the transcription and it was all I could do not to wet my pants.

I listened to the accompanying voice file and it wasn't even close to this! Transcription fail. This is a person who typically speaks loudly and clearly. Maybe it was a bad connection. Who knows?

This whole thing got me thinking of the telephone game. You remember the game when you'd whisper in the first kids ear "I brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch" and by the time it get so the last kid it was somehow "I thought I'd beam up a hand wrench for a bunch."

This gave me an idea! (Can't you almost see the little light bulb above my head) Let's play a High-Tech game of Telephone. I'll put my Google Voice number on "Do Not Disturb" from now until Sunday 7/26 at midnight. That way all calls will go straight to voice mail. I invite all of you to think of a really creative / complex message to leave me. Don't make it too long because there may be a character limit. Once all the calls are in, I'll screen capture the text messages (or at least the funny ones) and post them here. I'll blur the names and numbers to protect the innocent. I'd imagine, that, much like the original telephone game, the more complex words will get horribly and hilariously mangled.

Ready...GO!
845-475-84JT

Chicks Are Just Nuts

2009-07-17T04:26:00.000-07:00

I should preface this by saying that I don't KNOW anything. I am not an psychologist or an endocrinologist, nor do I play one on TV. This is just what I've observed in my 30-plus (plus, plus, plus) years of being a girl and being surrounded by girls.

Girls are nuts. And not just for a few select days of the month before or during a visit from her unwelcome Aunt / friend / guest (or whatever euphemistic personification you choose to employ to reference her period.) We are crazy just about all the time. Sometimes it is blatant, out-there bitchy crazy. Sometimes it's quirky, cute, endearing crazy but, color it what you like, it's extreme dysfunction at its finest.

I am lucky enough to have some of the best girlfriends a gal could ask for. Each is beautiful, funny, charming and charismatic in her own way. And every last one of them has some kookiness, neuroses or what have you, that makes them unique and special.

First there's my BFF. I adore her right down to her toes. She totally gets me. I should say we get each other. I know how important it is to her to get a birthday card on or before her birthday. Not an e-card. A PAPER birthday card with a stamp on it and everything. It defines her as a person and is probably the cornerstone of our friendship. And not just any card. It has to be either extremely clever and witty, earth-shatteringly sentimental, beautifully hand-crafted or all of the above. (The maker of THAT card would be RICH beyond his or her wildest dreams!)
She'd be over the moon with this one here. I think that flower is crocheted!

I worry and fret over buying and mailing this card for weeks. I've lost SERIOUS amounts of sleep. But I don't fault her for it. Quite the contrary. I love her for it. It's who she is.

Another of my dear friends is terrified of monkeys. I am talking ALL KINDS of monkeys. Cute little furry ones, hat-wearing cigar-smoking ones and chest-beating king-kong type ones (yes, I know those are apes but she lumps them all together into one big scary poo-flinging, bug-eating family). She doesn't even like inanimate monkeys. She hates Curious George. Why do you ask? Did she have some sort of extreme monkey-related trauma?

(I just noticed that I seem to be going for the all-time hyphenated-word world-record. I think I'm going to start awarding myself points -- I've got 13 so far.)

Nope. No monkey-related (14 pts) incidents. She doesn't trust them; thinks they are just plain shifty and doesn't like that they "think they're people". A few months ago when that woman was mauled by her pet monkey, my friend said, passionately, "You see! I told you so! Nobody listens to me. That's what people get for hanging around with monkeys!" But it is such a part of who she is. Anyone who knows her should know that a gift of a playful monkey office plaque that reads "Welcome To The Jungle" would NOT be well-received (15 pts) and might even warrant an end to said friendship.

As a matter of fact I'm pretty sure I just heard her scream. Sidebar: I have another friend who's always been that way about squirrels. They just give her the heebie-jeebies (16 pts).

This is how crazy we girls are. As I'm sitting here writing this I'm trying to figure out who to include so they don't feel left out but at the same time figure out what I can say about them that they'd be okay with! I'm getting stressed about it. I need to take a coffee break.

.....

As I said before sometimes, it's 24/7 quirkiness. Sometimes it is hormonal. Personally, I get near homicidal every now and then as the witching hour (or week) approaches. It's not every time, just sometimes. It's very strange because I feel like a sane person trapped in a crazy person's body, watching myself fly ridiculously off the handle because my kids won't eat their dinner (which they never do, but TODAY it's a suddenly the worst thing they've ever done).

I'm also convinced there's some kind of pheromone reaction between men and women as it comes down to the wire. As I grow more irritable, my husband grows exponentially more aggressive and irksome. I think that whatever pheromones I'm emitting cause his testosterone levels to increase and, as a result, push every last one of my buttons. I'd love for someone qualified to study this phenomenon through one-way (17 pts) glass.

While I'm playing scientist, I'd like to add that I don't think all the insanity that befalls us ladies during pregnancy is attributed to pregnancy hormones. Some of it is but I see some of the same things happening to my friend who is an adoptive-mom (18 pts) waiting to bring her daughter home. Maybe it's some type of "mommy hormone" that we're born with. When I was pregnant and getting toward the end, my nesting instinct went into hyper-drive (19 pts) and I was just freaking out about the tiniest things. One of my big ones was that the silverware in the drawer needed to be lined up. Because everyone knows the first thing a baby does when it gets home from the hospital is go get a fork and knife from the utensil drawer! My adoptive-mom (20 pts) friend is doing the same sort of thing. Cleaning out garages and closets. "Why do we have that broken shoe rack in here? This baby can't possibly come here and see a broken shoe rack!!! What kind of parents ARE WE?!??!!"

Often there doesn't even need to be a baby on the way for us to get like that. The "mommy hormone" can show itself at any time because it's always there. Back to my BFF. I got her this beautiful photo album for Christmas that she'd been eying. She thanked me and said she really wanted it because it matches some of her other ones and she wants to get rid of the ones that don't match because she doesn't want to "Look like a hobo." Yup. That's the first thing people notice about hobo's. They're woefully unmatched photo albums.

I realize this is getting long and I could go on and on and on about the women in my life and their zany antics. I could write multiple books about my own dysfunctions. Case and point I'm keeping score right in this post of a game that nobody else is playing and has no goal. I'll summarize by saying that we are mega-complicated, (21 pts), self-critical, (22 pts), super-neurotic, (23 pts) unsound creatures but if we weren't we wouldn't be nearly as interesting!

__________________

BTW, 23 points was the goal. I win!

Local Woman Blinded By Cereal Bar Crumbs

2009-07-07T06:23:00.000-07:00

News at 11.

Sometimes I think this sort of thing only happens to me. How is it that I open a cereal bar wrapper, a perfectly average thing to do, and get crumbs in my eye?!? I wasn't testing out some fancy, new-fangled way to open the package. I wasn't showing off. I wasn't trying to open it while kick-boxing. Just sitting at my desk opening a wrapper and got a flurry of crumbs in my eye.

My daughter is clumsy too. Her pediatrician said, "Clumsiness is genetic. Is anyone else clumsy in the family?" I sheepishly raised my hand. Sorry, baby girl. You won't be the star of the basketball team. My bad.

I can assure you that the crumbs in the eye thing is not an isolated incident. Scarcely a day goes by that I don't drop something, stumble, get hit with a flying object, slam my finger in a door or otherwise make an idiot of myself.

Hours after my mid-afternoon yogurt, I realized I had a huge drippy blob of yogurt on the neckline of my blouse. I had talked to someone for over a half-hour, completely unaware! Mind you they didn't tell me either, unless I missed some subtle nods and gestures, which, I'll admit, is entirely possible.

The other day I about cut off the pad of my pinkie in a VSlicer. It is still all bandaged up. I'm reminded of my mishap every time I hit the return key.

Ouch.

If you don't have an experience with a VSlicer, it's one of those things you would've seen Billy Mays (God Rest His Soul) hawk on TV. It's two over-sized razor blades in a V-formation encased in plastic with a handy guard for your safety. Didn't use the guard. Ooops. There should be a law against people like me owning and using devices like that. There isn't.

Last week I burned myself on a microwave Chicken Quesadilla. The cheese was like molten lava. Of course, the warning on the package said, "Don't touch this thing for at least a minute, you moron!" (or something like that). I'm the reason they write these package warnings.

During the holidays, I went out at night to put something on the patio table on my friends back porch. She neglected to tell me the porch was tiered. I slipped and completely wiped out with half my body on the top tier and half on the bottom tier. When she went out there the next day she said that the imprint in the snow was reminiscent of a crime scene chalk outline.

It would seem that I'm mostly a danger to myself, not others. I do have a few friends who've been the victim of flying pieces of celery, bonked in the head with rubber stress balls or soaked to the skin with an ice-cold margaritas. They might disagree but I can say, with certainty, that nobody was hurt in the making of those incidents. The stress ball friend said it hurt but I think he's just a big sissy.

It's only about half the time that my misadventures are a result of my own lack of grace. The rest of the time, it would seem that I am a magnet for tiny disasters.

For example, this weekend at a Fourth of July BBQ, the wind caught hold of some one's plate and it hit me in the head. How can I be blamed for that calamity?

I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business as they power-washed my building's windows. Why am I suddenly wet? The window was open just a tiny crack. Just enough to give me and my iMac a little shower. Fabulous.

Another time at work my boss's son was playing with one of those rubber stress piggies that the eyes bug out of when you squeeze it due to the strange, nameless liquid inside. Who do you think got covered in Made-In-China Mystery SARS Goo? Yours truly.

I'm so used to it. I'm never surprised when these things happened. My reactions are typically:

Why wouldn't that pig toy explode all over my face?
Naturally, I dropped cheese in my purse.
Of course, my phone fell out my purse into a mud puddle.
Yes, I got pineapple pulp in my eye. So what?

What can I do? It's part and parcel of who I am. I've come to expect these mishaps and laugh about them, as have those around me. At the same Fourth of July party, my friend's mom said, "I'm disappointed. I expected you'd fall!".

Apparently, my reputation precedes me.

Tiny Terrorists

2009-06-28T06:12:00.000-07:00

I recently realized that I live in fear of my children. They are like tiny terrorist who rule my house.

It occurred to me this morning as my darling husband was letting me sleep in. Next thing I know, I heard tiny foot steps in the hallway. Cue the suspense movie music. I pulled the covers up over my head and cowered until the footsteps subsided. Phewww! That was a close one.

In hindsight, this sort of thing happens all the time. Like at dinner time when I opened the fridge to discover, to my horror, that we were out of ranch dressing which the tiny terrorist put on just about everything. I cried out "Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" and then turned and said in a trembling voice, "I'm sorry, sweetie, we don't have any more ranch. Please don't send me to the cornfield." (Twilight Zone reference... Google it)

Don't get me wrong. They are good kids. But like everyone else, they have their triggers.

The other day, I went to get them cups of milk. They have sets of cups. Like the same kind of cup only his has trucks and hers has fish, or hers has princesses and his has dinosaurs, etc. My son freaks out when they don't have matching cups. Well, somehow I couldn't find both tops to any matching set. I was tearing the house apart frantically. I grabbed my husband and shook him "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MAN! WHERE'S THE TOP FOR THE BLUE DINOSAUR CUP?!?! WHERE?!?!?!" I live in fear.

If I come home from work and find out my 4-year-old didn't take a nap, cold shivers run down my spine. You see, when my daughter doesn't nap she turns from a sweet little angel into a fragile emotional basket case who is set off by the smallest thing, resulting in a crying tantrum the likes of which I've never seen. While we were on our cruise, we got called from one of the camp counselors because she was crying uncontrollably. We went to pick her up and it took nearly a half hour to calm her down, only to find out the cause of the fuss was that she didn't win at BINGO. The rest of the cruise we regarded the phone they gave us with terror, like a live grenade ready to go off (or ring, in this case) at any moment. I even took a picture of it as it sat ominously beside me on the table at dinner.

I've watched my husband plate pasta for them with flecks of herbs on it as I cringed. The words "I can't find Baby Bunny" (my daughters long-time lovey) are the stuff my nightmares are made of. My life is a constant struggle to maintain the perfect little universe my miniature masters expect, anticipating their every need, to avoid any "unpleasant incidents".

One could say it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, right? I mean, I could just say "Suck it up! So what if your cups don't match." or "Those are herbs. Eat it or go hungry." And, well, admittedly, sometimes I do but I've heard many people (parents and professionals, alike) utter a very wise phrase. "Pick your battles." Words to live by. If I try to keep the teeny tyrants happy, consequently, we'll all be happier. I pick my battles. They may think they are in charge but I am MOM and by God I'll win the war!!!

Sexnology

2009-06-16T16:03:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post may be TMI (too much information) for some, although I can assure you I'm not speaking from personal experience on this particular topic. (insert sigh of relief or groan of disappointment here, depending on the reader)

I'm talking about Sexnology or Sex Tech, if you will.

With the iPhone 3.0 OS promising hardware accessory support, you can imagine what "creative" uses for the iPhone may come out of this new technology.

Then a friend sent me a link to an article about the Blackberry's "Toy With Me" App which uses the built-in vibration feature to turn a simple smart phone into a very special inanimate friend.

I was afraid to do some research on this topic. I looked over my shoulder to be sure I was alone as I typed "sex technology gadgets" into Google. I think I clicked the search button with my eyes half closed. Apparently, this isn't all that new. Not long after the dawn of the MP3 player, someone figured out they could make something fun to jack in (... and no, I'm not about to make the obvious pun) and rock out. Check out the iBuzz.

And that's just using the music to get your groove on. I'm sure the iPhone's first "personal attachment" will be super-customizable. Maybe even operable over 3G by another user? Gives new meaning to the phrase, "Reach out and touch someone."

Oh so many puns, so few paragraphs... I'll just rattle them off to get them out of my system:

Gives new meaning to the word "handheld"
Gives new meaning to the phrase "personal digital assistance"
Gives new meaning to the word "hardware"
Gives new meaning to the term "iPhone jack"
Gives new meaning to the term "Gadget girl"
Gives new meaning to the phrase "there's an app for that"

I'm sorry. I'm not Amish or anything but I think this is just gross. Unitaskers are useful, but I think this may be taking the concept a tad too far. I love my iPod but I don't want or need to "love" my iPod. And, frankly, it can't be good for the device.

"Hey can I use your iPhone?" Ick. Imagine asking to check out someone's Blackberry only to discover they've been running a sex toy app! You would need a bit more than a screen protector to say the least. Blech.

Aha! The invention of the iPhone condom. Sounds like another product to be brought to you by the makers of the iPod Touch Modification Pack. Cha-ching!

Guys Guide To Checking Out Women

2009-06-10T07:17:00.000-07:00

There seems to be some confusion amongst many of all ages regarding how and when it's appropriate to ogle women. I thought I'd take the opportunity to clarify this issue.

An older man must be very careful when checking out a younger woman. If caught ogling a woman (or worse yet, a GIRL) who's considerably younger than him, it is considered very very creepy. It's extremely offensive to the woman he is ogling and I have even seen other men appalled by this behavior. The sole exception to this rule is extremely attractive older men. The formula is that the larger the age difference between the man and the woman he's staring at, the more attractive he needs to be not to get outright slapped. For example, Mel Gibson can leer at the likes of Angelina Jolie, and she may be flattered. However, he would still be considered a dirty old man for looking to long at the likes of Miley Cyrus.

There are similar formula for giving the once-over to a woman your own age. The ratios are as follows:

Handsome Guy : Hot Gal = Not Offended
Handsome Guy : Marginally Attractive Gal = Flattered
Handsome Guy : Unattractive Gal = Ecstatic

Marginally Attractive Guy : Hot Gal = Unpredictable Reaction
Marginally Attractive Guy : Marginally Attractive Gal = Not Offended
Marginally Attractive Guy : Unattractive Gal = Flattered

Unattractive Guy : Hot Gal = Slappable Offense
Unattractive Guy : Marginally Attractive Gal = Slappable Offense, especially if her friends are around
Unattractive Guy : Unattractive Gal = Slappable Offense, because even an unattractive girl wants good looking guys to check her out

Now these principles vary greatly when it is a younger man eyeballing an older woman. An older woman almost always welcomes the gaze of a younger man, regardless of age or level of attractiveness. They say ladies are like a fine wine and only get better with age, but it is difficult for a woman to believe that about herself. Therefore the appraising eyes of a man (or BOY, yikes!) who could just as soon be oohing and ahhing over a fetching young co-ed is very complementary.

This graph should help.

Again, there's a bit of a gap but much less extreme. Example: A super-hot 40-something might still find it off-putting to be glared at by a homely youth but she'd have to be exceptionally striking and he'd have to be either prepubescent or really REALLY ugly.

There's one exception to all these rules for men in a position of any authority, or even seeming authority. It's simply not cool and sometimes illegal.

The moral of this story. The older men get, the more surreptitious they must be when stealing glances at the ladies. And really, as subtle as men think they are, they should be subtler, because ladies notice and it's weird. Young guys should follow the same advice in regards to younger women or women their own age. But when it comes to the maturer selection of the gentler sex, they can have at it! Look all they like while they can...because they are getting older too and before long it'll be creepy.

Once Upon a Shower

2009-06-09T08:31:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away (oh wait, I'm mixing my references)... Let me start over.

I remember how much I used to love showers. Long, hot showers. Nothing but peace, quiet and soap suds. Just me and the gentle spray of water. There was exfoliating. There were salt scrubs. There was awful singing. There was time to lather, rinse and repeat. Sigh. Those were the days.

Those days are long gone and forgotten. Now, in the 6.25 minutes I manage to eek out in the morning, the door is opened and closed approximately 14 times with the most ridiculous requests you can imagine. I even lopped off a mosquito bite in my haste to finish shaving this morning. OUCH!

Suddenly, my 4 year old can no longer distinguish between pants and a shirt as she's attempting to get dressed.

My 2 year old came in to tattle that his sister was "saying something to him".

"My bow is undone."

"I don't like this show."

"Can you help me get a toy out of the closet?" Really?! Now?! Do I look like I'm in any condition to come get something out of the closet?! I'm naked, wet and soapy. What part of this looks like I'm ready to leap to your aid?

What I really don't get is, I am not an indulgent parent. I don't retie bows when I'm in the shower. I don't rush to help her distinguish between her shirt and her pants. And I can say, with absolute certainty, that I've never gotten out of the shower to get a toy from the closet. As a matter of fact, I'm just about as sarcastic with them as I am being right now. It's REALLY wasted on them, though.

What I mean is? Where's the precedence? They've been my kids for 4 and 2 years, respectively. You'd think they'd get some idea of how this work by now.

I don't think they are watching any crazy June-cleaver moms on TV. My mom and my husband indulge them a bit more than I do but still not to that extent. So where is this unwavering trust in me coming from?

Maybe it's built in. Maybe they come complete with unyielding reliance in their genetics.

The scary part is, as I gaze into my mommy crystal ball, I see no end in site. In a few years it's going to be the same interruptions, for different reasons.

"I can't find my math book."

"I need to blow dry my hair."

"Do I have soccer practice after school today?"

"Mom, did you take my pink lip gloss?"

What can I do? Nothing. I can complain about it. I can endlessly repeat myself and tell them to leave me alone when I'm in the shower but it won't stop. For whatever reason, precedence be damned, they need me. At all times. Maybe I just exude a mom-ness that makes them ever faithful that I'll always be there for them. And that's a good thing. Because I will be. Always. Apparently, even when I'm taking a shower.

You Are Only As Old As You Feel

2009-06-03T13:02:00.000-07:00

Age is just a number, they say. You are as young as you feel. This is true. And most of the time, I'm trucking around feeling somewhere around 25... maybe 28 if I didn't get enough sleep.

But what makes a person "FEEL" young? I don't pretend to know how men feel, and I'm not sure I want to, but for us gals, we feel young if we think we look young. Therefore, most mornings, I get up and look in the mirror and feel about my real age. Possibly a few years younger as I have pretty good skin. After a shower and spiffy clothes, I'm feeling about 30. Hair and a few coats of war paint and I'm down a few more years and it's usually sassy shoes that shave off the last few.

I'm out the door, feeling, again, about 10 years younger than I actually am until... WHAM! Someone or something smacks me right back to reality and I feel my age, or worse, older! YIKES!

It happens all the time, and frankly, it blows.

Sometimes it's some young punk at the checkout calling me "Ma'am". Certainly, I'm used to it when I'm with my tots but when I'm on my own, I'd prefer "Miss". Hell, sweetie or baby wouldn't hurt, either!
Sometimes it's a (much) older female co-worker guesstimating your age wrong and way high. That's right, I said "female". You'd think another woman would know better! Ladies Rule #26: ALWAYS shave at least five years off your first guess at another woman's age!!!!
Sometimes it's someone pointing out that the hot young stars in the Twilight movies are jail bait.
Sometimes it's a pop-culture reference from two decades ago that goes sailing right over your office-mate's head.
Sometimes it's not being able to hold your liquor the way you could when you were in your twenties leading to much embarrassment and profuse apologies.
And sometimes it's as simple as someone saying "Gee, I thought your children were much older than that." Which implies, either that I'm mad old, or that I got knocked up when I was a teenager. I think I prefer the later implication.

Either way, how are we supposed to FEEL YOUNG with all this reality floating around?! I enjoy a heavy dose of denial most days.

There are some days... some rare, beautiful days when it goes a different way.

Some young hunk at the check out hits on you. Okay, maybe he was more of a geek but he was in his twenties so I'll take it.
Some co-worker guesstimates your age wrong and way low.
Someone else chiming in with you and neither of your caring that the hot young actors in the Twilight series are jail bait.
Someone makes a pop-culture reference from three decades ago that goes sailing right over your head.
Sometimes you hold your liquor like a champ and someone else has to do the apologizing.
And sometimes it's a simple as someone saying "You can't possibly have two children!"

Yes, those days don't come nearly as often as the other kind, but when they do I cherish them. And on the other days... denial denial denial... and stacked heels.

I Don't Need No Stinkin' iPhone

2009-06-01T12:19:00.000-07:00

(this post is dedicated to Jen)

Do you struggle daily trying to decide whether or not to buy an iPhone? Sure it's packed with fun, features and free (or low-priced) apps. It's so sleek and pretty. Besides, all the cool kids are doing it.

It's a tough choice. You want to make the leap but you're happy with your current network provider. And by "happy", I mean "locked into a 2-year contract", of course. If you break the contract, you only have to pay a small fee of 18-million dollars.

I have had the same struggles. I've spent many sleepless nights obsessing over my friends' and their constant connectivity. This phenomenon, also known as iPhone envy, can be debilitating and cause serious self-esteem issues. I feel like an outsider when everyone is all like, "OMG - this app is the best!" and "LOL! This video is so funny!" (For real, they talk like that).

Worry no longer, you pathetic iPhone-less losers!!! Your prayers have been answered. I give you the iPod Touch Modification Pack. If you have an iPod Touch and a phone, all you need to do is purchase one of my handy modification packs for the low low discount price of $350 and VIOLA! you have a handy 2-in-1 device. Your iPhoney friends will be so very jealous!

Velcro straps come in a variety of fashion colors. (Tyvek wraps and Duct Tape are also available in a variety of colors for an additional fee).

All the functionality of the iPhone without the cost or the hassle of switching carriers!

Disclaimer: iPod Touch and phone not included. Some users may experience inability to connect to networked application when out of range of free WiFi. Modification kit will not allow your iPod Touch to connect to your cell network. Some users may not be able to open/close their phones. You may experience limited use of the touch screen and/or keys on your telephone, especially when attempting to dial number containing 7,8,9 or 0. iPod Touch Modification Kit Co. and its affiliates are not responsible for damages to your phone and/or iPod Touch if it slips out of these flimsy restraints. No substitution, exchanges or refunds.

A Blog By Any Other Name

2009-05-29T07:41:00.000-07:00

What do you name a blog anyway? The word BLOG in and of it's self is strange and off-putting. It sounds like the title of a late seventies horror film. "Just when you thought it was safe to surf (the internet) again... AGGHHHHH! It's THE BLOG!!!!" I envision some primordial ooze seeping from my iMac.

Nobody told me that coming up with a name for my blog would be this difficult. First of all, I thought I had already named my blog. I'm walking around like an idiot thinking I've got a blog called "JT Says" at jtsays.blogspot.com. Meanwhile, it turns out I fat-fingered the name when I requested it and it was JST Says. That's not good at all. What's the "S" stand for anyway? I'd like to think SUPER but STUPID or SPAZ would be much more accurate.

Back to the proverbial drawing board. jtspeaks -- taken. jtthinks -- taken. jtswords --- taken and it looks like JT SWORDS anyway and that's a different type of blog altogether. I went thesaurus.com and looked up synonyms for SAYS:

Synonyms:

make declaration, add, affirm, allege, announce, answer, assert, break silence, claim, come out with, communicate, conjecture, convey, declare, deliver, disclose, divulge, do, estimate, express, flap*, gab*, give voice, guess, imagine, imply, jaw, judge, lip*, maintain, make known, mention, opine, orate, perform, pronounce, put forth, put into words, rap*, read, recite, rehearse, relate, remark, render, repeat, reply, report, respond, reveal, rumor, speak, spiel*, state, suggest, tell, utter, verbalize, voice, yak*

jtspeils had potential but I thought it sounded more like a movie critic or a shoe designer. jtalleges? jtcomesoutwith? So I landed on JT Delivers. I like it. It's got a certain ring. Just hoping nobody orders a large pie with extra cheese and pepperoni. Mmmmmm. It's almost lunch time.