I think I'm Jen Lancaster but without the fashion sense.

I'm reading Jen Lancaster's Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie is not the Answer for my gym reading (I just finished Howard Dully's My Lobotomy and before that I was reading Esmeralda Santiago's Turkish Lover, with the former being, yes, about lobotomies, and the later being most definitely NOT a romance novel, but I tried to hide the covers of both when first placing them on the treadmill book holder platform thing because I was really afraid someone would think I was reading a romance novel or comment that I'm a weirdo because I was reading about lobotomies - and now with Such a Pretty Fat, I find myself doing the same thing because I fear anyone who looks at the cover as I first place it on the holder thingy will thing: Such a pretty fat? At the gym? What kind of book is that to be reading at a gym?? And why are those undergarments so HUGE? or something like that.) and I realized I have many of the same qualities that Ms. Lancaster has.

Case in point:

• She too was told by her doctor that she needed to lose weight because her health was at stake (although, for my sake, I truly believe her physical condition was (is?) way worse than mine, and I've never been a size 24, which she admits to being in the book).
• She too feels she is too immature to be a home owner and feels she is probably better as a renter because of all those pesky home maintenance things we home (condo) owners must deal with on a daily, weekly, monthly, or annual basis (like changing the heater filter, which I've failed at doing repeatedly, or changing light bulbs that go out, or even dusting...oh wait, that has nothing to do with home ownership, darn).
  
• She too has an ego that rears its head at times, and if I had a dime for each time I was told I have an ego just this year alone, I'd probably have a dollar. There is nothing wrong with some self-confidence.
  
• She too hates public transportation but has to take it.
  
• She too indulges in libations, even though I don't indulge as much as I used to because I'm a MOM now and MOMS do not do such things (tee hee), I can relate to some of her stories where she starts saying really stupid things and then wakes up the next morning wondering what the heck happened and how did her clothes get off? (her husband, and that would be my husband as well).
  
• She too obsesses over really random and strange things and thinks turning off the lights and remaining still is the best way to avoid answering a door.
  

The one big difference between she and I is that I have no interest in expensive labels, although I do admit to watching fashion podcasts that feature famous clothing designers, and maybe, just maybe, if I was a size 2 or 4 or even 6, and I had a bazillion dollars to spend on clothes, I would buy myself some nicer clothes other than those from ON (Old Navy to you, buddy). I also have no interest in designer shoes as I can't get them on my jacked up monkey feet. I don't think going to the salon to get various things done to myself is a great way to spend my free time or my spare money.

So yes, there are some differences.

I also would not wear Lacoste polos or pink clothes.

Nor am I tan or do I think getting a fake bake is a grand idea.

I guess it's how we decide to dress and adorn our fatty mcgoo bodies is the big difference between us, other than that, I feel a weird kinship to her.

Phooey to the flu, among other things.

So you've heard how the "piggy" flu really didn't do much, and yes, while people have gotten sick from it, and yes two people have died, are the victims (alive and dead) of H1N1 virus any more than the average flu season? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Stupid media and its scare tactics.

I'm also glad the the CDC wised up about telling schools they should close for 7 to 10 days, an action that has caused tons of parents agony because they don't have back-up childcare plans for days upon days during the school year, not to mention the lack of education during that time period, and so I heard some parents were dropping their kids off at the public library and calling it a day. So now the CDC has decided that if a kid gets sick, then the sick kid should stay home while all the healthy kids go to school. Hmmm. Dontcha think?

So yes, that's all over and done with for now until the next scare comes up, which, since it's almost summer, will most likely be shark attacks since nothing else seems to be going on (oh, you know, besides Iraq and the economy falling to pieces and all that fun stuff....).

Enough of all that. Now let's talk about me.

Bunions. Not onions. BUNIONS. They are fun.

My mom has suffered from bunions for most of her life until she got them fixed (or one...can't remember now). I went to the doctor in my mid-20's about my feet because they hurt all the time, and I was told to wear better shoes and I had bunions and sorry, nothing can be done except wearing better shoes.

For almost 10 years I've been wearing what is considered "better shoes," and for almost 10 years I've had foot pain, mostly in my left foot. I have a moderate bunion on that foot, my big toe is slightly turned in, and it really doesn't matter what shoe I wear (or none), my foot will hurt when it wants to hurt and it hurts like the dickens.

I wore a pair of Easy Spirits, or some brand along those lines, a few weeks ago, and for two days after wearing them, I had sharp nerve pains shooting from my foot to my belly and my foot felt like someone broke all the bones on the inner side where the bunion has formed.

I decided enough was enough, and I went to my doctor, who referred me to a podiatrist, who said, "Sure, we can fix that for you, if you want. Just keep in mind it's 4-6 weeks of healing."

My answer?

"I don't care. I want it gone."

So in the beginning of June I am having a bunionectomy performed on my left foot. And I am darn tickled about it.

For fun, I just looked up videos about bunionectomies and found a whole mess of them that show the real deal. Instead of linking to one of those, I'll link to this fun, less than 60 second, beauty: Austin Bunionectomy - Surgical Animation. Go ahead, you're dying to look, I know.

I am no stranger to surgeries, so I'm not worried about that at all, and I'm not even worried about the pain I will be in after the surgery, but I am worried how my family's life will be while I'm recovering. Mateo still doesn't get the connection of "it hurts here" so don't bumrush me and make it hurt more, and he will still bumrush (but that's after inspecting the "hurt"). My husband will have to pick up many of the duties I do day to day. My mom is helping out as well. So my biggest worry is making other people's lives more complicated.

But then I look at my foot or I step down and it feels like the bones are all shifting about weirdly, and I'm okay with the decision again.

Plus I get to lay on the couch and do nothing for a few days except watch TV or read. Can't really beat that. I will finally catch up on LOST and a bazillion other shows I don't have time to watch, plus get some extra sleep plus read without a toddler yelling at me just as soon as I get into what I'm reading. It'll be painful, but worth it on so many levels. So very worth it.

Can I have a do-over, please? Or just more time in life.

I was talking to my boss yesterday (and this is not a work-related post by any means, so I can officially say I was talking to my boss and not "someone I know" or "some random lady who controls me during the day" or "the Sugar Momma who bought me the tasty Eggs Benedict on Monday morning" even though all may be very true) about what I recently decided I want to do with my life, which, again, is totally not work-related as far as what I do now, so it's okay to talk about it.

She said something along the lines of, "Doesn't it stink that you have to decide what you want to do when you're young and not when you're older, when you do figure it out?"

And yes, it does suck the biggest monkey toes around.

Sure, I love to write, I love the whole grammar thing, I love to edit, I love to draw and paint and make up funny cartoons and design things and take pictures and make jewelry and cook and read and listen to music and write about music, but that's not what I want to do in life. I wouldn't mind doing any of those things and get paid, don't get me wrong. I thrive on creating things, whether it's something tangible or something in my head that I'm just talking about or dreaming about. I think I've always been that way.

But the one thing I do know about myself is that with all of the above, I can drop any one of them and not pick it up again for the rest of my life and I would be okay.

Well, I take that back - most of them. I think I will always write. Which sort of leads me into what I've decided I want to do.

I've always been interested in people and how they think. I over analyze people in hopes I can figure out why they do what they do, which I'm sure most people do not do and yes, that makes me a tad nuts. I'm really interested in what makes people do what they do, think how they think, and how the brain works. I started listening to more science podcasts (especially Radio Lab, just about the best darn science podcast out there), and that's when I discovered this thing called Neuroscience.

I've heard the term before. It meant nothing to me, but yes, I've heard it. Basically it's the study of the nervous system. But it's also so much more than that. At least, it can be.

There is a branch of neuroscience called neuropsychology - and that is what I'm most interested in. So I looked up Stanford to see if they have a degree in it (yes) and then told my husband I was going to Stanford to become a neuropsychologist. He said something like "good deal," which really means, "Yeah, sure, another dream of yours that won't pan out...." But the thing is, is that I really am interested in this. Like, I could see myself doing this. And I can see myself writing books about the brain, similar to Oliver Sacks (who is just the cutest flipping old man around and yes, he wrote Awakenings, a movie I have always loved (have yet to read the book though)) and Steven Pinker, and V. S. Ramachandran to name a few. See how I can bring that whole writing thing into this new interest?

If I had no family relying on me, I would figure out how to drop it all and go back to school. Since I do have family relying on me, I just have to wait. I can be the oldest neuropyschologist out in the world. Why not. I already plan on bring "fun" back to neuroscience.

It was like having we were having two different conversations.

I ran into a high school friend while at the grocery store yesterday. This is the conversation we had:

My name being called.
Me looking around. Seeing HS Friend who shall be deemed HSF from this point on.
HSF: Hi! This is so weird!
Me: I know!
HSF: This is the second time this has happened!
Me: I know! What is it with the grocery store?

Side note: Last time I randomly saw her, it was at the grocery store.

HSF: I just saw blah blah blah the other day! It's so weird. I haven't seen her since graduation, and then we become friends on Facebook, and then I see her running of all things.
Me: Oh, that is weird.

Side note: We just became friends on Facebook, and I thought she was talking about it was weird we keep seeing each other in grocery stores, and then soon realized the weird thing was befriending people on Facebook and then seeing them.

HSF: So, are you planning on having any more little ones?
Me: Oh, well. Not right now. We really can't afford it.
HSF: I know, there's always something you need to buy.
Me: Oh, well, no, it's not that. It's daycare and our mortgage.

Side note: I think she's homeschooling her kid, or someone is homeschooling her kid, and when I said "daycare," her eyes shifted like she was thinking, "what kind of monster mother puts her kid in daycare?!" Or maybe she was weirded out about the mortgage thing. I'm not sure.

Side note on the above side note: She's a hippy, a tad out there, and I think has always had to live with roommates, and hasn't always had her kid living with her.

Side note on the above side note of the above side note: I'm really not a jerk. I just sound like one.

HSF: Oh, yeah...

Staring at each other. Realizing we have nothing in common anymore.

HSF: So! What's for dinner?

I flipped through my meal plans in my head, got confused because I had to change them on Monday, remembered what it was, realized I had totally bypassed that aisle, and then realized I had totally forgotten Mateo's mini pizza things in the deli area (flat bread pizzas...mmmm).

Me: Oh! Um...Tequila-lime chicken burgers. And I just realized I passed the aisle. And I passed something else I need to get up front.
HSF: Oh. (laughs)

Niceties ensue, we part ways without promises to call each other or try to meet up because really, what would we talk about?

We run into each other again in the beer aisle. I was calling my husband because I wanted to know if he wanted Guinness or not.

HSF: I'm just stalking you now. (laughs)
Me: I really should take my husband shopping with me. It's so much easier than having to call him to see what he wants.
HSF: (looks confused). Yeah. Okay, bye!

I check out, almost kill two kids who were totally nuts and in my way (and were previously in my way, and I had to sorta yell at one of them to get out of my way, so they were already scared of me), and really, I was more annoyed with the mom who either was ignoring them and what they were doing or yelling for them to stop climbing on displays but doing nothing to physically to stop it.

I get outside, and HSF is sitting on the planter with her shopping basket next to her, waiting for something or someone, or just sitting there, who knows.

Me: I'm "this" close.... (meaning losing my cool because of stupid kids and their mom)
HSF: Ah, looks like a good night tonight.
Her eyes make a beeline to the 6-pack of beer in my cart.
HSF: Guinness. Nice.....

Side note: She drinks. A lot. From what I can discern. Among other things.

Me: Oh. It's not mine. I don't really like it.
HSF: Oh, you don't like it....
Right then I knew I was crossed off her list of potential friends resurfaced.
HSF: Have a good night!

Just to save my level of cool in everyone's eyes, I happened to have made a whole mess of new friends who did not attend my high school. She seems to have remained friends with many of our high school classmates and really hasn't seemed to move on from where she was 17 years ago.

And that's a whole other story that I just do not understand.

I stole this picture from Perezhilton.com and I don't care!

I couldn't find the original picture or of something similar, so I stole. Shame on me. But at least I gave credit. Which I don't normally do.

So this is Octo-mom's new stroller (according to perezhilton.com). This also happens to be the buggy that Mateo's daycare uses to cart around babies during warmer weather since they really can't go outside until they are walking. The only big difference is the plastic baby seats welded to the handle bar, which my daycare does not have on their buggies (the official term and not stroller). And I'm sorry, it just looks all sorts of wrong not to mention dangerous and a slightly shoddy looking welding job.

Mateo was sitting with me when I started writing this post, and he exclaimed, "Babies! Babies!" when he saw the picture. Because the babies get moved around the daycare property in this thing and all the toddlers, who have forgotten that just last year they were hitching a ride in this fantastic buggy, get all goofy about seeing the babies being paraded around like show ponies.

Oh how soon they all forget.

But unless there is a secret compartment in the back where she can store her bags and bags of groceries (because you know with 14 kids to feed she'll have bags and bags of groceries), I wouldn't touch that buggy with a 10-foot pole.

Frankie says.

If Frankie says, the so it shall be.

Cult of Snuggie.

As I've mentioned over and over, I'm always hot. Yes, yes, it's cause I'm too fat. I know this.

But this post isn't about me.

This post is about my friend who is always cold. She even has a mini heater thing under her desk at work. When she works at home, she's constantly telling me how cold her house is (she doesn't turn on her heater - could be the first issue with that problem) and that she needs blankets on her and space heaters surrounding her and she's tooooo cold.

I still sleep with the fan on, I don't ever have our heater on (which does work quite well) when I'm alone, and I'm usually wearing shorts. Again, not about me.

One day she had the TV on while she was working, and the ad for the Snuggie came on. She told me she had to have it. She needed this wonderful invention. And she was just in luck - they were offering a two for one price deal right at that exact moment! She called, and the person said she had to pay shipping and handling for the second snuggie as well as for the first, which ended up being a total of like 15 bucks plus the cost of the first snuggie (20 bucks) and she said, oh hell no, I'm not paying that much money to get two blankets shipped to me.

And so she remained snuggie-less.

Yesterday she started talking about being cold again, and I mentioned that she should just get a snuggie and be done with it. I pretty much got the same response as the guy on the phone did. I looked up the snuggie on Amazon.com to see how much it was because her birthday is coming up and I thought, hmmm...what a great gift (and I get free shipping).

That's when I was let in on a terrible secret about the snuggie. Something I never realized myself although now it just seems so darn obvious: The snuggie is a robe put on backwards.

That and everyone who purchased one says it sucks.

So I told her to go buy a robe and wear it backwards.

And, as with how things go in life, if you talk about them enough, they will always be randomly around. I just went to check my email on Yahoo, and right there on the front page was an article about the snuggie. And in this article, it mentions a YouTube video called "The Cult of Snuggie."

And now, I present to you, for your viewing pleasure, "The Cult of Snuggie." Make sure you at least watch until the book light appears.

Taking care of feet.

I've been having really weird dreams lately.

I vaguely remember one I had last night where someone wanted me to drink at 9am in the morning, and I kept saying that people don't drink that early. Not unless they're in Vegas. That's all I remember.

Then I had a dream that I got a job based on a glowing recommendation from someone (I think my sister) at a new beauty spa salon place, and I got this job even though I have absolutely no background in things of the beauty, spa or salon nature. I took the job because...well, I really don't know why I took the job. I told my current boss that I was leaving to do pedicures (this was the position I took, seriously, which is really odd since I hate other people's feet except Mateo's feet), and she was sad but knew it was time for me to move on, and when the day came, I left on very good terms.

My first day at the salon came, and I eagerly started even though I had no idea what I was doing and was suddenly surrounded by fancy schmancy ladies who looked at me in disdain. I got my kiddie pool and put water in it. Then I sat next to it, waiting for someone to want a pedicure.

Isn't this how it's done? I seriously wouldn't know since I've never had one.

Anyhoo. I soon realized that my kiddie pool had tons of rocks and dirt at the bottom, and while I thought this might be a problem, I just left it.

Then I realized I didn't even know how much a pedicure cost or what a pedicure entailed. I got up and walked to the front of the salon and looked at the sign, and was shocked to realize my amateur pedicures in my blue kiddie pool with dirt was going to cost some unsuspecting lady over 200 bucks.

Then my day was over and I performed nary a pedicure, which was probably a very good thing for all involved.

The next day I showed up determined to get some training or at least be told what was expected of me since I had no experience. Someone took my kiddie pool and put it out in the back alleyway. One of my friends showed up and I confided in her that I had no idea what I was supposed to do and asked her if she thought I should ask about being trained. She said maybe not because one of the managers was a jerk.

That's when I thought, maybe this wasn't the best career move for me. Sure, I've had jobs where the training was minimal and it was a sink or swim situation, and sure, I just left a job I knew very well, and well, I was really in a situation I didn't know at all and everyone kept looking at me like I was Oscar the Grouch just let out of my garbage can and into the salon.

I was thinking a call to my old boss might be in order.

After looking over all the lotions and potions the salon sold, and wondering why the hell I took the job - again - I decided I was done. Luckily my second day ended without having to do a pedicure, although another pedicurist (is that what they're called?) was doing a pedicure in the back and for a moment I thought maybe I should just lurk and watch what she was doing, so I went back there. She had a ton of instruments and nail polishes and was going to town on some lady's feet, and for the 100th time I realized I really wasn't cut out for this.

End of dream.

I got my hands on a baby yesterday....

We visited our friends who recently (almost a month ago!) had their first baby. We took Mateo with us even though I was pretty sure he wasn't going to be so keen on me or his Daddy holding a baby since he thinks he's still the baby in our life and doesn't realize he's turning into a big boy.

How is it that holding and interacting with a baby is just like riding a bike again - you just don't forget how to do it and it feels all so very normal?

Yes, of course that got me wanting another baby again, but really, we just can't afford another baby right now. Maybe if we move or suddenly become rich. Maybe.

It's amazing how one can forget how small a baby is - even after the baby has lived one month - and how her (in this case) legs are still bunched up to her torso and how her eyes will look at you, trying to focus on what she can, and even if she can't quite see clearly, she knows you're not normal, you are different, and in her little baby brain that means something but she's not quite sure what. And babies are so light. When you're used to lugging around a 27 lb lump of goofiness, holding an 8 lb baby is like holding a pillow - and I feel like I could do it for days on end. Even though I distinctly remember that lugging my 8 lb baby was doing a number on my back (lack of sleep and healing from a c-section will do that, I suppose).

So yeah. I wish I was in a fantastic frame of mind after we had Mateo (not to mention not being so flipping tired) so I could have imprinted every moment with him. I remember always thinking, "I can't wait until he can do this and do that," so I didn't have to do it all for him. And now, here he is, almost two years later, Mister Independent, and I'm wondering, "How did you grow up so fast? Could you please just stop and stay the same for a long time???"

If we don't have another kid, at least I know this: Mateo is the perfect child for us. He is goofy, funny, smart and loving. And he loves to laugh. He is my child.

That whole tormenting thing...

Remember when I mentioned that I thought physical torture practices were interesting? And you probably thought, sessssh, whatever, you're just saying that because you get so many hits from people searching for feral children and now you want people to come to your blog because you like torture?

Well. It's true. I am actually interested in it.

And low and behold guess what I happened upon the other day on the Discovery Channel (and since it's on the Discovery Channel, that makes it better than if I were googling torture techniques, which I did at work the other day, so now I'm waiting for someone to talk to me about my internet usage): Machines of Malice!

I recorded the ancient machines episode and I've got my eye out for the medieval one. I've tried to watch it twice this weekend, but both times I couldn't finish it because the first time my husband was talking to me too much, and since it is something I really want to watch, I just stopped the recording so I could watch it later, and then when "later" happened (also known as when Mateo takes a nap because who wants to force their kid to watch how people were cooked alive in the brazen bull?), I promptly fell asleep on the couch because as they say, "when the baby sleeps, you sleep." (And yes, I do realize he's not a baby anymore and that he sleeps all night (mostly), and this weekend he actually slept in until 6:30 am, which means I got to as well, and that is a very rare thing to occur, I'll have you know.)

As a side note, I found this series on the History Channel the other night, and now I want to watch all the episodes: Seven Deadly Sins. I have the Sloth episode recorded, and now I need to figure out when the other six are on so I can get those recorded as well. Apparently in olden times, if you were depressed, people declared you were suffering from the sin of slothfulness. And now you can just go to the doctor and have them put a metal probe in some part of your brain and viola! you're not longer depressed slothful. Isn't modern medicine grand?

I don't believe in karma, but if karma exists, it got me good.

I think the worst gift you can give someone, unless you really want to say, "I don't know you that well nor do I care to get to know you that well, nor do I care to spend money on you, nor do I think you have any decorating sense, and I'm assuming your house stinks," is a candle. That is, unless the recipient really love candles or collects them or something.

Sure, candles are really easy to buy, they can be hefty, and sometimes they are hefty enough so you can throw them at someone's head and do some serious damage, but really? A candle? As a gift? Who decided that was a nice idea?

I know, I know, it's the thought that counts. But still. A candle?

So here is how karma got me.

Someone I know received a candle for a gift. This person and I had already had several conversations discussing our hatred of the candle as gift, so it was really funny to me that someone she knows sorta well (at least, I thought), gave her a candle. She said she was going to re-gift it and give it to her friend who actually likes candles.

Since I'm a loser, I was totally late on some Christmas things this year - oh, like our Christmas card and certain people's presents and thoughtful gifts that came to me way later this past week that I just had to see into fruition. One gift was for the person who received the candle, but since she knows I'm a loser, and since I am so loserish, I told her that I hadn't bought her what I planned on buying.

Not only am I a loser, but also I'm a joking loser. So I started saying I was going to buy her a candle and a stinky one at that. I said this, oh, about 10 times until even I thought it wasn't funny anymore.

And no, I didn't get her a stinky candle for her gift, but that's not the point of this post.

Yesterday I received a gift from someone who knows me, but I guess not that well. I mean, I thought she knew me well, but she's never heard my candle rant, so I'm letting her slip on this one. If you could see my work station, you'd get a fairly good sense that I'm not a candle sort of gal. And I'm definitely not a stinky candle sort of gal.

I looked in the bag and read the card first and thought, ah, how nice. Then I saw the block at the bottom of the bag. Then my nose was greeted by a very stinky perfumey smell.

Candle.

I immediately told my friend, the one I taunted about giving her a stinky candle for Christmas, that I received my very own stinky candle.

Then I said I was going to give it to her next year, even though by next year, it won't be stinky anymore.

Christmas certainly came early for me this year.

I need coffee to live. Really. I do. I get up way too early every day and simply cannot survive on nothing. I need the coffee. Besides all that, I actually like it.

And with the economy going in the pooper, and our need to save money, like, yesterday or a few months ago, I thought signing up to youdata.com would keep me in Starbucks at least 2 if not 3 times a week. Well, as I already mentioned, I'm lucky if I'm getting a dollar from them per week. And that does not cover a venti-sized coffee. Not in this day and age.

Last week I came up with another plan so that I could drink drinkable coffee and stop giving Starbucks all my money. My ultimate plan was getting one of these babies:



But until I could find a good deal on one online, including shipping and handling, or until I could find one in a store (nearly impossible), my back-up plan was buying ground coffee of a brand I like and making coffee at work because the coffee we get at work is horrible. No one uses the coffee maker on my side of the building, so I felt okay with making a huge pot of coffee that only I would be drinking.

The day I came in with my ground coffee and made my sad pot of luke-warm coffee (another reason I hate making coffee at work), I was informed that we were getting a fantastic machine that would make coffee of any brand along with coffee drinks. And it would be free.

Free?

Oh yeah, free, baby. Free.




This is basically it but without the Chinese characters. This beauty grinds coffee beans, which means we aren't limited to the nasty coffee the other coffee service people bring in, and then makes whatever drink you want. Cafe Mocha. French Vanilla. Espresso. Hot Chocolate. Black Coffee. And something else that I can't remember.

This thing is the best machine ever created. EVER. It's saving me a ton of money, I tell you. I already had four cups of coffee or coffee drinks. I'm a regular in the lunch room now. I am singing its praises. Now I don't think I'll ever have to leave my job. Because not only am I getting tasty free coffee drinks, I get paid. And if we could get a microwave on this side of the floor? Awww, yeah. Life would be sweet.

Falling off the precipice.

You know how when you start thinking about something, like a car you want to buy, and then you see it all over the place, all the time? Or when you get pregnant and all you see are pregnant ladies and people smoking in public?

Well, for my husband, he keeps hearing the same word all the time. It's haunting him.

It all started innocently enough. We were watching Project Runway, and Tim used the word precipice. My husband turned to me and asked, "What does that mean?"

I told him it was like a cliff. So instead of saying, "You're throwing me off a cliff, here," Tim said, "You're leading me to the precipice." (Don't quote me on my quote - this is from memory, mind you.)

After the show was over, I looked up the word to ensure I was correct because he often turns to me for word meanings, and I really don't want to tell him the wrong thing. Just last night he asked what sage means, which surprised me, and so I told him and then tried to get him to listen to a Sage Francis song where he uses a sample from some movie or documentary or something, and the guy on the sample keeps talking about what a sage is. He declined my offer.

So anyway. After the Project Runway introduction of the word precipice, my husband kept hearing it everywhere. On the radio. On podcasts. On the news. In magazines and newspapers. That word was following him. He swears he has never heard it until hearing it on the show, and also swears now he hears it all the time.

Last night as I was driving home from the BART station, I was listening to NPR. They were talking about the whole auto industry bigshots asking for huge loans from the government, and one guy said something like, "...we're being led to the precipice."

Man, I thought. Maybe that word is like the "it" word for 2008? Because while my husband is hearing it all the time, so am I. But I don't find the word as odd as he does. Odd in the sense that people are using it in everyday conversations. Like people subscribe to "thesaurus word of the day" or carry a pocket thesaurus with them so they can cleverly come up with a different word to use to impress people.

When I got home, I told him about the NPR piece and how the guy used precipice.

"See! I told you! That word is haunting me!" he said.

Maybe so. Anything is possible.

Poke away, baby, poke away. With pictures.

Yesterday that one person at work who love to discuss food with me was walking towards me with a piece of paper in his hand.

"Maybe so and so knows," he said.

(So and so would be me.)

He tends to show me odd things that I'd rather not look at, or talks to me about food, which I've already pointed out how that annoys me so, so I was looking at him with the best deadpan eyes I could muster.

"What?" I said.

"Have you had this before?" he asked as he showed me the paper.

"OH MY GOODNESS, HAVE I EVER!!!!" I think I screamed.



In his hand he had a recipe for this mess of tasty goodness otherwise known as Jello cake.

"My mom used to make this all the time! I still make it! She still makes! Jello cake!" I squealed in glee.

If you've never had Jello cake, then you are really missing out. If you've never made a Jello cake, you're really missing out on how easy it is to make it. Here's the recipe, in case you feel so inclined.

We chatted about how wonderful Jello cake is, that it's an 80's thing (not so sure about that; I call it white trash food myself, but I kept that to myself for fear of offending any white trash peeps around my work area (not saying there are any, just saying)), and that this other gal in hearing distance was too young to know all about the tasty goodness o' Jello cake (sorry, her downfall for being born in the mid-80s).

Now, if you're a silly sort and are thinking, pshaw, Jello cake is so weird, well how about this beauty?



I found this picture when I was looking for a good representation of a slice of Jello cake since I do not cleverly have one on hand to photograph myself.

Whatever this is? This thing with a blue and purple layer? This needs to find its way to my house because even though it looks like an Easter parade, my interest in it has piqued immensely since the first time I laid eye on its ferociousness.

I'm an expert of what was the "thing" for 'tweens last Christmas.

We went to JCPenney this morning so I could try on and hopefully buy bras (I did!*) (they sooooo were not busy, jerks). I got in line to pay, and my husband and Mateo took off because Mateo was at his limit of being good and needed to be occupied with activity so he wouldn't flip out on us.

Two ladies were ahead of me in line. They were discussing the fabulousness known as Hannah Montana and the clothing JCPenney's carries, including Hannah Montana shirts and whatnot. Apparently one lady has a daughter who was into Hannah, but not into going to JCPenney, assuming because it's totally not cool to do so with kids these days.

After awhile, they started talking about what was the "thing" for 'tweens last year. It wasn't Hannah, according to them, and the younger lady with the 'tween daughter swore she bought a whole mess of stuff with someone's face all over it, but she couldn't remember what it was.

I was standing there, minding my own business, getting a tad annoyed that the salesperson who just rung them up had walked off and hadn't returned yet, as well as at these two kids who were in front of me - the younger one was trying to attack the older one, they both started complaining about why it was taking so long, and then the younger one started whining. I'm not even sure what they were doing there since they had nothing to buy in their hands. Not only that, but it was the lingerie department. And don't boys find that embarrassing? Unless they're trying to look at the naked mannequins.

So again, there I was, minding my own business, keeping and eye out for my husband and child. The two kids finally got fed up and left. The saleslady came back and left again. This was when the younger of the two ladies turned around to address me.

"You're a mom," she said. "You tell us what was the "thing" last year."

I looked at her. If she knows that I'm a mom, it's got to be because Mateo was demanding for me to pick him up and hold his 25 lb body because he didn't want to stand anymore. Or maybe because I was holding onto a very snazzy track suit outfit full of Elmo patches (Mateo is on a serious Elmo kick right now, so we did the unthinkable and bought licensed character clothing - ick). So how does that make me the expert of what the 'tweens thought was cool last year? Was it Elmo?

"Um, I'm a mom to a 21-month old, so I'm sorry, I really don't know what kids were into last Christmas," I said.

"Oh, just 21-months?" she said.

"Yeah, sorry."

The two ladies continued to talk, and they had opened up their conversation space to include me, but seeing as how I don't like to talk to strangers much and especially about something I really could care less about, and more especially because I had recently found out that Miley Cyrus plays both characters on Hannah Montana**, I really didn't want to be included in the conversation. So I started looking around. A lot.

(It just dawned on me what was so popular last year. High School Musical. Now what does that say about me? How about my boss has two little girls in her life who are so not even close to being 'tweens in age but totally have a 'tweeny attitude? Okay, that's how I knew. But this information certainly isn't on the top of my random information pile in case strangers start asking me questions they can't figure out themselves.)

Eventually they closed back up, eventually the saleslady came back, and eventually we made it out of JCPenney, but not until Mateo had a flip out in the shoe section because I wouldn't let him run around willy nilly, attacking the displays of shoes and getting on people's nerves.

*Apparently I'm a cup size smaller than I was when nursing (makes sense), and I really cannot wear those pointy tipped boob cup bras. But I did find four bras that fit nicely, but I'm considering taking one back because having four bras seems really excessive to me for some reason. My husband, who knows me very well, already predicted I was going to take some if not all back. I like to do this sort of thing.

**I never understood why the blonde actress wasn't getting any face time on entertainment shows and only the brunette was.

It takes a whole night's sleep to look this pretty.

Mateo was watching Yo Gabba Gabba yesterday after we got home from daycare, and I was trying to finish up my homework.

On almost every episode of Yo Gabba Gabba there is a feature called "Dancey Dance." For this episode, Leslie Hall was on with her Junior Jams, and she was teaching how to do the "Razzle Dazzle." Mateo began to mimic her. It was very cute. So cute, in fact, I really wanted to videotape it, but if I got up it would have ruined the moment, so I just IMed my husband telling him what Mateo was doing.

When my husband came home, we put the episode on so my husband could see Mateo's mimicking action, but of course, he wasn't going for it and wanted to just sit in my lap and be goofy.

So here is the real point to this post, as I'm sure you're thinking "Okay...this is so not amusing, why am I reading this?"

This is Leslie Hall:





I wanted to find the actual video of her on Yo Gabba Gabba, but I couldn't. Nor could I find a good full-body picture of her is her gold spandex body suit.

It dawned on me last night that Mateo could possibly be thinking she looks like me. Because on the weekends, when we're not going anywhere, I wear my glasses. And I don't do my hair, so I'm fully sporting the bedhead look (I always pull my hair back before bed and so it ends up all kinds of crazy by the morning). And while I don't own a full body, gold-colored spandex bodysuit, I have been known to show a very similar figure as hers, which is not svelte by any means. I too am missing a chin. I too am soft and squishy with barely a body shape left, unless "blob" is a body shape. I supposed it could be.

When I told my husband that Mateo probably thinks Leslie Hall in all her gold glory is me, he got this weird look on his face and said, "Noooo, he doesn't."

I'm not so sure he was saying the truth.

Razzle dazzle and glitter hands, my friends! Razzle dazzle!

The day I found out I'm really a honky. And a cracker.

Last Friday we had an innovation event at my work. It was structured like Jeopardy and one of the categories refereed to a small part of an innovation survey we were asked to take a week or so prior. One of the questions asked us to give one word that describes a creative person. I put wonky because what better describes a creative person in one word?

During the event, when the question was posed about the one word a majority of people used to describe creative, I said I put down wonky.

Someone heard me and asked me to say it again.

"Wonky," I told her.

Later on, as I was leaving, I ran into her in the hallway.

"Have a good weekend, Wonky," she told me.

"What did you just call me??" I asked her. I swear I heard her call me a honky. I mean come one, wonky and honky really do sound the same, especially when one ear is plugged up with an ear bud.

"Wonky?" she said, like what's your problem?

I started laughing. "I thought you called me a honky!" I said.

"No...," she headed to the bathroom, leaving me to be very amused by myself in the hallway. "I called you WONKY."

I've been dying to share this with my co-worker because she would appreciate this sort of thing for many reasons. Today I told her via IM, and she found it funny, as I suspected, but then the whole term honky got me thinking. What does that mean?

Wikipedia, there I went:

Racial and ethnic tension between the two groups led Black workers to begin calling Hungarian workers, and those perceived as Hungarian workers, hunky, perhaps in retaliation for the familiar racist epithets to which black workers were subject. The corruption 'honky' emerged shortly thereafter.

So guess what I'm part? I'm part Hungarian. Which means, I am a honky. And then that got me thinking, what does cracker really mean?

Wikipedia, there I went again:

The term "cracker" was in use during Elizabethan times to describe braggarts. The original root of this is the Middle English word crack meaning "entertaining conversation" (one may be said to "crack" a joke); this term and the alternate spelling "craic" are still in use in Ireland and Scotland. It is documented in Shakespeare's King John (1595): "What cracker is this same that deafs our ears with this abundance of superfluous breath?"

By the 1760s, this term was in use by the English in the British North American colonies to refer to Scots-Irish settlers in the south.

Yup, you guessed it, I'm also part Scottish. And I also have been known to brag. And I do find myself quite funny. So I guess that makes me a cracker as well.

I let my husband know my true roots, which he thought was funny, and then requested that I send him the cracker post from wikipedia to share with one of his co-workers who likes to call my husband a cracker even though he's the farthest thing from one, although he likens himself to being Irish on occasion.

Sharing another contest.

I was just perusing theWB.com, looking up some old shows like Buffy The Vampire Slayer and MADtv (I LOVE Stewart), when I saw this contest to win a trip for two to LA and a VIP tour of the WB studios. You can also get a pair of Acuvue contact lenses for those of you who wear contacts (I do! Love the free stuff!).

Go check it out and enter! You never know. I sure could use a free trip somewhere, even to the next city. Just the excuse alone to get out of the house is worth it.

Disneyland....here I come (maybe).

Oh - did you know you can watch free videos of WB shows? Who doesn't like free videos? Free is always good.

(And no, I'm not being paid to share this - just like to share the contests when I can.)

Let me tell you what tickles me to death.

Apparently older black men tickle me to death. Figuratively, that is. Because if any man, old or young, black, white or brown, or even my husband, tried to tickle me, or even thought about taking it so far as causing my demise, well, we'd have a problem.

Two things happened yesterday, one before voting and one after voting, that have stuck in my mind. While I'm sure both men haven't thought about me for one millisecond, both have stuck in my mind and will probably stick around for a bit.

The first thing. As I and many others were waiting in line to vote (which I liken to standing in line at the post office but without all the complaining), an older black man shuffled out of the room with a walker. He paused to get himself situated. I kept thinking how awesome it must be for him to have the choice to vote for a black man this election instead of the same white man after white man.

He looked up and smiled. Not at anyone in particular, just a smile. A darn happy smile at that.

As he began shuffling along, he scanned all of us waiting to vote and exclaimed, "Have a good day, people!" That smile never left his face.

That is truly a memory I will hold in my mind forever.

The second thing. I made a quick pit stop at the grocery store to get some water and soda for the week before going home to start working again. As I was heading towards the one check-out lane that was open, another man, who looked to be half black, half white, with a very pale skin color indeed, was heading to the check-out lane as well. He was closer than me, so he got in line before I did.

I smiled at him because I was just feeling tickled about how things may be heading for our country - more tickled that things could possibly change after years of being so bad - when he told me to go in front of him.

I do this all the time at the same grocery store because people who shop as early as I do usually aren't buying a cart full of food like I usually am, so I'd rather them go before me than me hold them up. It's this little thing called kindness I try to practice every so often. Whenever I do it, people are completely shocked that I even offered to give up my place in line, something that makes me mad because that just goes to who you how self-centered we've all become when we're out in public. I usually have to tell them a bunch of times it's okay, go ahead, before they will cut in front of me.

Anyway. So I thanked him and went in front of him. He had about 30 heads of lettuce in his cart, so I was pretty happy that I didn't have to wait for them to be counted or individually weighed or however they were being sold.

"You shouldn't have to wait for me," he said. "I know it's going to take a while."

I smiled.

"Plus, if you get out sooner, then you can go vote!" he told me with a big smile.

Again, I think this is a case where he thought I was really young and not in my mid-30's, and that the youngin's need to be out voting and all that good stuff and not buying a bunch of water and soda that the FoodMaxx.

"Oh, I already voted," I said.

"Oh! Good! I don't care who you voted for as long as you voted! It's the American way!" he exclaimed.

"I agree," I said. "I just came from voting, actually."

"Good! Good!"

It was right then that another line opened, and I was whisked away. I kept thinking the same thing as I did about the first man - how awesome this day is for most people. Heck, a lot of people. Did I ever think I'd see the day come when someone who wasn't white was a presidential candidate? Not really. I figured I'd see a female presidential candidate first. And while you'd think I'd be more happy to see the first female president head into office, I'm really okay with never seeing that now that I've seen this. I'm good for a long, long time.

I'll just leave the lady president for Mateo's adult lifetime.

Couple of monsters have invaded our condo.

We picked up El Nino and Owen at my mom's today. Even though I advised my mom to feed them bacon because they were acting up, she didn't, and I guess there was a drowning involved (she to them, not them to her), but they survived and all is well.*

I have to tell you, these two guys have got to be the greatest monsters I've ever seen. Sure, The Ugly Dolls are cute and cuddly, but the Monster Factory dolls are solid, sewn really well and could be any boy's (or girl's) best friend.

We had to make the hard decision of who is staying and who is being shipped off to another little kid's house, and, well, Owen rocks, and so he's staying. I'm really tempted to buy a third monster just so Mateo can have two monsters, but my husband vetoed that and so Owen will just have to do.

Go get your own monster. And no, they aren't paying me to say that. I just really like them.

*No monsters were really harmed or drowned or fed bacon.