My baby, My Terrorist Captor or Anatomy of an Ear Infection

• peed on the vanity in my bathroom
• Refused to get dressed, thus forcing me to do the “pin the cat on the hot rock” dance
• Tantrummed all the way to drop Norm off at school
• Tantrummed all the way to sitter
• Had to be pried from arms at sitter
• Was happy for a total of 37 seconds after leaving sitters.
• Stripped off all clothes and ran away giggling maniacally upon return to house
• Threw a plate of chips on the floor in abject disgust
• Played quietly for about five minutes which should have been a big red alarm siren
• Speaking of big and red, came running out of my bedroom giggling as soon as suspicion was smelled.
• Greeted me waving hands covered in bright red paint, “look look”. Look at the bright red paint covering my hands and half my body.
• Ran back into the bedroom before being snatched and thrown into the tub
• Cheerfully offered to “help” as I scrubbed the bath of already dried red paint in a futile attempt to remove trail from rug.
• Yelled “top it” when I collapsed on the floor and begged nobody in particular to just put me inpatient.
• Threw another bowl of chips on the floor in a rage.
• Would not leave my side for the rest of the evening

• Fell asleep at 10pm. Woke up at 1am
• Engaged in an hour long demand ridden play fest of peek-a-boo and pat-a-cake
• Watched Melmo til 4am. Screaming MOM every time my eyes closed
• Finally asked for dad.

I will save my detailed metaphorical description entitled “my baby, my hairshirt” until Ive polished it more.

Please insert "peed on my leg after refusing to put on diaper" right after "threw second of bowl of chips on floor"

Random Tuesday Thoughts

* Chocolate Honeycombs were a huge disappointment to me. I felt truly defiled after trying them.

* I had a small epiphany today about feeding my old bread to the wildlife in my back yard. It occurred when as I was looking for something to make a sandwich with I pulled out a loaf of bread that i love in toast form but not so much in sandwich form. (actually Im a bun girl. People might not know that about me....Which reminds me, I wonder what it means that I dreamt last night that I remembered to grab the left over buns Madame Fabu offered me from mini-fabu's birthday party on saturday. It was a really good dream.)The bread was covered in white "stuff". After my initial reaction of grossed outedness, my second thought was "now this is the kind of bread that makes a person see God. This is like Revelations inspiring bread." And my third thought was just a vision of a bunch of scared and confused stoned out of their minds birds, chipmunks and squirrels trying to negotiate the last few days of uncovered ground before the winter. I cant believe i never thought of this before. I feel like the Jim Jones of small woodland creatures.

* I think my "better with butter" strategy was not such a good idea after all. (for those who don't recall, I developed this theory around the time of the turnip's birth that since margarine is bad for you and butter is bad for you, if I just indulged in the butter, I would feel more satisfied and ultimately cut down my cream type spread usage) Two years and several previously inexplicable pounds of weight gain later, Im starting to think I may have missed a flaw in that particular logical process.

*Having said that, I just now realized that if you melt a tablespoon of margarine and drip it on top of frozen pretzels, it not only tastes delicious but offers a delightful alternative to the "wet your pretzel" method Ive been struggling with since the dawn of frozen hot pretzels. Disclaimer: Oh I can wet yer pretzel baby...just not if it comes packaged frozen with disjointed instructions for salt application.

* Needless to say, this little experiment begs the question, would the pretzels taste even better with real butter?

* Which leads me to confess to the most dramatic aspertame relapse Ive had since my initial recovery. It was safe crisis management training friends. I had to be there at 8AM. There were limited caffeinating options. I am so weak.

*Ah but yet I am not! I felt pretty ass kicking good about the "physical assist" part of the training. My friend Micky may have been completely humoring me but it worked. And Spike (who was our trainer) was positive about all the ones he evaluated except for the escape holds. (which in fairness, he was positive about. He was praising of the form but did point out that they were completely wrong. He even stopped short of the fact that the only way I could probably get away using these forms would be if my attacker peed his pants from laughing. Micky, however, went ahead and took the obvious shot)

* I will elaborate at length about the training soon but will tell you that with just a little polishing I truly believe I could totally kick ass both at christmas brunch (or linner as my brother is calling it as it's moved to later in the day) when sibling stuff arises and at social drinking occasions as well. Just wait til spring season!

* I need to figure out how to remove corrosive battery residue from my sonicare innards. Its the dark side of my happy toothbrush world and I never expected to see it.

* I miss my blog friends. Thank you so much for not giving up on me. My Christmas present to myself is to catch up on you folks.

The lens of fate

Hello loyal friends. We could make this a post about how much I suck or you can just let me lay it on the line. I suck. I truly believe its going to get better. I could try to explain where Ive been but it would really not make sense to anybody but possibly Gill and Madame Fabu because my reasons for absence would sound obscure and stupid to everyone else but I assure you they are entirely real and 100% logistical. (no crisis or illness or even lack of motivation to blog. Its there my friends. I am just having pure logistical problems) In lieu of describing them in tedious detail (too late? Im so sorry!) I will allude to them with a small tale. Let me preface the tale with disclaimer that I am here not because I have solved the problem but because I am braving these severe logistical conditions because my dearest sega continues to be a rockstar in every way and has expressed the need for updates. Ok so here is my little morality play.

Did you ever have one of those moments in time when you are involved in something and you are about to take an action and a very loud voice in your head is yelling "THIS IS A VERY BAD IDEA!"? Ok I know several of my realtime friends (Luckybuzz comes to mind in particular)can relate to this both about themselves and about me re: the late 80s and early 90s. Im not talking about THAT kind of bad idea. Im talking about the kind that happens when you are absorbed in an activity that requires you moving between several different rooms and are spontaneously approached by your two year old to take off your glasses. As you take them off and put them somewhere that is cognitively identified by you as "NOT A SAFE SPACE" (but not identified in terms of specific location of course...), you immediately stop thinking about your glasses and your two year old's sudden interest in them.

Needless to say, I had this type of moment on Friday morning. I did not think about my glasses at all until several hours later when Gill and I were in our bedroom cleaning and Gill suddenly said in a very alarmed tone of voice "Crse." I look up and he is holding one lens that clearly belong(s)(ed) to my glasses. Friends, it was like finding a human hand belonging to someone you did not even know was missing. Frantically we started tearing apart the bedroom. We dissembled the bed. We emptied drawers. Of course I flashed back to that moment in time (still believing for some ludicrous reason that the glasses were still where i left them despite the clear dismemberment that took place). Nothing. Friends, we looked as much as we could Saturday. We literally tore apart the furniture in the living room in a desperate attempt to find some sort of forensic trail of evidence. Nothing. At one point, I even tried a trick that actually worked on Norm when he was the turnips age.

"Baby? Will you help mommy find her glasses?"
"Nope".
"Do you know where mommy's glasses are?"
"Glasses."
"YOU help mommy find them?"
"Nope".

Cut to Sunday night and I am reliving the moment over and over trying to remember what the hell I was doing when it occurred. Bonsai calls me. She is somewhat stressed because she went back to school and because well...she lives with my brother which would require anyone to need sedative medication. I am telling her the story to cheer her up. (She does enjoy her nephews so). And I am stretched out on my bed and Im looking at my exercise bike which is about two feet from me. I suddenly remember Gill mentioning at some unrelated to frantic searching moment on friday that the bike sounded like something was stuck inside. Yup. Guess who's polishing his fine motor skills....

Maybe this is just a bad dream Monday

It cant possibly be Monday can it? Only Monday? I guess in terms of days it wasnt a BAD day per se. You just know that it isnt going to be the day you want when you here a little perky voice next to you at ten to six saying "guess what mommy? Daddy is gone already! Lets watch some cartoons in bed!" Especially when your viewing buddy is a wiggler, twitcher, climber and commenter. I sensed the day was not going to get better when I had to send Madame Fabu a briefing about a work situation and decided that the most fitting subject line would be "you are just going to love this (and no it's not a forward, its sarcasm)" (thanks for hanging in there with me through all of this today Madame F!) It could have seriously been much much worse. In fact, I now have a new character to introduce into the blog soon. Ive decided to call him Hemlock. He is my new arch nemesis. He is a supervisee and he is like the Lex Luthor to my Superman of passive aggressivity. I don't have the energy to begin the tale right now but I will tell you that he is truly a worthy adversary. As annoying and manipulative as his tactics may be, I often find myself thinking "Well-played sir. Touche."

Im reliving my childhood through my son. Soccer Mom shit? nope. Overfriending his friends? nooo. Apparently my Patsy Ramsey contribution to my son's education is to put off practicing his sight words until TWO days before the end of the nine weeks then try to teach him eight words (six of which he hasn't seen in at least a week) by chasing him around the house with flash cards that I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO CREATING YESTERDAY. Yes son, this is my legacy to you. You are five years old and already learning the art of procrastinating and cramming. Welcome to the amazing world of academics my child. Its all yours. In fact, go on ahead and have a beer because now that we've introduced you to the cycle of guilt, unbearable pressure and the sense of incessant dissatisfaction that emerges once you realize how well you could have done if you weren't such a self-destructive slack ass with avoidant personality disorder, a drinking problem is your next logical step. Seriously though? Next nine weeks will be better. I swear.

I write this pretending that it was only the sight words that escaped our review this past nine weeks. Sadly, you can guess the truth when I share Norm's quote of the night (offered in a tearful scream) "Will you JUST STOP asking me questions about my HANDS?" (it was a left right thing). Mother of the Year friends. Mother. Of. The. Year.

The Secret: And how it changed my family

Well friends. Two days and im off the wagon. But hey. Im gonna keep trying. So today's installment is about our life-changing evening tonight. I never suspected that when Gill came home last night with the DVD "The Secret" (thankfully he borrowed it) (From a fellow at work who was rumored to be hired in the same position Gill is doing at roughly ten thousand more dollars a year)(Needless to say, Gill thought perhaps there might be a connection between this little turn of events and "the secret"). How was that for a parenthetical cluster?

Anyway, as well you can imagine, (or maybe you cannot) I am somewhat cynical about any "life secret" that is being sold in DVD form and has been featured on Oprah. Don't get me wrong friends. I love Oprah. Who does not love Oprah? But seriously? Dr. Phil, A million little pieces (or whatever that scam was), Jenny McCarthy and most importantly lest we forget...the Tom Cruise couch jumping incident? Still, Gill asks so little of me(mostly because he prefers the naggy bitch approach to getting me to do stuff)so tonight we all sat down together and watched "The Secret".

I want to begin my review with something positive. I really do. Ok, so yes, I do believe in the Law of Attraction. It's called positive thinking. I know that term is probably foreign to most of you who haven't bought the DVD. Thats because those of us who have "The Secret" have been trying to keep it from you for two thousand years. Because nobody could expect a person to pick up a fucking religious text or study the life of someone who has made a significant difference in humanity or even see a therapist who might clue them into "The Secret". Is this woman serious? Am I some sort of emotional health elitist who just assumed people were not so idiotic as to need to pay 30 bucks to find out that negative thinking breeds negativity? Alright so its not what you'd call a fair and balanced review. Let me try again.

It was kind of funny. Funny is good. Each section would show a written title and some sort of truism in print (calligraphy or some other FANCY PRINT). Then there would be a whispered voice over reading the truism aloud. I really enjoyed that. So much so that I cant wait for an opportunity to start whispering really obvious statements loudly to Gill during conversations. And the music totally had a 700 club "mystical experience: I talked to Jesus" feel about it. I liked that a lot.

We spent a lot of time during the DVD explaining to Norm that much of what they were saying was true. You do need to trust the universe. You need to have an attitude of gratitude. And you always get what you want. These are messages we are trying to impart upon him anyway, but we needed to tease out the whole "and its some huge mystery nobody ever wanted you to know". I think Norm really appreciated this.

In sum, our family decided that the Turnip is already living "The Secret". Which is why we are constantly being forced to watch "melmo on demand" or suffer the dire consequences of a Turnip scorned. Norm then decided he is going to make "The Secret" work for him. To practice, we spent the rest of the evening placing demands and staring pointedly in silence at each other just to see what would happen. Periodically the Turnip would hit one of us, which of course is what we attracted to ourselves. I am sad to say that Norm appears to have gotten more of his sense of humor from his father as he was not even slightly amused when I noted that we want to be hit every time the little maniac philosopher hits us.

In all honesty, I could go on at length about my concerns about a society that is being bilked into believe basic mental health is a "secret that has travelled through the ages". I could also rant about my disgust on several different levels. But the bottom line is "The Secret" makes me realize that I could easily drive my family completely insane for the sake of my own amusement. How can that not be a gift worthy of 29.95 plus shipping and handling?

I bought bad pie and I cannot lie

And no Lucy they were not market day pies. They were pies of shit. If I told my blogger friends how many pies I own right now, it would shock you all. (I say own because my pies are currently being housed in three different locations. No wait four) I own eleven pies right now. I had thirteen. Thankfully, only five of the thirteen pies were bad pies. I have no good reason for owning eleven pies. In essence? The pies are physical manifestations of my boundary problems. Generally, Im ok with a physical reminder of bad boundaries as long as it's tasty. The not so tasty ones make me want to step up my therapy rotation.

The democratic debate is on. I miss Mike Gravel. Joe Biden has the most disturbing forehead Ive ever seen. Is it me or is Wolf Blitzer kind of bitchy tonight?

I want to give more to you tonight friends. You deserve it. But Im congested and sleepy. Its good to be back though...

For Sega

Today is my anniversary.(well for the next 25 minutes it is) I bet you think I am breaking my week long fall off the nanoblowme month (or whatever the hell it is that i need to seek remotivation for) wagon to wax poetic about my beloved spouse. Well...no. Although I did empty the trash for him today. (Happy Anniversary Honey!) In reality so far our only present to each other is a hardcover bargain book about corrupt popes in history. (and our mutual giddiness about this book might explain why we are paired so well) Its been 13 years, we have two small needy children and its a damn wednesday today so I really got nothing for him here besides a little shout out of love and a half hearted promise not to kill him by the end of november (because seriously? If you are half of a dual income family and you have two small and incredibly needy children, why would you not try to WRITE A FUCKING NOVEL DURING THE MONTH OF NOVEMBER???? Because god knows the EIGHT CHILDLESS VIDEO GAME FILLED NOVEMBERS we shared before all this did not provide ample opportunity to explore this. Nope. We must find the most absolutely inconvenient stage of our family's life and then commit to setting extremely unrealistic goals about writing so we can make our family miserable for 30 days either through neglecting them or whining about not writing when we are with them) (Happy anniversary honey).

Forgive the digression. I have been gone. I am not catching up on blogs yet. I am sort of back i think though. Tonight however, i am here for Sega. Who saved our collective asses this week during a sort of surprise audit from the state. Shall I continue? Perhaps through bulletted form.

* Stardate: Monday Nov. 12, 2007:1214pm: Get the call from Lonnie Manko that begins with, "Ok dont freak out. Well...you are probably going to freak out but you need to understand this is actually a compliment." Basically, the gist was that I was selected as part of a list of folks who were VOLUNTARILY offered to the auditor for review!

* Now friends, I don't want you to be mistaken about my response. Lonnie was right. It was not only a compliment it was a total leap of freaking faith for several reasons including but not limited to the fact that my paperwork skills have been compared to those of a small nesting rodent and the fact that during the mock audit I defied all odds by not only finding all of the common auditor traps and falling right into them but also trapping myself in awkward and inappropriate monologues.

* I may have already told you this but for the above reasons, I was actively seeking ADA status for my attention disability. I was hoping this type of status would protect the agency from being shut down in case I did encounter an auditor.

* So needless to say, I completely did freak and I did what any logical person would do faced with possible scrutiny of my clinical and administrative skills. Reviewed my paperwork Studied standard of care guidelines I CLEANED MY CAR!!! And boy didn't it look spiffy at the end.

* I will spare you blow by blow descriptions of the following twenty four hours but here are some highlights.

* I broke the cord off my laptop before I could access any of the information Ive been hoarding on my hard drive that should have already been in the chart.

* I spent about forty five minutes being lambasted by Gill for my 112 dollar mistake.

* I ate a lot of bad food.

* I realized that the 13th would be the 3rd anniversary of my mother's breaking up with us. Spent time trying to figure out the half-life of the relationship to see when I could say I was "over" her. I think i have fourteen years still but i could be wrong...

* I spent time researching information about any possible injury I could inflict upon myself that would not hurt too badly but still guarantee admission into the hospital.

* I spoke to my friend Andy who offered to a) make sure our client was "not available" or b) slip the auditor some aquadots that she had bought before the recall and had not yet returned. She figured we could tell the guy that he slept through the whole session but we would keep his little "problem" a secret. Yes of course this made me feel better.

* I did review the chart. I printed out a bunch of necessary stuff. And left it at home.

* I commiserated with Sega who is so organized and auditor friendly that she was actually my personal chart manager in preparation for an audit a few years back. I was relieved to find out that she was also terrified and had indeed cleaned her car as well!

* I imagined every stupid thing I could possibly say in front of the auditor.

* I panicked for thirty minutes about the fact that the chosen case involves a client's mother who hugs me when she sees me. I like that she hugs me. I was terrified about the implications.

* I comforted myself by inflating the importance of the clean car and fantasizing about how impressed the auditor would be with my orderliness.

* I found and wore my badge. Unfortunately, it did repeatedly flip to the backside causing Andy to speculate that I was actually trying to mask a cosco card as my Employee ID.

* I slept four hours and had nightmares the entire time.

In the end, Sega was the chosen one and friends, she was a rock star. The rest of us on the list tried not to put pressure on her to convince the auditor that nobody else would need to be seen after she had done her magic. Our friend L Pow-Yung offered to tongue kiss her if she got us out of it. I did too but it was decided that I would have done it anyway and that couldn't really count as a bribe. She had a beautiful chart and answers for everything. She wooed the auditor on the ride-along and pretty much took the bullet for the team. We passed with compliments! All told, Sega was not interested in our tongue kisses and was gracious about taking the hit for us. But she did tell me she missed my blogging so friends, this one is for her!

And to further celebrate her contribution I am going to try to resume my post a day commitment. Here is the problem friends. I feel so damn guilty if I dont read all my blogs, comment on them, and reply to all of your comments. I cant keep up so I just avoid. (yeah yeah yeah its a metaphor for my life..whatever) Im going to try something new friends. Im just going to do my best to stay posted. I will try to catch up slowly on my blogs but it's going to take time. I do want to say that I don't have an order so if you see that ive not gotten to yours, don't take it personally. I just go down the list and the list is not in order! Ok thanks for your patience friends. Happy Ides of November!

for the record

Friends, I am EXHAUSTED. The turnip did not sleep last night and every time I drifted off, he screamed in my face and smacked me. And yes, it was exactly as charming and adorable as it sounds. (please ignore sound of glass breaking as your host smashes head through the window) I cannot keep my eyes open. Slept most of the evening. Im sorry. Im even typing with my eyes shut right now. Ill make it up friends. I will!

Must. Blog. Today.

The day was long. I am tired. I drank WAYYYY too much caffeine today. BUT NO aspartame. Recycling can get very cluttery when it stays at your house. You know when you’ve been married a long time and you totally totally adore the person and you still think about beating them? Maybe giving them nose bleeds? I mean you don’t do it but you think about it? And not for huge character flaws but for little things. Like making the children miserable. Or steadfastly refusing to admit that either a) there is a problem with the laundry or b) the laundry is deliberately being tampered with to ensure that you are constantly sniffing all your clothes only to find out ten minutes after you leave the house that the one ARM you missed has “the smell”. (you know the smell friends. The “no I didn’t leave the laundry sit in the washer for three days, you are imagining things” smell.) Or claiming to lack the social skills to order a pizza or deal with the car repair guy but will tell you in detail how you failed to give the proper information. Or will pick out WINTERGREEN gum went sent by you and another couple through the express line to purchase some gum. (and shout out to Madame Fabu because yes indeed it does taste like pepto bismo) Or FORGETS to take the baby to day-care when you are sick and can barely get out of bed. I am happy in my marriage, friends. I really am. I just think I would feel better if I smacked Gill more frequently. Or even just flicked his bald head. It seems like lately I can hardly be next to him without fighting the overpowering desire to flick his bald head when he pisses me off. It just seems like it would be so…rewarding. I do look forward to growing old with him.

Ok I really hope I never become one of those ladies with a man haircut dyed orange. What makes a person think that haircut is a good idea? Those who know me in real time are probably shaking their heads right now at what might appear to significant self delusion in terms of my own hair. But here is the thing friends. I DO NOT SEEK THIS HAIR OUT. IT JUST HAPPENS. I was watching a woman get into her car today with this hair. She was middle aged and not particularly attractive (orange man-hair notwithstanding). She was with her husband. I could not stop thinking about her hair folks. What happened? Did she give up? Did her husband finally notice a really bad hair cut years ago because it was manly and orange and didn’t know what to say so he told her it looked nice which caused her to keep the cut to “impress” him? I can totally get behind the whole “I just don’t care about my appearance” idea. It’s the seeking the ugly cut I just don’t understand. Ok buddies. Just reached 500. Did not think Id make it but damn it, if I cant flick his bald head, I certainly cannot give Gill the satisfaction of missing my word count! Im off to drown my sorrows in a glass of wine and some honey mustard Pringles. Until tomorrow friends….

the obligatory sleepy post

I don’t think Im gonna make five hundred today. Im very sleepy. Its been a long day. My oldest child swallowed his tooth and missed the bus. (Does telling him the tooth fairy won’t pay him unless he digs the tooth out of his poop qualify as abusive?) (Oh relax people. He didn’t believe me anyway) My baby stuffs Lincoln logs down his diaper and is currently walking around with his toilet training seat on his head. (Does that count as showing interest?)I voted today. In support of porn and alcoholic Sundays and against clean parks. (Im sorry but I just don’t have the money for clean parks. Im saving up for legends of guitar heroes III.).

As I left the precinct, I felt a distinct sense of obligation. I should be volunteering with the board of elections. Why? Because watching the current staff of volunteers manage the electronic voting booths is like watching my Dad try to program his own cell phone. Except my Dad knows better. I stood there for ten agonizing minutes watching a clearly disoriented sixty something volunteer insist that the middle voting booth was broken. I had an uncomfortable feeling that she was simply not following the prompts but thought it best to keep my mouth shut as they were already irritated with me for holding up the line as I tried to argue that I did not need my driver’s license to vote. But quicker than you can say institutionalized racism, the bevy of elderly poll ladies were gathered around the three machines. Needless to say, they had to try about two dozen really stupid solutions before they finally asked for help. When help arrived the problem was solved in less than fifteen seconds. I am not exaggerating. I mississippied the seconds.

It was one of those moments where the better person inside of me would be reflecting upon how lucky I am to live in a place where these were the biggest challenge I would face in placing my vote today. No death threats. No standing in the rain for hours on end. No gun touting pollsters. However, the better part of me did not show up until about three seconds before I wrote that last thought down. The selfish and elitist rest of me was just damn impatient and annoyed. Hell I have 389 I might as well keep going.

I gave up aspartame last week. On Thursday to be precise. My friend J sent me an article. Actually it was one of those articles I get periodically but J has the uncanny knack of being able to convince me to do almost anything from ferberizing my baby to taking a road trip to Alaska. Anyway, I started thinking maybe this would explain my inability to remember anything (like that word for moving your feet to get somewhere..crap what is it? Oh walk that’s right) (im BARELY joking) and my constant feelings of exhaustion. Ack. I hit five hundred so Im going to try to escape to my bed now. Wish me luck friends.

The (anti) dramatic conclusion

Ok Luckybuzz has pointed out the sad truth about this story. I will bullet the rest of the highlights.

• The narrator sounded like Boris Karloff in Grinch who stole Christmas.
• Madame Fabu pointed this out by singing “dah hu lor ay, fah hu dor ay” (or whatever it is) when he first started talking.
• He reminded me of a soulful, black Spike .
• These two things made me like the guy a lot.
• The story was interrupted by mad 80’s rock versions of traditional Christmas songs like “hark the herald angels sing” and “joy to the world”.
• Which was very nice until the guitar players tried to get us all to stand up.
• Which was ridiculous.
• Oh and there was a guy three rows up with a really big head who caused us all to have to occasionally shift to see the stage.
• I did not mind except when the narrator was talking.
• And was also the point where Madame Fabu pointed out her obsessive annoyance with a hunchbacked man two rows in front of us who was chewing his gum like his life depended on it.
• I found the gum chewing fascinating as it went “chew…chewchew” in a steady rhythm regardless of what was going on musically.
• The gist of the story seemed to involve a guy in a bar who was getting free drinks from a fellow telling a story about an angel traveling the world looking for hope or something.
• The angel found a guy who wanted his daughter to come home for Christmas
• The angel then found the guy’s daughter who wanted to go home too but couldn’t find a star to wish upon so she wished upon a bar sign.
• Somehow, she ended up in the bar and the bartender gave her money to get home
• At the end of the story the guy getting free drinks realized that he was probably talking to the angel.
• I was faced with the sad reality that in my town you don’t get free drinks from angels and you don’t get travel money from bartenders.
• All you get is fellows offering to get you high for a blow job.
• After a huge light and rock guitar finally, the annoying david lee roth wannabe introduced the band and thought he was a lot funnier and more of a superstar than he actually was.
• I was annoyed by this and prepared to leave gratefully thinking it was a fantastic show despite the basketball thing and the stage presence of the guitar jackasses.
• Then DLR announced that the show was only half over.
• They started the second half with “Proud Mary”. Which was extremely enjoyable.
• The rest of the show was a blur of crazy melding of Handel’s Messiah and other classical music pieces with over the top 80’s rock.
• Which was incredibly overstimulating
• And my butt was numb
• And when they asked if we were having fun, our group reply was basically “ask us forty five minutes ago”
• Speaking of which, TSO also contained several leggy blond women in plunging necklines, fish net stockings and spiked leather boots.
• These women came and sang right by us on the sound board stage.
• At some point, they covered the equipment with thermal blankets
• And raised this platform and shot flames from two little chalices of fire.
• The fire was very hot.
• To the point that Madame Fabu and I were shrinking away.
• The women were hot too
• But their hotness did not make me shrink away.
• Then they went back and the two guitar players came and played on the sound board platform too.
• And sent fog which froze the hell out of us.
• We saw DLR’s face in close up. He was an old and sad looking man.
• They wanted us to stand. We did not
• Finally it was over and we got the hell out of there because they were coming out to sign autographs.
• Oh I forgot the “Keyboard dual”.
• Keyboard dual?
• Are you fucking kidding me?
• Am I just too bitter and cynical to think that was not the cheesiest thing ever?
• The keyboardists did kick ass though.
• The show was Three. Hours. Long.

In summary (too late I know), the music was awesome. The light show was great. Everyone but DLR was extremely hot. And DLR was NOT an original member which made me think I would like the show if he was not part of it. Senor bought a CD and we listened on the way home. It was really nice actually….

804 words friends! Anyway, I promise this is the end of TSO. Lonnie Manko did have a very pleasant experience up in her seat so do not be deterred if you are thinking of seeing them. Unless you are Maggie May. Because my little soul drinking buddy, I think you will have a similar response as me....

And the beat goes on.....

So friends, our scene is set. We are crammed in our hemorrhoid inducing section expectantly waiting for the show to begin. Despite my circumstances, Im pretty darn excited about the fact that the row in front of us is empty. Mentally, I am thinking of subtle ways to create more space by stealthily manipulating these chairs once the concert begins. I do a quick risk assessment and see that the elaborate soundboard system approximately five feet from Gill’s seat will be a problem (consider this foreshadowing friends). Of course, as soon as the lights dim, six inconsiderate bozos trail in to take those seats (please note that when I am late and intrusive people need to be understanding and polite, but when others are late and intrusive they should defer to my comfort levels. In this case that would have entailed either standing in the back of the stadium or leaving altogether lest they ruin my comfortable viewing experience). The show begins with the announcement that the TSO will be donating the proceeds of the night to a local charity. Would you like to hear what the charity was? The local college women’s basketball team. Madame Fabu and I looked at each other completely flabbergasted. (at this point I may have fallen in love with the folks behind us who were also vocally appalled). Are you even fucking kidding me? (hey friends, the liquor was flowing freely. With the liquor comes the f word) So the women’s basketball team has a chronic or terminal disease and can’t afford to pay bills? They are dying and need a wish? Madame Fabu immediately begins listing local charities that might have been better allowing us to ask questions like do they need homes built? Do they need protection from abusive spouses? Do they need toys for their children for Christmas? ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING KIDDING ME? Ok this is a total digression (How about when I went to write digression, I wrote the word aggression instead?) and for the sake of my patient readers, I will complete the story today despite the word count issue. Anyway, I still had hopes for the show. Now bear with me friends, I am remembering from two nights ago. I believe it began with two long haired fellows doing the 80’s hair band guitar thing to alternate sides of the stadium. (You know, standing on amps, thinking they were Eddie Van Halen sort of stuff) I do like 80’s hair bands. Is this going to be an 80s hair band thing? Well ok, I can get behind that. I think. (I was wrong). I then remember lots of flashy lights and guitar posturing. Then the lights went dim and this guy began talking.

Ok friends. I just lost over five hundred additional words about our lovely story. I am tired. It is late. I am sorry. Its all gonna be anti-climactic when I finally finish this damn story....

Trans-Siberian Orchestra (part one)

I am once again suspending the Sesame Street post to discuss last night’s Trans-Siberian Orchestra show, not just to honor the request of the delightfully brilliant Maggie May but also to purge the experience from me while it is still fresh. I have to admit, when the
Fabus (im linking them in case i need to for nablopomo) first mentioned that we should go to this concert, all I knew about the group was that they had some funky Christmas song that I would recognize if I heard it and the music also had a light show. Plus, my boss Lonnie Manko had expressed interest in going so we got her tickets for Boss’s Day. Needless to say, I immediately agreed to go a) because the Fabus can pretty much anything fun b) if Lonnie Manko wanted to go then it would probably be good because she has good taste and c) Im all about pretty sparkly lights. I meant to google the group before we went but of course time got away from me and I was no more prepared than I’d been the day we bought the tickets.
Last night, before the show, we took a risk on a local seafood restaurant that I’d remembered being good ten years ago but is currently suffering from rumors that it’s gone around the bend. We were pleasantly surprised to find this not to be the case at all! Despite having to face the unfortunate reality that tonic is not an acceptable substitute for diet soda which resulted in me having to embarrass myself by asking my server to top my vodka and tonic off with sprite (yeah, im twelve years old), the risk paid off and we all had high hopes for the evening. We had asked for the best available seats and had paid extra money for them. Apparently, by the time we bought our tickets, 42 bucks gets you into a crowded row of folding chairs with no pads. Our tickets were in Row D on the floor. We knew we did not get fourth row seats but we at least thought this would mean we were in the fourth row of our section. Not so much. It appears that the folks who organize the logistics of seating at our venue do not believe in breaks between sections because we seemed to be behind another entire alphabet of rows.
Now friends, you may know me here on the blog to be kind of weak and self indulgent but deep in my heart, I am a survivor. I was undaunted by the prospect of being crammed into this small space on a butt numbing folding chair for the show. (Admittedly, I was between Madame Fabu and Gill, who was on the end, which made my experience a bit more pleasant than say, Senor. Fabu’s.)(And I did look longingly at the stadium seating until Madame assured me that they had unpadded chairs as well.) I was prepared to enjoy the spectacle. We called Lonnie Manko on the cell and found her located in the stadium seats much much closer to the stage. I deliberately did not ask about her seat padding just in case Madame was lying to make me feel better. I realize Ive hit five hundred words but I still am deliberately not going to begin the show until my gentle readers less familiar with the Trans-Siberian Orchestra experience have an opportunity to go here and learn about what the show was meant to be. I want you to have that image firm in your mind when you come back tomorrow to hear about the reality of it.

Emergency Blog Post

Ok Im on borrowed time here people so this one will not be 500 words. I think Im slightly allergic to nuts. have i shared that before? We went to see the Transiberian Orchestra tonight. I had no idea. I just can't do the experience justice without the five hundred words. You folks deserve that. From the david lee roth wannabe clearly living out his eighth grade fantasy to almost being set on fire. Yes friends. You deserve that.

Its November BABY

My month people. Well not traditionally but damn it, sucktober is finally over. (Im sure i stole that word but it feels good and right). And friends, Im back with a vengeance. In an unprecedented melding of my two worlds (ok maybe there is a precedent for melding, but it sounds dramatic) Im going to join the ranks of my favorite blog general and rising blog star Ash and join NaBloPoMo! I solemnly pledge to post every day in November. Furthermore in order to satisfy the insane demands of my partner in procrastination Gill, I am also (while not joining nanowrimo as he ordered me to do) committing to trying to write five hundred words a day. People the blog world is ready for this. Im not sure how Im going to do it and it may come down to me posting the contents of my refrigerator or randomly turning on the tv and writing down whatever comes out of it, but damm it Im going to do it.

In case you are wondering that last sentence marked 173. Anyway I really do have a lot to share. I think. Lets see...what was I going to tell you folks...

Well sesame street is on right now so Ive got some stuff to throw out there. First, have you noticed that there is very little cross-over between the muppets in the skits and the muppets that actually inhabit sesame street. Elmo seems to be the one exception. And sometimes bigbird. (muppets on elmo's world are the exception as it seems to be the nether world between the street and the skits). Why is this? Like you never see Ernie and Bert running into Maria or Gordon. And the poor cookie monster (my true soul mate because of course, c is not just for cookie its for crse too!) is like a damn pariah. (Did anyone ever see the daily show expose about the cookie monster? its pee your pants funny) Ok so there is that.

Plus, drop the bricks casey (I have no idea what that means except my grandmother says it when something is obvious) i just finally realized that there is a direct correlation between what happens on the street and what happens in the skits. Man thats brilliant. But being 37 years old and on about my fourth incarnation of sesame street viewing before I caught that is probably not. Brilliant. (407! rock on crse!)

Finally, Ive noticed the adults can kind of be jerks. I never picked up on this before. Now Gina? The vet? She is still fresh. But we are currently watching an episode "on demand" (i heart on demand) where Bob not only ostracizes the elephant from the word game they are playing, (fluffy, s/he lives with oscar) but he is a bitch when Fluffy actually does understand the rules and follows them (and lets be honest, if I was an elephant, and some guy like bob was a dick in front of my trashcan and I had to fight to play the game, and I had a huge elephant trunk, Id be sore ass tempted to spray water all over him when he wanted a W word. Take that you ignorant motherfucker). (537!!!!)

Ok I hit the goal for today so you will have to wait til tomorrow to hear about how Maria brings my mother issues to the surface.
Post script to be deleted soon Im backdating this to win prizes. Dont tell anyone.