Little Miss Thing

Little Miss Thing

My niece turns seven next week. She’s the cutest damn thing you ever saw. She cut off her hair recently for Locks of Love and now she has this cute bob that makes her look like Ramona Quimby. Adorable!

She has this fantastic thick rich pure brown hair that she definitely did NOT inherited from our side of the family – aside from my dad’s graying chestnut, we all have fine, dirt-blond hair.

But she did get our blue eyes. Sort of.

My mother has brown eyes – and she’s the only one. Dave got plain old blue, nothing remarkable but nice. Jo’s eyes are COOL. They’re sky blue, no trace of green or grey, just light blue without being pale. I got my dad’s eyes exactly. Medium blue with streaks of green.

LMT, though, has these amazing, deep, darkest blue eyes. They’re like the color of the abyss, like an ocean trench. And they're HUGE in her cute little face. She got my mother’s French complexion and tans a rich golden brown every summer (partly because she’s outside 36 hours a day!)

She’s also an aspiring gymnast. She recently received an invitation to join a competitive gymnastics team which will mean 5 hours of training a week and competitions every other week.

It weirds me out a bit but she LOVES it. She spends more time walking on her hands than on her feet. (We still have to remind her that she needs to not do that when she’s wearing a dress…) And when she’s practicing her aerial – she just whips herself through the air with complete abandon… It’s a little scary.

And she’s cut. I mean it. The kid’s got a totally little baby six-pack.

Anyway, here’s an early shout-out to Little Miss Thing, my favorite almost-seven-year-old!!!!

I.O.U.S.A.

I saw a documentary at the Landmark last night with my friend Anita. Normally I’m not the sort of person who will attend a documentary screening in a theater. I’ll watch them at home where I can keep one eye on the TV and the other on a game of solitaire or something equally inane.

I went last night because Anita had free tickets and because I didn’t know which film I was going to see. The Midwest Independent Film Festival www.midwestfilm.com/ screens indy films the first Tuesday of each month and I usually love indy films. I love the existentialism and the surreality and the pretension.

So I was sort of ambushed into watching a documentary film about: National Debt.

This is not a topic of particular interest for me. I mean, I’m concerned about it – who isn’t? – but it’s not something I dwell on as much as reproductive rights or civil liberties or conservation.

But MAN! This film was scary – and surprisingly non-partisan. (And included a number of unexpected bits of humor – I officially love Robert Bixby!!!) Granted, they made a number of unnecessary digs at the Shrub but the best, and most disturbing statements were things that came right out of his mouth: “I don’ know much about economics. I think I got a B- in that class, but I’ll tell you what I do know: How to cut taxes!!!!” (He should NOT be allowed to go off script…)

Blame was not laid at his feet. Or at the feet of anyone in particular (though Greenspan did get some guff)

The causes are wide and varied. They are cultural, political, and personal.

Personally, this film made me want to bury my money in the back yard and stop buying ANYTHING that I don’t NEED to live on.

Anyway, I highly recommend this film. I think it should be donated to every Jr. High School in the nation and be required viewing for anyone thinking about opening a credit card. (Haha! THAT will happen!)

Anyway, the film is called I.O.U.S.A. www.imdb.com/title/tt0963807/ and I HIGHLY recommend it.

I need a thunderstorm

I lived in Colorado for three years during grad school (except the summer I spent doing research in Alaska)

The weather in Colorado is about as close to perfection as any place I’ve ever been. It’s temperate, ranging from wicked cold in the winter to damn hot in the summer – just like Des Moines (and Chicago) – but with two major differences: abundant sunshine (320+ sunny days per year) and no humidity.

For the first time in my life, I realized WHY we sweat. I would sweat on a hot day in the summer in Colorado and it would immediately evaporate, cooling me. (Rather than forming a moist, sticky seal between me and my clothes…) And in the winter it would snow (sometimes a lot) but because of the pounding sunshine, it would all melt within a couple days. I did NOT miss the crusty, exhaust-blackened snow turds that form unsightly piles along Midwestern streets in the winter.

What I did miss, though, was thunderstorms. The part of Colorado I lived in was flat but with a clear view of the Front Range of the Rockies. Those same, brutally beautiful mountains that brought all the money into the state also kept the rain away. Few rain clouds survived their easterly trajectory through the mountains, leaving the plains on the other side high and dry.

After three years there, I YEARNED for a thunderstorm. I ached for the wild, uncontrolled fury of Nature screaming and thrashing about in a wild, uninhibited temper tantrum. I could feel the weather’s sexual frustration, its hunger to break out in a stunning, perfect conflagration of pounding rain, sizzling lightning, and roaring thunder all coming together into a raging, explosive orgasm.

I’ve been back in the Midwest long enough now to witness my fair share of storms – we even had a few tornados touch down near Des Moines the last time I was home – but nothing to compare with the STORM that we had last night. My god, that was a thing of beauty.

I know that it did a fair amount of damage and I’m glad that no one was seriously hurt, but MAN! What a gorgeous thing it was.

Someone hand me a cigarette…

Dress code

It’s 8am and I am the only person in my section of the El car not wearing jeans or shorts. Where do these people work? A couple of them, I suppose, might be students, but most appear to be near my age – mid-twenties to mid-thirties. At 8am on a Monday, I would assume that they’re headed to work.

So where do they work that they can wear jeans and baseball caps or shorts and t-shirts?

Our office actually reinforced its dress code recently. The issue was never the men. Their dress code is clear: dress pants, dress shirt, tie. I’m sorry to say the issue was with the women. Too many did not understand what “professional attire” meant. There was never a ban on capri pants or sandals – until now. Too many women looked like they were on their way to a picnic rather than a day at the office.

I know that a lot of hip young offices have adopted loose dress codes where trendy clothes like “dress shorts” can be worn. But we don’t work for a young hip office. We are an old-school organization with old-school rules and expectations. And one of those expectations is to look like you’re a professional and you’re here to WORK.

We can still wear sandals, but flip-flops are strictly verboten and I can’t say I’m sorry. I hate that whap-whap-whap sound and some women in our office clomp around like cows.

And should you have to tell grown women that hoochie spaghetti-strap tops are not “office appropriate”???

Of course people complained (they always do) and when one woman said to me, “But I’m more comfortable in flip-flops” I replied with “I’d be more comfortable with a beer and a cute boy to rub my feet. But I’m here to work.”

OK, so I guess I’m not cool in this regard. But I really feel like people take what they’re doing more seriously if they dress for it.

End rant. Sorry.

Drunk Post: II

Oooh....

You'd think I'd know better by now than to start blogging when I'm obviously impaired (thank goodness for the spellcheck function!)

My friends and I started the evening with a lovely Tattinger brut, moved onto a questionable Chardonnay that advertised that it was "good with food" (????) and finished with my favorite Carneros-style Napa rose of Pinot (It's the loveliest shade of darkest pink and is called "Fleur", Angelique!!!!)

I should know better than to start blogging when I'm clearly buzzed but I just can't seem to help myself... I just feel the urge to write when I drink...

My second NaNoWriMo (www.nanowrimo.org) included a whole slutty passage that I attribute entirely to a bottle of Wilson Creek almond champagne (fanTAStic with chocolate!!!) That same bottle generated a spate of drunk dials in which I requested a writing "dare" from each of my friends. So I had to work an illicit gin-mill, a "flaming duck", and a case of mass-food-poisoning into my novel (Thanks, guys!) in addition to my own personal dare (I include at least one reference to an "armadillo" in each of my novels...)

Anyway...

I drink, I write...

Though, to be fare I write even when I DON'T drink, but when I do, it's sort of impossible to avoid.

I wish I owned "Real Genius" on DVD. I feel like watching it...

Bader.

Stoopid

When I was home recently, I went with my sister to the store to buy my niece’s school supplies.

It was a Saturday and we’d been hanging out in the 3-season room, watching the kids play dominos. (Have you ever watched a 4yo boy play with dominos? It’s… interesting.) My parents were going to a retirement luncheon and my sister wanted to go shopping.

Jo: Do you want to go to the store with LMT* and me?
*LMT = Little Miss Thing, my niece
Me: Sure, I guess.
LMT: Yea!!!!
E-man: Me too???
LMT: No!
Me: (rolling my eyes) If you want me to go, he has to go too. Grandma and Grandpa are leaving and he can’t go with them.
LMT: I don’t want HIM to go!
(Ah… smell the sibling rivalry!)
Me: Then what do you suggest we do? (Yes, I realize I was trying to reason with a 6yo…)
LMT: Leave him here!
Me: By himself?
LMT: Yes!
Me: No. If you want me to go, E-man has to go too.
(argument over)
Me: How long is this going to take?
Jo: About an hour and a half.
Me: What?! An hour and half? At Wal-Mart? On a Saturday? No way! Give me the list!
Jo handed me the list.
Me: There’s no reason this should take any longer than 20 minutes.
Jo: What?
Me: I’m serious! Drop me off at the door and come back 20 minutes later and I’ll have everything. An hour and a half… That’s crazy!

My sister rolled her eyes at my mother, who had long since accepted my “unnatural” hatred of shopping.

So my sister drove us to Wal-Mart, which in my opinion is a store conceived in the seventh ring of Hell. I don’t like shopping, and I really don’t like shopping at stores like Wal-Mart, and I especially don’t like shopping at stores like Wal-Mart on a Saturday unless it’s 8am and the store is practically empty.

As we’re driving I notice that my sister is holding her cell phone in one hand and steering with the other. And then I realize that she’s TEXTING. Now, my sister is not a stoopid girl. She does a lot of stoopid things (we ALL do) but she’s not stoopid. Or so I’ve always thought…

Me: Are you out of your mind?! That is the stoopidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do! Put your phone away and DRIVE!
Jo: You just don’t like it because it’s illegal in Chicago
Me: What!? No. I don’t like it because it’s STOOPID!
Jo: Whatever.
Me: Put it away or let me and the kids out of the car. You’re driving around in 2 tons of glass and steel. PAY ATTENTION TO THE ROAD!!! Put the phone away! There’s nothing you need to say that can’t wait ten minutes!!! There’s nothing to say that’s worth jeopardizing your life and mine and your CHILDREN’s lives!

Laws are being enacted all over the U.S. to make texting while driving illegal. I’m astounded that this is even necessary. When did this trend start??? Are people really that stoopid???

Yes, E. Yes they are.

Oh deer…

My dad bought a new car last month. A brand new Buick Lucerne with all the bells and whistles: moon-roof, heated steering wheel, and a discreet little alarm that alerts him when he crosses into the next lane without signaling first (This little alarm is getting a lot of play, much to my mother’s eternal vindication!)

It’s really a beautiful car, though not very fuel efficient.

Well… it WAS a beautiful car.

On their way home from a party last night, they hit a deer. Thankfully, no one was hurt (aside from the deer) and the airbags didn’t even deploy.

My poor mother was driving at the time, and she’s just beside herself about it. The front right fender, the hood, and the passenger side door are all crumpled and will all need to be replaced.

I called them this morning and I could almost hear the shrug in my father’s voice. He’ll flip out over a scratch on his bumper, but he doesn’t sweat the big stuff. Like the time I side-swiped a police cruiser… Um… You don’t need to hear that story.

Bader.

Anyway, I tried to talk to my mother but she refused to come to the phone. I don’t know if she thought I was going to make fun of her or what (Would I do that? Um….) So, I told her through my proxy (Dad) that she shouldn’t let it bother her. It was no one’s fault and even if it were, there’s still no way to go back and undo it. They’re well-insured and the car will be fixed in no time.

“It’ll never be the same!” I heard her lament in the background.

Probably not. But so what? Now it has character.

The funny part, as my dad reminded us gleefully (and this might have contributed to her foul mood) was that this was not the first time this sort of thing had happened to her.

Picture it: 1967, a brand-new Ford Mustang in metallic green. Her first major purchase, paid for with her own money that she earned working at her first real job. (Her father – who was an asshat – grudgingly co-signed the loan but didn’t contribute so much as a nickel) That car was a thing of beauty. When it was a week old, she parked it on the street in front of her job and (wait for it!) it was squished by an 18-wheeler.

She had it fixed but it was never the same.

Poor Mom…

(Is it wrong that I find this pretty funny???)

Drag-assing

Ugh. I’ve been drag-assing all morning.

I woke up at 4:30am – MORE than enough time to get to the gym by 5am. Yet, somehow, I didn’t make it there until 5:30.

My trainer was there with another client and she smiled when she saw me. I grunted in return.

My usual treadmill had been taken by someone else so I had to find another one that met my requirements: one with a built-in fan and a heart-rate monitor that worked. Most don’t have fans. I need the fan.

I absolutely despise this sort of weather: hot and so humid that I start sweating just from standing still.

Ugh.

I drank a cup of coffee as I was getting ready but I still feel sluggish.

Did I mention: ugh?

Running

Sharon made me run again on Friday. Not a lot, just a couple laps around the track in between the weights she had me doing.

As we were wrapping up and she was directing my stretching, she said something about running again.

“I really hate running,” I told her.

She looked at me blankly for a moment as if this concept were difficult for her to grasp. Someone who doesn’t like running? That’s just un-American! Hating running is like hating ice cream and apple pie (Neither of which I’m a big fan of, btw. I’m more of a cookies and cake kind of girl)

Sharon: But you told me you’ve been running on the treadmill….?
Me: Yeah. But I don’t like it.
Sharon: You don’t even like it but you’ve been doing it? That’s great! You’re really committed!

Uh huh.

I told Sharon when we first started working together that I hate exercise. I remember her giving me an odd look at the time, but she just said: “Some people do.”

I don’t know if she thought I’d somehow change my mind, as if over the course of my 30+ years I’d just never given exercise a chance.

Sometimes she’ll have me do something like the new elliptical machine and say, “I think you’ll like this. It’s really fun!” I think she needs to get out more.

I do it. I hate it, but I do it. I’ve taken the choice away from myself. It’s no longer an optional activity like watching TV or reading Pride and Prejudice for the 100th time. It’s a daily requirement: like going to work.

My weight’s been weird the last few weeks. Lose a pound; Gain a pound; Lose three pounds; Gain a pound and a half… It’s really frustrating.

Overall, though, my “regime” is working. Slowly slowly slowly. But it IS working. I hate it with a burning, seething passion. But it’s working.

Aftermath

It really amazes me how losing ATBT has rocked my world on its ass.

I didn’t realize how much I’ve come to rely on my imaginary friends for debate and levity and support throughout the day. I feel set adrift without our little “playground” to play in.

They are all abstracts to me, these people: “Terri” and “Angelique” and “Nova” and my dearest, darlingest “Rational” and so many others I can’t name them all.

I don’t really KNOW any of them, but they are my friends nonetheless. We all post nearly every day. We notice when one of us is missing. We notice when one of us is cranky. We notice when one of us is particularly flirty or ornery. So, even though we’ve never met, we seem to KNOW one another.

Other posters occasionally get shirty with us, telling us off for “hijacking” the boards, but what do they expect? When you encounter the same people day after day – even in a virtual environment – the natural result is that you get to know one another. And we never tell others that they CAN’T post. The more the merrier if you ask me.

And the advice columns where we all “met” are especially suited to this sort of interaction. In the course of offering our opinions, we share our own experiences and learn about the experiences of others. We get to know one another and have conversations. We let each other into our LIVES. Isn’t that how all friendships develop?

I’m really not sure why our “playground” was bulldozed without warning (Thank you, Terri for that excellent analogy!) but I’m not going to just take it.

We’ll rebuild. And we’ll keep rebuilding.

In the meantime, I’m going to save any stories I write and post them on the Topix Café blog.

http://topixcafe.blogspot.com/

I’ll be setting up those of you whose email addresses I know as admins on that blog so that we can at least archive our “stories” somewhere they can’t be killed.

So. Enough of the pity party. ATBT is gone and I’m sad but I’m not going to dwell on it any more today!

Happy Friday Everyone!!! See you in the “garden” while it lasts!

RIP ATBT

They shut down our little online soap opera, As the Board Turns.

We lost a lot of really great material.

:(

It really pisses me off.

I figured, OK, maybe we exceded our limit on "abuse reports" or something, because some people have NOTHING better to do than get offended.

So, I created a new one: ATBT - the Reboot

We got about 40 posts in and they yanked that one too.

So, now we're being stealthy. I created a second blog for us to chat on and then created a new forum but didn't post the link in Topix anywhere.

And it has a really boring name.

It's kind of funny, actually. We're all using fake names (Yeah, Nova, I know they can track us by our IPs, but if they were getting complaints based on people who hate me and follow me around reporting "abuse" on my posts, it can't hurt to go in cognito, right?)

I think Tex mentioned it was kind of like a costume party. Or maybe it was John T. ??? It's hard to tell when everyone is using a fake "fake" name. Hee hee!

Anyway, this is really annoying. I hope all my imaginary friends find their way to our new garden.

In the mean time, here's the story I wrote last night and rewrote this morning. They can't censor me here!!!!

"Who are we going to meet, again?" Eneyer asked.
"Man, I'll be glad when you finally get a brain," Nova grumbled.
"A brain?" Eneyer repeated, frowning as he scratched his head and came away with several strands of straw.
Tex led the way up the stairs, his feet clanging with each step.
"Yap yap yap yap!"
"Shush, Rational!" Court said, adjusting her short gingham dress to show a bit more leg.
"Yap yap yap yap!"
Court shoved Rational down into her basket and closed the latch.
"Halt! Who goes there?!" Bellowed Garth, who was wearing a silly green suit and a sour expression.
"We're here to see the Wizard," Court announced.
"The Wizard?!" Garth exclaimed. "Well, I never..."
"Tubal ligation!" Chortled Well, hurrying past on his way to a meeting of the Lollypop Guild.
Garth glared after him and then turned back to the group. "No one sees the Wizard! No one has EVER seen the Wizard! Even I have never seen him!"
"I need a heart!" Tex yelled.
"And - apparently - I need some F ing courage. Which is complete BS btw..." Nova grumbled.
"And I need to get home to see my Auntie Terri and my Uncle John T!" Court said.
"Yap yap yap yap!"
"And Rational needs to go for a walkie so he can make his poopie," Court translated.
"Absolutely not!" Garth declared.
"But the Good Witch Angelique sent us!" Court cried.
"Oh?" said Garth. "Prove it!"
"Um... She gave me these," Court said, ripping open her short gingham dress to reveal a set of Ruby Red La Perla lingerie"
"Blibbidy...." drooled Garth, his eyes bulging.
The rag tag group snuck past him, Tex's feet echoing through the majestic throne room.
WHO DARES DISTURB THE GREAT AND POWERFUL WIZARD OF ODD! a booming voice demanded, shaking the rafters.
The group huddled together, looking afraid, except for Nova. Court elbowed him and gave him a pointed look and he rolled his eyes. He tried to look afraid, but mostly he just looked annoyed.
WHO DARES DISTURB THE GREAT AND POWERFUL WIZARD OF ODD! the booming voice repeated.
"It's coming from behind that curtain," Nova said irritably.
"What's a curtain?" asked Eneyer.
"For the love of...!" Nova strode over to the curtain and yanked it aside to reveal Flawless looking completely beautiful and completely unrepenant. RACE was sitting at her feet. He popped a Dove chocolate into her mouth. When the others looked at her accusingly, she just shrugged.
"Now what?!" demanded Nova.
"Ah-ha-ha-ha!" a cackling voice cried out and they looked up to see the Wicked Witch Stina, looking frightfully beautiful on her flying roomba. She cracked her whip, snagging the basket right out of Court's arms. "I have you now, my pretty!" she crooned to Rational.
"Yap yap yap yap!" barked Rational as the Wicked Witch Stina sped away.



(Sorry for making you a dog, Rational my love, but someone had to be Toto!)

"Shall we play a game…?"

It’s the 25th anniversary of WarGames.

Matthew Broderick in his prime. You remember. Cute, plucky little computer geek just trying to hack into the latest and greatest computer games (remember Pong?) inadvertently breaks into the WOPR – the super computer that controls all of the ICBMs in the US.

"Just unplug the goddamn thing! Jesus Christ!"
"That won't work, General. It would interpret a shutdown as the destruction of NORAD. The computers in the silos would carry out their last instructions. They'd launch."
"Mr. McKittrick, after very careful consideration, sir, I've come to the conclusion that your new defense system sucks."
"I don't have to take that, you pig-eyed sack of sh/t."

Hahaha! Man, that dialog is CLASSIC!

And who doesn’t love when MB escapes using a pair of scissors and a telephone diagnostic box???

Loved it!

It’s being shown at theaters all over the country to celebrate the anniversary and several of my friends and I are going tonight.

I totally can’t wait. I’ll pretend I’m a little pre-teen again, crushing on Matthew Broderick while stuffing my face with nachos and diet Coke.

Good times.