Ok in case you didn't know I am ALWAYS writing stories. All my life it's always been that way. I am constantly writing, not physically pen to paper, but in my head stories and perceived adventures. Maybe that's why I am little detached from reality.
Because while I am super interested in how your day went senior boss vice president, I am more super interested in what you would look like telling me about your day in a lederhosen and a cool hat with a feather coming out of it.
It is for that reason that I am submitting more than one blog on this day so I hope you enjoy. I came up with the idea that I would blog when I felt like writing and if I felt like writing three blogs in one day I would write all three and then post them one after the other in consecutive days. Well that lead to me not finishing because I knew that it wouldn't be posted that day anyway. So what's the rush right? Which then turned into, me coming back to the saved blog the next day and COMPLETELY having no idea what the hell yesterday me was talking about. So here you go multiple blogs in a day. Christmas came early this year kids, and Santa's writin' nonsense stories.
So where was I? Ah yes, Geraldine. She is the most fascinating and magnificient woman that I have ever met. If gay marriage were legal in the state of Texas and she weren't already married, I would strongly considered it.
"Who the F*** is Geraldine???" Don't cuss at my lady friend alright? I am sure we can handle this like resonable adults.
In all seriousness Geraldine is the lady that cleans my house. I hasten to call her a maid or a housekeeper because I have had the chance to get to know her and she's good people, and the nicest person that I have yet to meet.
So I will consider her a friend and the fact that she comes over and cleans my place makes her a super friend.
If you have ever had a maid you know the golden maid rule... you have to clean before they clean. You don't want to be "that house". The house that was dirty before the maid came to clean. I know it sounds backwards, but follow me it's soooo worth it.
So this morningI got up early and I picked up miscellaneous clutter, emptied out all the trash cans and picked up all Jack's toys , cleaned the dishes and put clean sheets out on mine and Jack's bed.
I come home after a stimulating trip to Wal-Mart and I open the door to CLEAN. Like beyond super clean. Like harking angels kind of clean.
The carpet was vaccuumed but somehow there are no vaccuum lines. The sinks were sparkling, the stove was glistening, the bed corners were hospital. It looked like I was in an episode of designed to sell and my place had been staged... fo' real.
I felt like Julie Andrews on the top of the freakin' Swiss Alps twirling around like a lunatic in the clean.
She even cleaned things that I had no intention for her to clean. I had a laundry basket full of jeans. First off, let me say I HATE washing my jeans. They are a heavier fabric so they take FOREVER to dry.
Geraldine or G as I like to call her, had cleaned my jeans! totally unexpected, brought a smile to my face. Also, she straightened my closet. WHAT?!?!? super happy end zone dance.
I even closed my closet door as an unspoken. "Girl, don't be going in my closet and thinking you can straighten things out, cause you can't"
But did Geraldine listen? NO! she trotted her happy ass into my closest and straightened it out! hung up clothes, sorted shoes. She kind of made me feel like that Radiohead song, " Everything is in it's right place. " And it totally was. :)
So cheers to you Geraldine, wherever you are. You cleaned my toilets and that is all right in my book.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Day 14
So it has been 2 weeks without a cigarette, and I am super stoked. Right now I am in a foul ass mood and my chest is burning and I have chewed a hole through my bottom lip,and I hate everyone, but I really am stoked.
My hair smells better, my mouth feels cleaner, and I keep thinking about the money that I am going to have, and how much healthier I am going to feel.
I have been looking at pictures and people lately and for some reason the first thing I see is what they are going to look like in the future. Like, against my will I immediately fast forward them 20 years. Will they age well? Will they be fat? Will they lose all their hair? Some it's easier than others. I just look at them and I can see that inner mature version of them begging to get out.
Sadly, it doesn't work when I look at myself. I guess because I have to look at myself everyday. I look at myself so much that I'm not sure what I really look like... If, that makes any sense at all. I will see pictures of me that capture an unflattering angle or a blinked eye, or a face I should of thought twice about and that's never the face that I see in the mirror.
In my own mirror, I have complementary lighting and I know what's my best side. I feel like a freaking super model coming out of my house. That is until I hit the flourescent bathroom at work and then, not so much.
The supermodel has turned into the blotchy faced, stringy haired mother I feel like. When the hell did that happen? When did I get old? (er)
So I guess that's the number one reason that I quit smoking, that and I of course don't want Jack to grow up thinking it's glamorous like I did.
I always knew smoking was bad, and sounded off to my parents that they should quit all the time. Secretly, I just accepted it as something that adults do and something that I would do when I grew up. So that persistent little kid that would break her parents cigarettes and hide them ( goody two shoes, I know!) has come out in me again and she is NOT pleased with what she sees. A prematurely aged woman that has chosen a path to bad health. So I have decided to clean it up and pack up the pack. To show that best face that I show myself to the rest of the world.
I read somewhere that you save roughly $1000 a year from not smoking so the only thing left to do is pick what I will use the money for. I think a tropical beach somewhere is calling my name :)
My hair smells better, my mouth feels cleaner, and I keep thinking about the money that I am going to have, and how much healthier I am going to feel.
I have been looking at pictures and people lately and for some reason the first thing I see is what they are going to look like in the future. Like, against my will I immediately fast forward them 20 years. Will they age well? Will they be fat? Will they lose all their hair? Some it's easier than others. I just look at them and I can see that inner mature version of them begging to get out.
Sadly, it doesn't work when I look at myself. I guess because I have to look at myself everyday. I look at myself so much that I'm not sure what I really look like... If, that makes any sense at all. I will see pictures of me that capture an unflattering angle or a blinked eye, or a face I should of thought twice about and that's never the face that I see in the mirror.
In my own mirror, I have complementary lighting and I know what's my best side. I feel like a freaking super model coming out of my house. That is until I hit the flourescent bathroom at work and then, not so much.
The supermodel has turned into the blotchy faced, stringy haired mother I feel like. When the hell did that happen? When did I get old? (er)
So I guess that's the number one reason that I quit smoking, that and I of course don't want Jack to grow up thinking it's glamorous like I did.
I always knew smoking was bad, and sounded off to my parents that they should quit all the time. Secretly, I just accepted it as something that adults do and something that I would do when I grew up. So that persistent little kid that would break her parents cigarettes and hide them ( goody two shoes, I know!) has come out in me again and she is NOT pleased with what she sees. A prematurely aged woman that has chosen a path to bad health. So I have decided to clean it up and pack up the pack. To show that best face that I show myself to the rest of the world.
I read somewhere that you save roughly $1000 a year from not smoking so the only thing left to do is pick what I will use the money for. I think a tropical beach somewhere is calling my name :)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Prepare to have your face sucked off by a computer!
My brain is no longer my own. I definitely need something for my self diagnosed adult add. I took a adderall once and it made me want to stay indoors all day and eat sandwiches with the blinds closed with limited human contact. That could be normal, right?
Sometimes I feel like the poor pregnant woman in the "Bing" commercial. Another woman walks up to her in a yoga class and asks her.... Ok I am too distracted to type the description of the commericial. Every time I think about it, it just reminds me that I want to google the lyrics to the song Oklahoma, and then that sets off a chain of events that involves me sorting my dry cleaning which leads to me giving my self a pedicure then I won't remember until two days from now that I REALLY wanted to know those lyrics and I won't be anywhere near the internet. That makes me sad I don't have an IPhone and I eat ice cream. What were you saying? So here is the commercial live and in person instead.
Like that, that is how I feel all the time! There is entirely too much information out there. I can't even focus. Which reminds me I need to schedule an eye exam for next week. I should really be keeping this on my to-do list. But which to do list. My refridgerator to-do list, my purse to-do list, or my at work to do list. Why don't I consolidate those again? oh yeah my planner! I don't like my planner the writing space is too tiny. Note to self... get new planner. Maybe I should write that down somewhere?
I know more about Michael Jackson's autopsy report than I do my own life. Stop inudating me technology! Why don't you just leave me alone. What? you have Beatles rock band??? I love the Beatles! and Kindle? Book are so fun! you can download books and you don't even have to waste gas driving to the bookstore. I think I want the new Fusion hybrid for my next car. oooh the new Prius commercials are so adorable with all those little kids...HAPPY!!
Tonight I have decided that I want to see the Terra cotta warrior exhibit at the museum of natural science. You think that would be easy enough. I make the decision,I pick a weekend and I go. BUT NO!!!!
Bright, flashy, web page has other plans for me. I click on the muesum's website and there is this ANNOYING pop-up ad on the site, but it's not one of those seperate window kind of jobs it's one of those interactive we're-going-to-hide-the-close-button-so-you-have-to-watch-the-entire-add-before-you-get-to-where-you-really-want- to-be kind, but it wouldn't move or do anything. It froze me out of the website, my dreams of seeing thousands of hand carved stone warriors that lived underground for hundreds of years were squashed. So I did what I always do. I went back to my original search and picked the second option that my search produced.
Which took me to the fine arts museum website which took me to a link for the museum district. I am extremely impressed by all that Houston has to offer in the way of the arts. So want to go visit every museum in the Houston museum district and then my terra cotta idea collaspes under the weight of my brain and too much internet.
But in all reality I really do want to go and take Jack and see the terra cotta warriors. The exhibits closes on the 18th so who's coming with me?
Sometimes I feel like the poor pregnant woman in the "Bing" commercial. Another woman walks up to her in a yoga class and asks her.... Ok I am too distracted to type the description of the commericial. Every time I think about it, it just reminds me that I want to google the lyrics to the song Oklahoma, and then that sets off a chain of events that involves me sorting my dry cleaning which leads to me giving my self a pedicure then I won't remember until two days from now that I REALLY wanted to know those lyrics and I won't be anywhere near the internet. That makes me sad I don't have an IPhone and I eat ice cream. What were you saying? So here is the commercial live and in person instead.
Like that, that is how I feel all the time! There is entirely too much information out there. I can't even focus. Which reminds me I need to schedule an eye exam for next week. I should really be keeping this on my to-do list. But which to do list. My refridgerator to-do list, my purse to-do list, or my at work to do list. Why don't I consolidate those again? oh yeah my planner! I don't like my planner the writing space is too tiny. Note to self... get new planner. Maybe I should write that down somewhere?
I know more about Michael Jackson's autopsy report than I do my own life. Stop inudating me technology! Why don't you just leave me alone. What? you have Beatles rock band??? I love the Beatles! and Kindle? Book are so fun! you can download books and you don't even have to waste gas driving to the bookstore. I think I want the new Fusion hybrid for my next car. oooh the new Prius commercials are so adorable with all those little kids...HAPPY!!
Tonight I have decided that I want to see the Terra cotta warrior exhibit at the museum of natural science. You think that would be easy enough. I make the decision,I pick a weekend and I go. BUT NO!!!!
Bright, flashy, web page has other plans for me. I click on the muesum's website and there is this ANNOYING pop-up ad on the site, but it's not one of those seperate window kind of jobs it's one of those interactive we're-going-to-hide-the-close-button-so-you-have-to-watch-the-entire-add-before-you-get-to-where-you-really-want- to-be kind, but it wouldn't move or do anything. It froze me out of the website, my dreams of seeing thousands of hand carved stone warriors that lived underground for hundreds of years were squashed. So I did what I always do. I went back to my original search and picked the second option that my search produced.
Which took me to the fine arts museum website which took me to a link for the museum district. I am extremely impressed by all that Houston has to offer in the way of the arts. So want to go visit every museum in the Houston museum district and then my terra cotta idea collaspes under the weight of my brain and too much internet.
But in all reality I really do want to go and take Jack and see the terra cotta warriors. The exhibits closes on the 18th so who's coming with me?
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Punch drunk
Right now I am sitting in the land of gadget fantasy. Jack and I drove up to Wichita Falls from Houston for the weekend to visit Jack's grandad or as I knew him for the first 27 years of my life, "dad".
I get here and go straight to the tempurpedic mattress in the guest bedroom with a 46" HD flat screen in it. I go to find Noggin for Jack to watch. ( which by the way if you don't have noggin and you have or are planning to have kids.... go for the upgrade!) When I find that the music "channels" on the guide are Sirius XM radio stations! I am seriously on vacation right now.
Today we will probably kick around, eat lunch, and watch football. Tonight I will probably finish the evening in the whirpool with a glass of wine. If only I could get my dad in line to be my conceirge.... right!
For as long as I can remember dad has always had every creature comfort you could imagine. From hypo-allergenic synthetic feather pillows to high thread count sheet to dark chocolate truffles. (so good) Oh and did I mention the jet black 2010 Chevy Camaro SS in the driveway? I didn't get to drive it and probably never will but it was still nice to look at.
With a TV in every room bigger and better than the one before and a back yard that is a pcituresque fantasy I will tell you if I spent more than two days here I would have no will or drive to move or think... just lounge...
Lord knows that I earned it with the trip up here though. I blame myself, really.
I guess I should start at the beginning. Last weekend I attended a baby shower, and inherited all the left over punch as juice for Jack. I don't know if you have ever been to a Southern or I should clarify further a TEXAS baby shower, but they all have the same punch: equal parts ginger ale, equal parts crack. I think it has several pounds of sugar in it, at least.
So tomorrow will be the one week mark that the juice has been sitting in my fridge. After that time the crack reverts back to it's orginal rock form and it's only useful for smoking. Not really into that so I decided to take it with on the 6 hour trip. Bad idea.
Once the liquid crack hit Jack's system he turned into his alter-ego... we will call him cracker Jack. Shaking his head wildly, beating himself with his fist and howling along to the radio...
Any snacks that were passed back to this newly formed heathen were dealt with accordingly. First it was the goldfish, he tooked a few bites and realized that they were not gummy bears and turned the bag upside down next to his carseat into my back seat. So I had a big aquarium of cracker fish swimming around my car for the remainder of the trip.
The cheetos were handled in short order, he ate two and then turned the bag over into his lap.... eating one, discarding one into the floorboard... until those were gone.
Then he got the pretzels... Why do you keep handing him food you silly woman? When you have a howling miniature punch drunk werewolf in your back seat you do what you can to appease the little beast.
So I threw the pretzels at him and he dumped them out into his lap and then got annoyed that he had pretzels in his lap and began scooping them into the backseat with his hand. Then he was upset that he didn't have any pretzels to eat and couldn't reach the now mountain of food in my backseat. So he did what rational, logical almost two-year old would do, he turned the bag of pretzels upside down over his face to see what the hold up was.
Now, if you are familiar with pretzels they have salt and it collects at the bottom of the bag. As you can probably guess, my son got an eyeful of salt. I hate to stop on long trips until it is necessary and this made it VERY necessary.
He screamed in new and creative languages reaching octaves that most seasoned opera singers only dream about. I pulled the car into the closest gas station and wiped his eyes salt free.
After that I think the buzz wore off and he drifted off to sleep. Just then the sun started setting and I turned on some Bob Marley for my nerves. I listened to "Three little birds" with the big pink sky surrounding me.
Order had been restored and everything was right with the world again. And to paraphase I was not worried about a thing and every little thing was all right as I coasted into dad's driveway with my crusty, damp, slightly salty, but sleeping toddler.
I get here and go straight to the tempurpedic mattress in the guest bedroom with a 46" HD flat screen in it. I go to find Noggin for Jack to watch. ( which by the way if you don't have noggin and you have or are planning to have kids.... go for the upgrade!) When I find that the music "channels" on the guide are Sirius XM radio stations! I am seriously on vacation right now.
Today we will probably kick around, eat lunch, and watch football. Tonight I will probably finish the evening in the whirpool with a glass of wine. If only I could get my dad in line to be my conceirge.... right!
For as long as I can remember dad has always had every creature comfort you could imagine. From hypo-allergenic synthetic feather pillows to high thread count sheet to dark chocolate truffles. (so good) Oh and did I mention the jet black 2010 Chevy Camaro SS in the driveway? I didn't get to drive it and probably never will but it was still nice to look at.
With a TV in every room bigger and better than the one before and a back yard that is a pcituresque fantasy I will tell you if I spent more than two days here I would have no will or drive to move or think... just lounge...
Lord knows that I earned it with the trip up here though. I blame myself, really.
I guess I should start at the beginning. Last weekend I attended a baby shower, and inherited all the left over punch as juice for Jack. I don't know if you have ever been to a Southern or I should clarify further a TEXAS baby shower, but they all have the same punch: equal parts ginger ale, equal parts crack. I think it has several pounds of sugar in it, at least.
So tomorrow will be the one week mark that the juice has been sitting in my fridge. After that time the crack reverts back to it's orginal rock form and it's only useful for smoking. Not really into that so I decided to take it with on the 6 hour trip. Bad idea.
Once the liquid crack hit Jack's system he turned into his alter-ego... we will call him cracker Jack. Shaking his head wildly, beating himself with his fist and howling along to the radio...
Any snacks that were passed back to this newly formed heathen were dealt with accordingly. First it was the goldfish, he tooked a few bites and realized that they were not gummy bears and turned the bag upside down next to his carseat into my back seat. So I had a big aquarium of cracker fish swimming around my car for the remainder of the trip.
The cheetos were handled in short order, he ate two and then turned the bag over into his lap.... eating one, discarding one into the floorboard... until those were gone.
Then he got the pretzels... Why do you keep handing him food you silly woman? When you have a howling miniature punch drunk werewolf in your back seat you do what you can to appease the little beast.
So I threw the pretzels at him and he dumped them out into his lap and then got annoyed that he had pretzels in his lap and began scooping them into the backseat with his hand. Then he was upset that he didn't have any pretzels to eat and couldn't reach the now mountain of food in my backseat. So he did what rational, logical almost two-year old would do, he turned the bag of pretzels upside down over his face to see what the hold up was.
Now, if you are familiar with pretzels they have salt and it collects at the bottom of the bag. As you can probably guess, my son got an eyeful of salt. I hate to stop on long trips until it is necessary and this made it VERY necessary.
He screamed in new and creative languages reaching octaves that most seasoned opera singers only dream about. I pulled the car into the closest gas station and wiped his eyes salt free.
After that I think the buzz wore off and he drifted off to sleep. Just then the sun started setting and I turned on some Bob Marley for my nerves. I listened to "Three little birds" with the big pink sky surrounding me.
Order had been restored and everything was right with the world again. And to paraphase I was not worried about a thing and every little thing was all right as I coasted into dad's driveway with my crusty, damp, slightly salty, but sleeping toddler.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Village plumbing
So I am increasingly more impressed with how companies choose to spend their marketing dollars.
I have noticed a lot more establishments decorating Ye Olde work truck to get the word out.
I’m not talking Aunt Dot’s daycare with the magnetic sticker on the van door that Paw Paw can remove when he takes the van to go fishing on the weekends.
I’m talking Monster truck type shit. Lots of colors and graphics, but without the actual Monster truck. In this case it was a very harmless van...
I roll up on this van in traffic and the back door has this huge picture of a bathtub and all you see is a woman’s leg resting in bubbles. Calgon take me away!
Then I drove around to the side of the van and a guy, with covers over his shoes and a wrench in his hand, is standing in a fine ass kitchen. In all honesty it made me think of that episode of Kendra (you’re on your own now) at the wedding rehearsal and everyone had to put those covers on their shoes to walk down the aisle.
What’s with the wrench, covered feet guy? So I read the large lettering next to him “Village plumbing and appliances”. 'Is covered feet guy the owner or something?' I look on…. On the other side of the lettering is an extremely red-headed woman and an extremely red-headed step child mini-me version of her standing on top of the marble topped island in the fine ass kitchen. Mini-me has a wrench in her hand, but “mom” does not. They are wearing overalls with bright red shirts and bright red shoes (mini’s shoes are ruby red-sequined), but no feet covers. ‘well that doesn’t seem fair’ I’m thinking as I have now slowed down in my lane to keep pace with this van and take in this whole scene played out on the side of the van. ‘Why does covered feet guy have to have his feet covered? And overall lady and steppie the red over there get out of it? I don’t get it’
So I am building this story in my mind of what the dynamic of these people are as I am driving. I don’t know how more wrecks don’t happen with these decorated trucks because I was studying this van which let me tell you made it difficult to concentrate on the road. Road Schmoad.
So covered feet guy is the owner, I know I am so chauvinistic, and then overall and little step are his loving wife and daughter. Overall was the type in college to break all the rules and that’s why he fell in love with her, and that’s why her feet aren’t covered because that women’s libber little scamp still breaks the rules to this day. (And between you and I... needs to have the fashion police called).
But that wasn’t it. I look below the Village plumber sign and I see a name. My very first thought is ‘cool I’m going to find out what covered feet guy’s name is’. What the hell kind of society do we live in that even though the name is clearly in front of overalls that I think HE’s the owner.
I read the name, Monica Ryan, master plumber and OWNER. ‘That’s weird you don’t hear of many men named Monica’... It’s still not clicking in my head that SHE is the owner.
So I take a minute to accept that reality and replace the one I have created with this new revelation. I got a little emotional, you know??? Because change is hard for me…. *sniff*. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry…
‘So women can be plumbers too????’ My mind was totally blown. ‘Well, I’m not going to be a plumber; I don’t want to crawl around underneath nasty, stinking, houses. I don’t care how much they pay me. And is her daughter going to follow after her? That’s tragic. That’s man’s work…’ In five seconds in traffic I had just set the women’s lib movement back at least 60 years.
So then my story begins to transform into something new… Monica Ryan hates straight men and caters to gay men with her plumbing services. So Monica was married and divorced in 1998. You can always tell how long a single woman has been single by their haircut. The first thing any newly single woman does is cut her hair and this hairstyle hadn’t changed since AT LEAST 1998 I am guessing closer to 1994 or 95. So girl’s been single for a while. Around that time she wound up prego with steppie and was taken in by a colony of gay men that taught her everything they know about plumbing.
I have noticed a lot more establishments decorating Ye Olde work truck to get the word out.
I’m not talking Aunt Dot’s daycare with the magnetic sticker on the van door that Paw Paw can remove when he takes the van to go fishing on the weekends.
I’m talking Monster truck type shit. Lots of colors and graphics, but without the actual Monster truck. In this case it was a very harmless van...
I roll up on this van in traffic and the back door has this huge picture of a bathtub and all you see is a woman’s leg resting in bubbles. Calgon take me away!
Then I drove around to the side of the van and a guy, with covers over his shoes and a wrench in his hand, is standing in a fine ass kitchen. In all honesty it made me think of that episode of Kendra (you’re on your own now) at the wedding rehearsal and everyone had to put those covers on their shoes to walk down the aisle.
What’s with the wrench, covered feet guy? So I read the large lettering next to him “Village plumbing and appliances”. 'Is covered feet guy the owner or something?' I look on…. On the other side of the lettering is an extremely red-headed woman and an extremely red-headed step child mini-me version of her standing on top of the marble topped island in the fine ass kitchen. Mini-me has a wrench in her hand, but “mom” does not. They are wearing overalls with bright red shirts and bright red shoes (mini’s shoes are ruby red-sequined), but no feet covers. ‘well that doesn’t seem fair’ I’m thinking as I have now slowed down in my lane to keep pace with this van and take in this whole scene played out on the side of the van. ‘Why does covered feet guy have to have his feet covered? And overall lady and steppie the red over there get out of it? I don’t get it’
So I am building this story in my mind of what the dynamic of these people are as I am driving. I don’t know how more wrecks don’t happen with these decorated trucks because I was studying this van which let me tell you made it difficult to concentrate on the road. Road Schmoad.
So covered feet guy is the owner, I know I am so chauvinistic, and then overall and little step are his loving wife and daughter. Overall was the type in college to break all the rules and that’s why he fell in love with her, and that’s why her feet aren’t covered because that women’s libber little scamp still breaks the rules to this day. (And between you and I... needs to have the fashion police called).
But that wasn’t it. I look below the Village plumber sign and I see a name. My very first thought is ‘cool I’m going to find out what covered feet guy’s name is’. What the hell kind of society do we live in that even though the name is clearly in front of overalls that I think HE’s the owner.
I read the name, Monica Ryan, master plumber and OWNER. ‘That’s weird you don’t hear of many men named Monica’... It’s still not clicking in my head that SHE is the owner.
So I take a minute to accept that reality and replace the one I have created with this new revelation. I got a little emotional, you know??? Because change is hard for me…. *sniff*. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry…
‘So women can be plumbers too????’ My mind was totally blown. ‘Well, I’m not going to be a plumber; I don’t want to crawl around underneath nasty, stinking, houses. I don’t care how much they pay me. And is her daughter going to follow after her? That’s tragic. That’s man’s work…’ In five seconds in traffic I had just set the women’s lib movement back at least 60 years.
So then my story begins to transform into something new… Monica Ryan hates straight men and caters to gay men with her plumbing services. So Monica was married and divorced in 1998. You can always tell how long a single woman has been single by their haircut. The first thing any newly single woman does is cut her hair and this hairstyle hadn’t changed since AT LEAST 1998 I am guessing closer to 1994 or 95. So girl’s been single for a while. Around that time she wound up prego with steppie and was taken in by a colony of gay men that taught her everything they know about plumbing.
All the evidence is there....
1. You have a woman lounging in a bathtub much like the scene from "Seven year itch" with Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe is a straight's man's fantasy, but a gay man's best friend, and if he happens to be a drag queen? well enough said.
2. I think the most obvious... The name of the company is "Village" plumbing and everything village is gay... The village voice, the village people.... the list goes on. Why is that? Why do gay men like the word village? or is it less of the word than a concept associated with it?
3. The man on the truck is wearing slippers, but doesn't have a name. Anonymous, submissive man comes to fix your pipes with a big wrench and won't get your floors dirty??? Sounds like gay porn to me.
4. Oh and the final piece of evidence that I think will make my case? Step's ruby slippers... ruby slippers, dorothy, the wizard of oz.... you see where I am going with this...
I have to say the advertising worked because I won't forget village plumbing. I don't necessarily think that's how the owner intended village plumbing to be remembered, but whatever works right?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
cake
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Princess in a recession
I just started my blog and I already have a request! My aunt Julie read my blog and told me I HAD to include my welfare letter in my blog. This is a letter that I wrote to her after standing in line for five hours at the welfare office. Yes, I said the welfare office.
First, let me explain that I moved to Houston last October from San Antonio after a series of events that could fill an entire book (which I am still thinking about writing)not just a blog. I literally packed up my sh** and moved over night. Literally.
I had to completely start over (and in this economy is a challenge in and of itself). Julie opened her doors and helped me take the steps towards a normal life as a single mom. So while it's uncomfortable to admit one of those steps was to get medicaid for Jack and foodstamps to supplement my jobless ass.
What I didn't know at the time was it would take six months and hours of waiting in line for this to happen. All I will say is the welfare system, at least in this writer's eyes, was not set up for me or people like me that need it, BUT that is besides the point....
The point is that after hours of standing in line I got VERY restless and irritable. So near the end of this journey I just HAD to send her an e-mail to detail my experience.
Now remember that I said I started waiting in line in October 2008?.... please note the date on the letter... Just to give you an idea this was my fifth trip to the welfare office:
Sadie's continuing adventures at the welfare office
From:
Sadie Wright (sadie_wright@hotmail.com)
Sent:
Fri 4/03/09 8:32 PM
To:
Julie Ruffino (jaruffino@yahoo.com)
.ExternalClass .EC_hmmessage P
{padding:0px;}
.ExternalClass body.EC_hmmessage
{font-size:10pt;font-family:Verdana;}
Thought you could use a break... So I get to the office around 8:30am this morning to turn in my application. I stand in line over an hour behind a woman ( and I use the term loosely, very loosely) that keeps farting. I almost vomitted twice. She is wearing a halter top and NO bra and black yoga pants... neither of these things she should be wearing...And she's a bigger girl so I have the extreme pleasure of staring at all the glorious back fat that a shirt that fit would otherwise conceal. Lucky me! She brought with her, her young son who's maybe 4 who keeps giving me all these little punk glances. What I really wanted to do was take the little baseball cap off his head and beat him with it, but then she would fart and I would lose all track of time and space so the urge to beat him came and went. Then she started talking on her phone about "This fool she used to talk to". Her half of the conversation, in front of her son, went like this... "So you remember that n**** I used to f*** around with? and then when I had went to call him and text him he ain't trying to call me back? Well, he had called me the other night and I ain't stupid so I axed him straight up why he callin'...He said "Do you really want to know?" (We were all about to find out!!!).....Basically, in english, she goes on to tell the friend that he had been f***** around with another girl the same time that he was f***** with her and that it was getting too hard to keep up with them both so he dumped her (probably because of noxious gas) and then the other girl dumped him so he called her... Then she farted so I blacked out and missed the end of the story, but when I came to her son was pulling on her yoga pant "mamma, I'm hungry" to which she replies "shud up, boy I should lef you at yo daddy's house."
**end letter**
With all the hours of standing in line I have a lot of observations of the people that I waited in line with that I would love to put to paper. So I may decide to make this one in a series of princess in a recession blogs.
First, let me explain that I moved to Houston last October from San Antonio after a series of events that could fill an entire book (which I am still thinking about writing)not just a blog. I literally packed up my sh** and moved over night. Literally.
I had to completely start over (and in this economy is a challenge in and of itself). Julie opened her doors and helped me take the steps towards a normal life as a single mom. So while it's uncomfortable to admit one of those steps was to get medicaid for Jack and foodstamps to supplement my jobless ass.
What I didn't know at the time was it would take six months and hours of waiting in line for this to happen. All I will say is the welfare system, at least in this writer's eyes, was not set up for me or people like me that need it, BUT that is besides the point....
The point is that after hours of standing in line I got VERY restless and irritable. So near the end of this journey I just HAD to send her an e-mail to detail my experience.
Now remember that I said I started waiting in line in October 2008?.... please note the date on the letter... Just to give you an idea this was my fifth trip to the welfare office:
Sadie's continuing adventures at the welfare office
From:
Sadie Wright (sadie_wright@hotmail.com)
Sent:
Fri 4/03/09 8:32 PM
To:
Julie Ruffino (jaruffino@yahoo.com)
.ExternalClass .EC_hmmessage P
{padding:0px;}
.ExternalClass body.EC_hmmessage
{font-size:10pt;font-family:Verdana;}
Thought you could use a break... So I get to the office around 8:30am this morning to turn in my application. I stand in line over an hour behind a woman ( and I use the term loosely, very loosely) that keeps farting. I almost vomitted twice. She is wearing a halter top and NO bra and black yoga pants... neither of these things she should be wearing...And she's a bigger girl so I have the extreme pleasure of staring at all the glorious back fat that a shirt that fit would otherwise conceal. Lucky me! She brought with her, her young son who's maybe 4 who keeps giving me all these little punk glances. What I really wanted to do was take the little baseball cap off his head and beat him with it, but then she would fart and I would lose all track of time and space so the urge to beat him came and went. Then she started talking on her phone about "This fool she used to talk to". Her half of the conversation, in front of her son, went like this... "So you remember that n**** I used to f*** around with? and then when I had went to call him and text him he ain't trying to call me back? Well, he had called me the other night and I ain't stupid so I axed him straight up why he callin'...He said "Do you really want to know?" (We were all about to find out!!!).....Basically, in english, she goes on to tell the friend that he had been f***** around with another girl the same time that he was f***** with her and that it was getting too hard to keep up with them both so he dumped her (probably because of noxious gas) and then the other girl dumped him so he called her... Then she farted so I blacked out and missed the end of the story, but when I came to her son was pulling on her yoga pant "mamma, I'm hungry" to which she replies "shud up, boy I should lef you at yo daddy's house."
**end letter**
With all the hours of standing in line I have a lot of observations of the people that I waited in line with that I would love to put to paper. So I may decide to make this one in a series of princess in a recession blogs.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Baby Ninja
So I have all these ideas for blog entries that I want to write, but it's really just a matter of finding the time to write them. Between Jack, work, family, friends, and soon to be school. My time gets stretched kind of thin.
It doesn't help that I am too cheap to pay for internet. I spent the entire day once walking around with my laptop seeing where I could pick up signals from unsecured networks. It was a long drawn out ritual where I went to each corner of each room and checked for signal. I would hold my laptop over my head like it was an antenna or a metal detector combing the beach for change. I would "sweep" the area until the red "X" came off my internet access logo and then I would proceed to try and connect. It was quite a little treasure hunt, and if I got any signal at all I had to make sure the signal was strong enough to keep me online for any specified amount of time.
So I finally found a spot in the corner of my bedroom. If I sit up straight against the wall on the top left-hand side of my bed with my computer facing left, and my right finger touching my nose I get perfect signal!
The whole thing reminds me of the time that my dad went an entire year duct taping the clothes dryer door shut so that it would dry clothes. There was a trick to it that only he knew which meant he was stuck with doing all the laundry. It wasn't that we couldn't afford a new dryer it was just because it wasn't at the top of his to-do list.
Just like paying for internet is definitely not on the top of mine.
So not accounting for wasted time searching for internet signal. Jack pretty much takes up 99.5% of my time. I have .5% to go crazy about once every two months and then I climb back into my mom hole. I spend time on him in little ways that I hadn't anticipated too.
For example, I woke this morning at 6:30 am, I did two loads of laundry, cleaned my kitchen, did a little bit of cardio, made my coffee, and sat down to write around 7:30. Jack slept until 8:30 the day before so I scheduled in an hour that I would be able to write my blog and then make him breakfast and cater to his every whim for the rest of the day. But this one hour I would have for me. I should of known that it was coming, but I can be slightly delusional when it comes to the thought of free time.
Little boy came into my room this morning at 7:31 on the dot, blue blanket in tow, "mamma, i want" This is his new game. He wants something and it is my job to figure out what he wants. This morning he wanted snickers for breakfast. I have the bite sized snickers in a bag that I will give him as a sweet once in a while(like once a week on a saturday night), but it doesn't stop him from asking for them for breakfast every single morning. I have to say that I admire his persistent he'll be a fine salesman someday.
So the hour that I had allotted for myself turned into his time. So I had to be sneaky about getting my writing in.
I have learned to serve breakfast in rounds. First I feed him fruit. It's easy enough to take some strawberries out of the refridgerator and put him in his highchair and watch diego in the living room. Which leaves me time to microwave bacon and make pancakes. All the while ready to write with stories floating in the back of my head. So when the pancakes are on the first flip I will come into my room and write down all my ideas for wording or some cool sentences that I have picked out. Today I got carried away and was brought back by the sounds of spanish-speaking dolphins and the smell of burning pancakes. So then I was forced to stay in the kitchen and wait for breakfast to finish. No more multi-tasking breaskfast for me. But at least Jack finished his whole breakfast this morning and I did have a few minutes of peace to start writing.
I won't even say the extent of convincing that I had to do to have the time I have to write now. Let's just say it involves serious threats of time-out, promises of ice cream and a big bag of building blocks. He'll come in here every now and then to check on me or run past my door to get my attention. Once stopping only to do the downward facing dog yoga pose in front of my door and then moving on . Sometimes, it will get really quiet and I will have to get up to check to make sure all is well. 9 times out of 10 I will find him playing quietly which is what I wanted, but my presence undoubtedly stirs up another frenzy and the cycle continues.
I think these mommy "breaks" (and I use the term loosely) are where baby ninja was born. I am constantly finding things in places they don't belong. I never actually see it happen, but I know a certain pint-sized stealth ninja that might have something to do with it. Or as I have named him, Jack-san.
The other day I came out of my shower and went to my drawer to find clothes only to find all my tank tops had been replaced by a toe seperator, the thing you use in between your toes for pedicures. I didn't even know I had a toe seperator, but the thing that really tripped me out. Where the hell are my tank tops?
So I have been living with the effects of one such ninja raid for the past couple of weeks and it has begun to make me a little paranoid.
Since I have moved into my new place I have done a ton of work painting and sprucing . I ran out of energy, time, and money in my bedroom. I am almost finished except for painting the bathroom and replacing the nasty mini-blinds with a decent looking window treatment. But in the interim the blinds get the job done or at least they did.... That is until Jack-san struck.
I imagine the destruction of my blinds going something like this...
Jack, wearing only a diaper, squares off against the dusty blind with a bow. Then Chinese subtitles appear and bad overdubbing starts playing in English with a deep-voiced man with a heavy foreign accent..."so we meet again blinds" the words trying to keep up with the speed of Jack-san's native tongue, Jacklish. "I hope you have come prepared to fight." Then he busts a swan pose and flies at the window.
The rest is history, along with my privacy. At first it started out as a tiny corner hole. The blinds were bent but I could still get away with walking around my own bedroom in my underwear. Over the weeks the hole got worse and worse. How? I have no idea. I blame ninjas, damn, baby, ninjas.
Of course I have made things worse on myself by dividing my towels more generously in Jack's bathroom. Which means by the time I have used up the one towel I have allotted myself I have to run soaking wet from the shower down the hall to Jack's bathroom. All in front of the hole which is now so big that I could be charging admission for the show I am giving my neighbors.
So last night I had to spend even more of the time that I don't have coming up with a solution to covering up the hole. Bingo! I would take the blinds that were in storage that had been in Jack's, er Jack-san's room and put them in my room for now. Sounds good enough.
So I grab the other set of nasty mini-blinds and bring them into my room to make the trade. As I go to snapp the mini blinds out of the bracket the front of the bracket falls out in my hand... ok be cool maybe this isn't the worst of it... So I take down the blinds and pick up the other set to put in their place.
So now I am on a step ladder facing an uncovered window into the parking lot of my complex. I already feel like I have been on display because of the hole. But it hadn't really bothered me until now that I might of legitimately gotten some unwanted attention at least by the lawn crew, and 'were the old ladies in the bridge club looking at me funny today'. So now I am in the window trying to force the broken, nasty blinds into a broken, nasty,bracket on top of a step ladder with thoughts that I am being watched by old ladies and Mexicans.
The blinds are awkward and the ladder did nothing for my none existent coordination. I swing them around knocking myself in the forehead. Smarting for only a second, I almost lost my balance and ate it on the floor, but I manage to hold it together. I try to force the blinds in the bracket. It is then that I realize that the end of my new blind is bent and is not going to fit into the bracket. DAMMMITTTT!
Time for plan B.... So I comb the stolen internet, duct-tape dryer part of my brain and come up with sheets and thumb tacks.... No hammer and nails because Jack-san is peaceful and sleeping and you must NEVER wake a baby ninja.
Just then my downstairs neighbor walks by with his dog and throws a wave up to my direction. I glower down at him 'pervert'. Totally unwarranted, but it's late and I have head trauma. I finish tacking up the window and put the nasty blinds away.
So I sit here this morning with the sheet over my window, which I must say diffuses the sunlight beautifully, blogging about the free time I wish I had, but I think I will go play blocks now instead :)
It doesn't help that I am too cheap to pay for internet. I spent the entire day once walking around with my laptop seeing where I could pick up signals from unsecured networks. It was a long drawn out ritual where I went to each corner of each room and checked for signal. I would hold my laptop over my head like it was an antenna or a metal detector combing the beach for change. I would "sweep" the area until the red "X" came off my internet access logo and then I would proceed to try and connect. It was quite a little treasure hunt, and if I got any signal at all I had to make sure the signal was strong enough to keep me online for any specified amount of time.
So I finally found a spot in the corner of my bedroom. If I sit up straight against the wall on the top left-hand side of my bed with my computer facing left, and my right finger touching my nose I get perfect signal!
The whole thing reminds me of the time that my dad went an entire year duct taping the clothes dryer door shut so that it would dry clothes. There was a trick to it that only he knew which meant he was stuck with doing all the laundry. It wasn't that we couldn't afford a new dryer it was just because it wasn't at the top of his to-do list.
Just like paying for internet is definitely not on the top of mine.
So not accounting for wasted time searching for internet signal. Jack pretty much takes up 99.5% of my time. I have .5% to go crazy about once every two months and then I climb back into my mom hole. I spend time on him in little ways that I hadn't anticipated too.
For example, I woke this morning at 6:30 am, I did two loads of laundry, cleaned my kitchen, did a little bit of cardio, made my coffee, and sat down to write around 7:30. Jack slept until 8:30 the day before so I scheduled in an hour that I would be able to write my blog and then make him breakfast and cater to his every whim for the rest of the day. But this one hour I would have for me. I should of known that it was coming, but I can be slightly delusional when it comes to the thought of free time.
Little boy came into my room this morning at 7:31 on the dot, blue blanket in tow, "mamma, i want" This is his new game. He wants something and it is my job to figure out what he wants. This morning he wanted snickers for breakfast. I have the bite sized snickers in a bag that I will give him as a sweet once in a while(like once a week on a saturday night), but it doesn't stop him from asking for them for breakfast every single morning. I have to say that I admire his persistent he'll be a fine salesman someday.
So the hour that I had allotted for myself turned into his time. So I had to be sneaky about getting my writing in.
I have learned to serve breakfast in rounds. First I feed him fruit. It's easy enough to take some strawberries out of the refridgerator and put him in his highchair and watch diego in the living room. Which leaves me time to microwave bacon and make pancakes. All the while ready to write with stories floating in the back of my head. So when the pancakes are on the first flip I will come into my room and write down all my ideas for wording or some cool sentences that I have picked out. Today I got carried away and was brought back by the sounds of spanish-speaking dolphins and the smell of burning pancakes. So then I was forced to stay in the kitchen and wait for breakfast to finish. No more multi-tasking breaskfast for me. But at least Jack finished his whole breakfast this morning and I did have a few minutes of peace to start writing.
I won't even say the extent of convincing that I had to do to have the time I have to write now. Let's just say it involves serious threats of time-out, promises of ice cream and a big bag of building blocks. He'll come in here every now and then to check on me or run past my door to get my attention. Once stopping only to do the downward facing dog yoga pose in front of my door and then moving on . Sometimes, it will get really quiet and I will have to get up to check to make sure all is well. 9 times out of 10 I will find him playing quietly which is what I wanted, but my presence undoubtedly stirs up another frenzy and the cycle continues.
I think these mommy "breaks" (and I use the term loosely) are where baby ninja was born. I am constantly finding things in places they don't belong. I never actually see it happen, but I know a certain pint-sized stealth ninja that might have something to do with it. Or as I have named him, Jack-san.
The other day I came out of my shower and went to my drawer to find clothes only to find all my tank tops had been replaced by a toe seperator, the thing you use in between your toes for pedicures. I didn't even know I had a toe seperator, but the thing that really tripped me out. Where the hell are my tank tops?
So I have been living with the effects of one such ninja raid for the past couple of weeks and it has begun to make me a little paranoid.
Since I have moved into my new place I have done a ton of work painting and sprucing . I ran out of energy, time, and money in my bedroom. I am almost finished except for painting the bathroom and replacing the nasty mini-blinds with a decent looking window treatment. But in the interim the blinds get the job done or at least they did.... That is until Jack-san struck.
I imagine the destruction of my blinds going something like this...
Jack, wearing only a diaper, squares off against the dusty blind with a bow. Then Chinese subtitles appear and bad overdubbing starts playing in English with a deep-voiced man with a heavy foreign accent..."so we meet again blinds" the words trying to keep up with the speed of Jack-san's native tongue, Jacklish. "I hope you have come prepared to fight." Then he busts a swan pose and flies at the window.
The rest is history, along with my privacy. At first it started out as a tiny corner hole. The blinds were bent but I could still get away with walking around my own bedroom in my underwear. Over the weeks the hole got worse and worse. How? I have no idea. I blame ninjas, damn, baby, ninjas.
Of course I have made things worse on myself by dividing my towels more generously in Jack's bathroom. Which means by the time I have used up the one towel I have allotted myself I have to run soaking wet from the shower down the hall to Jack's bathroom. All in front of the hole which is now so big that I could be charging admission for the show I am giving my neighbors.
So last night I had to spend even more of the time that I don't have coming up with a solution to covering up the hole. Bingo! I would take the blinds that were in storage that had been in Jack's, er Jack-san's room and put them in my room for now. Sounds good enough.
So I grab the other set of nasty mini-blinds and bring them into my room to make the trade. As I go to snapp the mini blinds out of the bracket the front of the bracket falls out in my hand... ok be cool maybe this isn't the worst of it... So I take down the blinds and pick up the other set to put in their place.
So now I am on a step ladder facing an uncovered window into the parking lot of my complex. I already feel like I have been on display because of the hole. But it hadn't really bothered me until now that I might of legitimately gotten some unwanted attention at least by the lawn crew, and 'were the old ladies in the bridge club looking at me funny today'. So now I am in the window trying to force the broken, nasty blinds into a broken, nasty,bracket on top of a step ladder with thoughts that I am being watched by old ladies and Mexicans.
The blinds are awkward and the ladder did nothing for my none existent coordination. I swing them around knocking myself in the forehead. Smarting for only a second, I almost lost my balance and ate it on the floor, but I manage to hold it together. I try to force the blinds in the bracket. It is then that I realize that the end of my new blind is bent and is not going to fit into the bracket. DAMMMITTTT!
Time for plan B.... So I comb the stolen internet, duct-tape dryer part of my brain and come up with sheets and thumb tacks.... No hammer and nails because Jack-san is peaceful and sleeping and you must NEVER wake a baby ninja.
Just then my downstairs neighbor walks by with his dog and throws a wave up to my direction. I glower down at him 'pervert'. Totally unwarranted, but it's late and I have head trauma. I finish tacking up the window and put the nasty blinds away.
So I sit here this morning with the sheet over my window, which I must say diffuses the sunlight beautifully, blogging about the free time I wish I had, but I think I will go play blocks now instead :)
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