Notice - no title up there? That's exactly like me. Muted. That's because I still.can't.fucking.talk. Yesterday, when I took the damn sick day, I could talk. I had cramps, I was snotty, (that's full of snot, not a description of my personality okay?), I had a hacking cough. Today? I woke up and, seriously, not a sound will come out. (Mr. Hot doesn't seem to mind this situation....and the people at work? Dammit. They can stop laughing any time.)

Nothing hurts (well, except that I can't talk and that hurts my heart, because I want to yell at some of these idiots) but I'm feeling damn out of control. (That's your cue to nod in sympathy.)

Send candy. (No, wait, I pledged No Candy. Damn. Send cheese! and Wine!)

So, today is Halloween. We live out a two-lane country road, about a mile from the main drag. Our subdivision has 7 houses, each on an acre lot. No one is crazy enough to come see us on Halloween. Last year, the only guy that showed up for treats was the gas man. Honest. He knocked on the door, said something about the neighbors across the road "smelling gas" and went down into our basement.

(Hey! that would be a great beginning to a screenplay for a new scary movie - "The Gasman Always Rings Twice".)

After he came back up and said that he didn't smell any gas in our basement, so everything should be fine, I gave him the entire bowl of Snickers miniature candy bars. Because, y'know, I hate Snickers - if I'd have bought Milky Ways, he's have been walking away empty-handed.

He laughed and said that Halloween and Thanksgiving were his two favorite days to check out possible leaks. No shit. Funny, we never smelled gas. And the neighbors that called him? Weren't even home. Let's be optimistic and believe the neighbors evacuated, and not that DTE Energy reps regularly make up gas leaks to get free candy.

Now you watch. Because I didn't buy anything to pass out, we'll get someone ringing our bell. I'll have to raid the change jar on the counter. Or maybe I could pass out Milkbones. I think there's an extra box in the cabinet. Poopy won't mind too much.

---- Or, Halls throat lozenges! Because they're doing me no-effing-good right now. ----

Aw Hell - Just Shoot Me Already (& Boobie Link Winners)

WTF? I have laryngitis. I ache all over from whatever crud Mr. Hot decided to infect me with and (just for good measure!) I started my period today. The world, my friends, is a cruel, cruel place. There is just something so totally freakin' wrong with this. So, I am taking my first sick day since 1999 (January 4, 1999 to be specific - and even then, I wasn't sick - it was a snow day and my turn to stay home with Shortman!).

I'm sitting here in the "office/computer room/Shortman's alternate pig sty"...

Proof of sty-ness - a la Bossy

... I'm not good at being "in bed sick". Mr. Hot keeps telling me to stay there. But, he went out to Home Depot to get wood to put a "floor" in the "barn" (which really means, to lay some plywood over the dirt in the storage shed that is painted red and shaped like something to keep animals in) so I am being a bad little patient and blogging.

But hey! I had to announce the winners of the Save the Boobies contest. [pretend trumpet sounds here]

The winners were drawn by Shortman and the results of this drawing were reviewed by Mr. Hot in accordance with all laws of randomness and blind hand-into-the-hat selection. If I could afford to have Price/Waterhouse/Coopers or whoever it is that oversees the Academy Awards come in and make sure it was all on the up and up, I could have awarded bigger prizes.

Necklace - Marianne at My Left Nerve

Baseball Cap - Phil at Outta My Mind in Mechanicsburg

Purse Key Holder - Shelly at Not The Daddy

Congratulations Winners! And thanks to everyone who participated. The final tally is $85 to the Susan G. Komen foundation from the Hotfessional family. I'm going to go ahead and up it to $100 (I like even numbers) - on behalf of WhyMommy and LawMom.

---- Now, shhhhh! I hear the truck pulling up the driveway. I'm going back to lay down. Don't tell him I was here. ----

Get Out Your Pillows - Prepare to Yawn

I'm coveting red shoes. I don't know why. I only wear black or brown shoes. It's just me. My size 10 feet need no further "enhancing". It would be like Pamela Anderson wearing a padded bra. I mean, why? They're there. Obviously. Do I need flashing lights?

But, for some reason, I really want a pair of red patent shoes. Specifically these red patent shoes:

Circa Joan and David - Cecilia

Unfortunately, they would sit in their box. Like the black and white herringbone round-toed pumps that I had to have. That hurt. so. bad. Every time I put them on, thinking "today's the day these babies come outta the closet, oh baby, sexy, sexy, sexy", I take two steps, then crumple to the floor. Because walking? Ce n'est pas possible. (And yes, that's the only French I remember, so don't ask for any more!)

But I do have $30 in Kohl's gift cards and a 15% off an entire day of shopping because I'm an MVC. (They said it's Most Valued Customer. I think it's Must Visit Constantly.) So, I'm thinking I may have to pick up these:

and maybe these:
Because they are beautiful. And those boots? 4-inch heel. Oh man. We're pushing the 6'2" level there. Happy sigh. There are several new people of the male persuasion that I have to deal with now and some of them still think that the smiling Hotfessional can be steered away from her beliefs. Gently, to be sure, but steered away nonetheless. Six-foot-two adds a new factor to the equation when dealing with some people. [Snort!]

---

And:

Visit NaBloPoMo

Oh I love that line. "That's all you have to do." Ha!

Yes, I will be participating in National Blog Posting Month for 2007 - a promise to post every day for the 30 days of November. Which hasn't really been a problem for me since I usually have a steady stream of rants that spill out of my fingers on a daily basis. However, as soon as I clicked "Sign Up", I immediately, simultaneously, went into a complete writer's block. (Um, I'm not a writer. So, I guess it really means I am suffering from "not-a-writer's" block.) Gawd, even my jokes are getting lamer and lamer the closer to November 1st I get.

If you decide to put yourself through this torture join in on the fun, remember to add me to your friends list. I'm registered as "Hotfessional". We can commiserate about not-a-writer's block together.

---- And I'll take any suggestions on post topics that you want to send my way. Because otherwise, I can't be held responsible for the number of "deaths by boredom" I cause. ----

Damn, Damn, and Damn

Damn Spartans. Y'all sure as shit know how to break a girl's heart.

I'm pissed at Shortman today. Friday is the last day of the marking period and he hasn't completed his community service for his Government class. He's worked really hard so far this year, and he's going to let something he knew about in September fuck up his grade for a half-semester of this class.

Tomorrow he has a consult with the Oral Surgeon. So that's out. Essentially, he has 4 days to figure out and complete 2 hours of community service. I don't know whether to let his ass fail or to help him out. Sigh.

---- If anyone has any ideas for a quick (seriously quick) community service project, let me know. ----

Latest Boobie Update

If you want me, I'll be on the couch under the blankets. It's raining. My throat is closing up. I'm going to make Mr. Hot bring me hot tea and honey all day. Naps are good. Who am I kidding? Naps are freakin' excellent!

Before I go down for the count, though, here's the weekly Save-The-Boobies Update. We're up to $80 from the Hotfessional family to the Susan G. Komen foundation. Remember, you can still get in on the prizes by linking and/or donating before October 29. I'm drawing the lucky winners (3) on the 30th:

Cupcake
WhyMommy
Kim
Sherry
Shelly
Phil
Jennifer
Mouse
Lys
Zoot
Ben
Sherry
Karen
Marianne
Kristabella
Dani


Join the club! You could be a winner!
Email me (reereep[at]gmail[dot]com) if you linked to me and I missed you! Seriously, I found Dani's link through sheer dumb luck. (Hi Cole's mommy!) If you care enough to link, I want you to have a chance to win.

Don't be like this guy:

The Snot is Rising

You're saying, "Ewwwwwww, Hotfessional, TMI, seriously, dude". Well, blame Mr. Hot - I tried to get out of town without the germs attacking, but apparently, as usual, I was late.

Now, though, I'm thinking I'll have to search for a new book to read between naps this weekend since apparently that's all he did while I was in Chicago. Shoot me for not getting my wireless router set up last week so I could read blogs in bed.

Speaking of Mr. Hot. He provides me with blog fodder on a semi-regular basis. I've mentioned him here, and here, and here. He's a wonderful husband and a terrific father. He's the only reason I've been able to do things like this. Buuuuuttttt. (C'mon, you knew there'd be a but, didn't you? Since when is there not a but when you're talking about your spouse? )

Anyway, BUT....

He.Quizzes.Me! Like.A.Freakin'.Fifth.Grade.Teacher.

You're shaking your head. I see you! You're saying, "But Hotfessional, the man puts up with your shit. He understands when you go to the city and have dinner and copious amounts of wine with men. He doesn't complain about bright yellow bras and purses." (Well, not the bras anyway.)

Yes. True. Every word of what you say. The man is amazing.

Except. He. quizzes. me.

About sports figures.

Now, I love sports. I think it's well documented. Football, Basketball, Baseball. Yes, yes, and yes. Hockey? Meh - just the original six. Actually, just Toronto. And they suck.

However! Do I care where so-and-so went to college? Or high school? Or where their aunt's second-cousin's brother's best-friend's dog was born? Not too much.

Mr. Hot: "Where did Plaxico Burress go to school?"
The Hotfessional: "Um. Michigan State?"
Mr. Hot: "Yes!"

Mr. Hot: "Which Piston went to Jackson State?"
The Hotfessional: "I didn't know there was a Jackson State."
Mr. Hot: "........" (looking at me, expectantly)
The Hotfessional: "Hell, I don't know. Jason Maxiell?"
Mr. Hot: "No, think older."
The Hotfessional: "Um, Nazr Mohammed?"
Mr. Hot: "No, he was with the Pistons before; they traded him; then he came back."
The Hotfessional: "Holy hell. Lindsey Hunter."
Mr. Hot: "Yes!"

(Do I start to feel like a 5th grader at this point? Yes!)

Mr. Hot: "Didn't Jevon Kearse go to Michigan State?"
The Hotfessional: "I don't think so."
Mr. Hot: "I think he did." (Leaves room to go Google it)
------- 3 minutes later -------
The Hotfessional: "Did he?"
Mr. Hot: "No, he went to Florida."
------- 3 weeks later -------
Mr. Hot: "Where did Jevon Kearse go to school?"
The Hotfessional: "U of M?" (Why, why do I let myself get suckered into playing this? Oh yea, I love the man.)
Mr. Hot: "No! Florida. Remember? I thought he went to State."

Sigh.

So, when he said "The Lions could have picked up Jammer in the draft and passed on him" while we were watching some game a couple of weeks ago and I came back with "Quentin Jammer?" - the look of complete and utter pride on his face? The look that said "Damn. I raised this woman right"! Made all of the failed quiz grades I've received absolutely worth it?

Yep.

Oh yes.

---- So tomorrow begins another 48 hours of "Does The Hotfessional Know?" I better go study.----

It Didn't Work...

...I may not have gotten out of Michigan in time. I woke up this morning with the sinus headache from hell. My ears are so plugged up I think the alarm had been going off for a full 20 minutes before I heard it. (Um, gee, I hope the person in the room next to mine wanted to get up at 5 a.m.) I have on a long-sleeved t-shirt UNDER my turtleneck and I'm still freezing.

Of course, the best part is, (and by best, I mean, it sucks dongles) I'm 300 miles from my bed and I have to sit in a bunch of meetings today. Plus, get on a plane and try to make it home. Please Gawd, don't let it be like August's trip. Or September's for that matter. Give a girl a flippin' break.

I'm giving you all a break from my whining because Lys tagged me for a meme. Here it is - I'll try (no promises...no guarantees) to be brief.

The Rules
1. Link to your tagger and post the rules. Um,✔
2. Share 7 facts about yourself, some random and some weird.✔
3. Tag 7 people at the end of post and list their names.✔
4. Let them know they were tagged by a comment on their blog.✔

If you're tired of hearing weird things about me, feel free to leave now. Otherwise, I feel I've done my duty and warned you. Kinda like the Miranda Rights - Hotfessional version.

1. There are television shows that I never, ever saw when they were on, but have seen every episode in syndication. These include (but are probably not limited to) - Sex And The City, Friends, Seinfeld, and Everybody Loves Raymond. They were before Tivo and DVRs and Mr. Hot doesn't believe in watching commercials. Or in laugh tracks. So, my guilty viewing pleasure is parking myself in a hotel room in Chicago on business trips and watching hours and hours of syndicated sitcoms.


2. I have freckles. One on the inside of my right calf, one on my upper lip (right side), and one on the bottom of my right foot. Oh, and one on the inside of my left ankle. These are not little bitty blend-in and only come out when you've been in the sun freckles. These are dark, lady-bug sized freckles. I believe that any of them could be used to identify my body in case of a freakish accident or a bout with amnesia. (Just in case, y'know, you are called on to identify me!)


3. Ever since Lord of the Rings and her role as Galadriel, I've had a massive Girl Crush on Cate Blanchett. Seriously. Big. Crush. Sigh.


4. I was painfully shy growing up, and very awkward. Sometime when I was a young-ish adult, I made a conscious decision to become more extroverted. Once I tried, I found that people thought I was funny. It made me happy. It gave me more confidence than I ever thought possible. I tried to make sure it never turned into arrogance. I like to think I've succeeded, or at least that I'm fairly successful at it. I know, though, for a fact, that if I wouldn't have made that decision, I wouldn't be where I am today. Not even close. It was worse than you would ever believe.


5. I don't like fruit pie. It gives me the willies. I cannot eat it. Not even with ice cream. Not apple, not blueberry, and oh.my.holy.hell. NOT CHERRY. But cream pie? Yum. Banana Cream Pie? Can you say "orgasmic"?


6. I tried wearing contacts when I was a Senior in High School. I have fairly unusual green eyes, and I wanted to get out from behind the glasses. In 1981, though, there were no soft contacts that worked for people with really bad astigmatism in their left eye, dammit. So I had to wear hard lenses. I tried. For a full year. Then went back to glasses. I've never tried again.
7. In my fifteen years working for this company, I've had twelve different bosses. No, I'm not kidding and I'm not exaggerating. Their initials were D, G, G, P, G (again), M, S, J, J, G, M, J, and R. One year, I had 4 (the M, S, J, and J line). The longest tenure? Four years. The shortest? Two weeks. Eleven men. One woman (the one that lasted two weeks). Two in Michigan, 10 in Chicago (my home base has always been Michigan). Only the last three are still with the company. Two were fired. Seven quit (no, not because I worked for them! snort.) When I say that I am very adaptable and capable of working for nearly any style of manager, I well and truly mean it.

Now, I guess I'm supposed to tag 7 of you. Amy, Marianne, Amanda, Meghan, Alyndabear, Shelly, and L Sass. Also, of course, whoever else wants to play. And if I've tagged you and you don't do memes? That's okay, too, because I'm just following the rules today. I don't do it often, but every once in a while, I become this conformist that I don't recognize. If YOU want to break the rules, feel free!

---- Now, I'm going to find out if taking cold medication that expired in March can kill me. Please refer to # 2 above if anyone calls you from Chicago about a tall brunette that needs to be identified! ----

Love and Luck

I can't believe I just typed "hardware dongle" into an email. Then I tried to use it again and again just to get it out of my system. dongle, dongle, dongle. Snort. Every sentence. "So the dongles are used for..." and "Price per dongle is not ..." Hee! Oh, sorry. You probably really don't care.

So, I'm no longer a blog-date virgin. (Do I look different?) Last night, I met Kristabella and Marianne for dinner and wine and as much as I'd like to post photos - I didn't have the Poopy Puppy to block for me. So, um, yea - sorry again.

Marianne is a cute little pregnant mama to be. (No, she didn't have wine, I had her share.) And sweet. Sweet and pregnant. And funny. And likes sports - and the Tigers. Even though she's from Illinois. I want to take her home.

Kristabella is gorgeous (seriously, beautiful skin, beautiful hair - obviously I'm not drinking enough wine if that's what it does to your skin). But y'know how you always have a preconceived notion of what someone will look or sound like? And then they are completely different? I've seen pictures (and by the way? The wine stains around her mouth? weren't there last night) so I knew what she looked like - but she doesn't sound like I thought she would. She has a much more girly voice than I imagined. Not squeaky...just lovely.

And then today! I'm telling y'all - I'm feeling so freakin' loved. Look at what Marie gave me.

and

She thought this post was funny enough to give me two(!) awards. I'm just sitting here basking in the glowiness.

And tonight I get Italian in Chicago. And! More wine. I am one lucky lucky girl. Plus I picked the week that Mr. Hot is sick with a cold and sore throat to be out of the house - this can only be a good thing. Either I'd get sick, too, or I'd have to listen to the moaning and groaning that is the "just kill me and get it over with" version of Mr. Hot. Neither one would be my choice.

---- Now, I'm going to go see if I can figure out new ways to use the word dongle in business emails. To all of the men that I work with. Because you know it makes them abso-effin'-lutely crazy! ----

Letters To Those In My Life on Tuesday Morning

To the driver who took me to the airport this morning:

Dear Lurch's Younger Brother:

I understand that it was raining pretty hard this morning, I really do. But doing 48 mph on eastbound I-94, even at 5:45 a.m., probably isn't the safest thing to do. The freakin' tanker trucks and 18-wheelers were passing us on the right dude.

Love, the Hotfessional

To the idiot passenger who screamed at the American Airlines gate agents at 6 a.m.:

Dear AirTran Passenger:

Seriously you nutbag. Why would you possibly assume that the AA women boarding the plane going to Chicago at 7 a.m. would know where in the effin' hell the AirTran gate agent was? Different airline? Duh. Oh, and the signs that say "Be at your gate and ready to board at least 10 minutes before your scheduled flight"? Usually mean just that. So, my guess is that the gate attendant was probably on the jet bridge making sure that everyone was boarded and that the plane was going to take off on time. Which meant she wasn't behind her stand. Oh and let me guess - you're also the jerk that screams at everyone when your plane is late and you're on time. Asshat.

Love, the Hotfessional

To my darling husband:

Dear Mr. Hot:

I'm so sorry that you're not feeling well. I know that head cold and hacking cough are combining to make you one miserable man. I know that you couldn't sleep last night because I couldn't sleep last night. But darling? When I roll over for the 20th time between 10:30 p.m. and 2:30 a.m. - wide awake - and then at 3:00 a.m. I notice you're awake? The "I haven't slept a wink" statement is NOT an invitation to feel me up. Not when I have to wake up at 4. I know you'll be a darling and get up with me and fix me coffee - and believe me, I do appreciate it, but you? Can go back to sleep after Shortman leaves for school, whereas I? will be on a plane, then in a train, then walking 10 blocks to the office. I will get to sleep sometime around 10:30 pm tonight after one of those hella shitty days. Please know that I cherish you with all my heart and soul.

Love, the Hotfessional

To the stick-thin woman on the Blue Line from O'Hare that got off at Clark & Lake:

Dear Model-Wannabe in the Size 0 pants:

Love the hair. Love the sunken cheekbones and the pointy stiletto heels. I even love the fact that you're reading one of my favorite books, "Into the Wild" by Jon Krakauer. But honey? You have your cardigan on inside out. Maybe it's a new look? Funky-Giselle-style? I don't know, but I'm just saying? It kinda ruins the whole ensemble.

Love, the Hotfessional

To the Chicago Sewage and Street Sanitation Truck at the corner of Washington and Halstead:

Dear Stupid-Idiot:

See all the cabs and busses and other somewhat heavier and somewhat deadly vehicles that are filling the intersection? See the thick white lines with the crossy-ones inside of them? That's where we walk, you dumb-fuck. Seriously. And since you're also blocking our view of the walk/no walk sign? We have to squeeze between those two honkin' busses and hope to Gawd that one of those taxis doesn't decide to follow your lead and scream around that Lexus honking his horn. I know you didn't truly mean to put our lives in danger? Or that there may be an ulterior motive to your actions. Those brushes under the truck look mighty handy for sweeping the bodies off the street. Next time? Stop! before! the! White! Line! Kthxbai.

Love, the Hotfessional

To the orange and white tabby that I rescued from certain death and doom last winter:

Dear Frac-the-loudmouth:

I know you like to find new toys to play with. You're so much more inventive than your sister, who is perfectly content to bat around the little plastic balls that I bought for you both when I brought you home. She'll even make due with a bit of aluminum foil rolled up (and we both know how she loves [loves] if a fly makes its way into the house. That can keep her entertained for hours). You, though, my boy - sweet and cute and cuddly though you are - had me really wondering about the pieces of black rubbery plastic that kept showing up throughout the house. A new mystery!

Until this morning. When I put on my sexy black boots to wear this week in Chicago. And wondered why the heel on the left one felt funny. I was standing in the security line waiting for them to come through the x-ray machine. And then I noticed. The black rubbery plastic stuff? It's the bottom of my freakin' heel. You little shit. You chewed the bottom off my heel. Now I'm standing like I'm bowlegged. Just wait until I get home. Mama Cat is not happy.

Love, the Hotfessional

---- But Mahm - Tasteee ----

Lord, I was Born a Ramblin' Woman

Your math lesson for the day:
Monday + (1 Week out of the office + Chicago the rest of the week) - anyone capable of making a decision = Email-fuckin'-hell. Squared.

---

Yesterday, while I was sitting on the porch, a guy drove down our road in a hot new little two-seater red convertible. So, picture it. Nice looking dude. Red shiny car. Cobalt blue sky as the background to a couple of glowing yellow Maple trees. And y'all? He was picking.his.nose.

---

Called the insurance company today to get Shortman all approved for driving the Hotfessional vehicles. It's only going to double (!) my premium. At least on the truck. [Kathud].

---

Back to Chicago tomorrow. Seven a.m. flight out of Detroit Metro. Means the alarm will go off at 4:15. [Double kathud].

---

Have you ever had one of those Lean Cuisine panini sandwiches? They're actually not bad. An engineering degree helps to understand the microwave directions. Because y'know? Lots of folding and situating and placing. And the instructions? Under the part you fold. Oh My Holy Hell. Packaging idiots.

---

Red Sox. Meh. I'm not happy. Wait. I'm happy for Red Sox fans, [ehem] Major Bedhead - [ehem] Amanda. Of which I am not one. Cleveland beat our butts, so I wanted them to win. Effed-up logic, I'm sure, but still. My effed-up logic.

---

I've been notoriously bad about commenting this week. Well, last week and today. Blame vacation brain and the piles of crap to do. Damn. Must remember to make car reservation. (See, if I blog it, I'll remember. Otherwise? I'll wonder where the damn driver is at 5:30 tomorrow morning.)

---

The Lions won yesterday. Cupcake? Um, Cupcake? I think we have the same records now. Yes?

---

Since I started this blog, according to Google Analytics, I've had just under 4300 hits. I think that's kinda cool. My keyword search stats are all pretty tame though. Well, okay, there was "hear hot moaning" and "Mr. Hot Lick her Ish" (Um, if anyone can explain this? Please do.)

---

Only 7 more days before I get Shortman to pick a name out of the hat for those of you who linked to my plea here. I'm just saying.

---

You're probably as tired of me as I am of myself right now. If I think of anything witty to say today, I'll be back. Otherwise, I got jack-shit right now but a full inbox. So, if you want wit and laughter, go see:

Marianne's take on the Man Rule she helped break this weekend.

---

---- And when all else fails, have a Lolcat ----

Ree the Screaming Brain Sucking Hotfessional

Did all y'all see this? Someone would have found me - passed out cold on the damn floor - or inside that thing's belly.

---

We haven't had a quiz in a while, so in honor of the season:

Halloween Monster Name Your Halloween Monster Name is Ree the Screaming Brain Sucking Hotfessional Get Your Halloween Monster Name at Quizopolis.com

and

Halloween Candy Quiz You are a Candy Corn Like the candy corn people can count on you to always be there Find out which Halloween Candy you are at Quizopolis.com

I like the Halloween monster name, but I'm a bit disappointed in the candy. Candy Corn is just too, um, plain? boring? Oh wait. ... never mind...

---

Must go get dressed to run by the Meijer 1 day sale. Buy 1-get-2-free slippers! Buy one pair of shoes, get a second pair for $1!!! MomandDad are coming over, must feed them something with their coffee. Guys are coming to trim dead parts off trees at 1 p.m. Shortman has hair appointment at 11:30! Argh. Spartans are playing Ohio State (the Luckeyes) at 3:30. Must.stop.blogging.and.get.day.started.

---

I have one question though. Do you sleep with socks on? It's the must-ask question of the day.

So Many to Lust - So Little Time

I changed my link list. It took me - 3 hours. Seriously y'all. Three Hours. To get each and every blog that I read from my bloglines reader into a single page - my ass is sooooo asleep. Poopy the puppy is NOT happy that I've been ignoring him. Mr. Hot has been cutting grass for 2 of those hours, and I'm sitting here typing "a href=" over and over and over again. Wheee!

There had to have been an easier way to do it. But, now it's done.

Of course, I'm now going to ask y'all to proof it for me. C'mon. Let's do it! It'll be fun! Go clicky clicky and make sure I did it right. Especially your site. Kthx!

- If I linked to you and I screwed it up somehow (you'd rather have your name instead of your site title? or "No, dumbshit, I capitalize the 'The' and lowercase the 'mind'") - please, let me know. Right now, comments are open on that page, but I'll turn them off eventually.

- If I forgot (dumb, dumb, dumb me) to link to you? And you want (for some inexplicable reason) to be listed on this site (which doesn't make me any money, and probably won't make you any money, but I'll love you anyway)? Let me know!!!! I think it will be a wholehella easier to update a page than to update the template (I'm thinkin' anyway), so I hope this will keep me more 'current'. Again, use the comments.

***** Hmmmm. Lawnmower just shut off. I'm guessing his words when he comes in will be "Still Blogging?????" *****

It's my last official day of this week's vacation. So, a quick rundown of the week.

Monday - Got that haircoloring thing done! This was the post that showed the cut. This is the color:

And my right eye! Okay, so maybe you can't tell. But it's a nice, rich, deep brown with "caramel" - (seriously, that's what she said) highlights - instead of gray and um, okay, who are we fooling? gray. Well, next week you can ask Kristabella and Marianne - who I will be meeting (actual face-to-face and shit) - exactly what color it is.

Tuesday - Shortman's birthday. Too much shopping for one spoiled.ass.rotten 16-year-old. Then Secretary of State's office to get his driver's license.

Wednesday - Kohl's (because I AM a Kohl's whore - have I mentioned that?) - where I bought nothing, nada, zip, zilch for me. But the six-foot-two monster that I birthed got lots of new pants since last year's looked amazingly similar to my capris when he puts them on. Olive Garden for dinner. Who knew ravioli didn't only come in a can!?!

Thursday - Grocery shopping. And Michael Clayton. Cupcake - you were so right. What a great movie. It's definitely in my top 10, and I want to see it again.

Friday - Um, this would be today. Well, tonight is High School football. It'll be the first game we've managed to catch all year. My Spartans are playing the #1 ranked Ohio State Luckeyes tomorrow. And the Lions are playing...oh someone, on Sunday. So I am getting ready to embark on the 72-consecutive hours of football that is my life. Sigh.

I know y'all wish you were having my vacation right now. Snort.

---- So, go check out those links, okay? Pretty please? Because I need to move my ass off this chair or it's never going to have any feeling back in it. ----

So Far Behind

The problem with being on vacation is that I'm not sitting in front of a computer all day. Which means I'm soooooooo freakin' behind in reading blogs that I'm going to feel like a complete idjit when I have to go back and comment on stuff y'all wrote days ago - because, y'know, it's a damn compulsion now - the commenting.

Also, I need to go play around with my NaBloPoMo site. And find me some friends. And figure out what the hell I'm going to post about for 30 days solid. I mean, I know you don't have to have a theme and all that, but I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to post if I did. (Oh wait. The wordy one here? The one who simply can't write a 3 or 4 line post and call it good? Even if it would be enough for what she wanted to say? hee. Yea, it's gonna be a problem. right.)

Today, though, I thought a little rambling would be sufficient to bore you to tears.

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The Ongoing TV Debacle ** Update Below **

We're supposed to find out today if a) we'll get our television back from the lyin' shits at the t.v. repair place or b) we get to get "recommended" for a replacement television. Okay, so in case you hadn't noticed, we in the Hotfessional household are sports fiends (in the Fall and the interminable Winter anyway).

The latest in the saga that began on August-freakin-23rd happened on Monday morning (7 weeks and 4 days after t-b-day [that's television broken day]) when Mr. Hot called Jeff at "Useless-R-Us".

"Jeff, this is Mr. Hot. When are you dropping off that television of mine? You said the part was going to be in last Friday and you'd bring it right out."

"Um, what television Mr. Hot?"

"The 42-inch Samsung that I've been calling about every week for the last seven weeks. Y'know? The one that you told me was a 3 to 4 day repair? Then you told me the model had been recalled? And when I called Circuit City they said there wasn't any recall? And then you told me the part was backordered and would take two weeks? And that was five weeks ago?"

"Oh, yea. Part's not in yet."

"But Jeff? Last Monday, you said it would be in on Wednesday. Then when I called on Thursday, you said it was in that afternoon's shipment."

"Yea, didn't come in."

So, Mr. Hot did what any normal, red-blooded American man would do. He called Circuit City - they who hold our 36-month warranty (the tv is 18 months old) and who picked these worthless shits to contract with.

He was immediately put through to the "Community Relations" group who called Jeff then called Mr. Hot back.

"Well Mr. Hot, I can see why you're having problems with this guy. He won't commit to anything."

"Oh, he'll commit to dates for me, but he's obviously just lying about them."

"Well, Mr. Hot, if you can give me one more day - just until Thursday morning - then I'll either get a date from him or I'll put you in for a replacement television."

See that last line there? That line of b.s. has kept Mr. Hot going for the last two days. He's convinced that a new television is in our future. And that since our model is not in production any longer, we'll be able to upgrade! (I adore a deluded Mr. Hot.)

I'm convinced that Jeff-the-Jackass is going to feed a line to Miss Community Relations and we're going to be watching at least another week of football and probably opening night of the NBA season on the portable that's been yanked from it's special spot on top of the bedroom dresser. My own special Oh-My-Gawd-it's-morning-where's-my-coffee-so-I-can-mainline-caffeine-while-I-try-to-focus-on-the-morning-news portable television.

We were supposed to find out at 9:30 Eastern this morning - when Miss C.R. got to work - what the 'verdict' was. It's now 9:45 and we haven't heard. Sigh.

Stay Tuned. (Get it? ha! I can still make a joke.)

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Shortman thanks you all for the birthday wishes. He's driven himself (yes, all by himself!) to school the past two days - while I've sat home and imagined the worst. He asked for (and got - the benefits of being an only child) a birthday dinner out (Olive Garden), a new headset for computer gaming (He's a WoW freak), the three "Fast and the Furious" dvds, his driver's license, a Subway gift card, and a new UofM basketball t-shirt. Spoiled.Ass.Rotten.

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Mr. Hot and I (after he gives Miss C.R. until 10:30 to call) have to head over to the grocery store today. In the rain. We may go see a movie later on. Yesterday, we took Poopy the Puppy for a walk at our local park. Here's some pics.

And because I can be a little arty with my pics and not just give them to you straight-ass from the camera, here's a muskrat home in the lake - Sepia-fied:

---- 10:18 a.m. and no Miss Community Relations yet. Mr. Hot? Not Happy. I'm going to go take a shower so the sound of the water running drowns out his sobbing. ----

** TV Debacle Update **

So, no word from Miss C.R. Mr. Hot called. Went through all of the same channels. Start with Customer Service. Get transferred to another customer service rep. (It actually helped. By the time he got transferred to the 2nd rep, his ire was up. And he's much more civilized about these things than me, so it takes a lot to get it up there.)

Finally ended up with Community Relations (I'm going to start calling it Cockedup Ratasses.) The original Miss CR was on another call. Went through the entire thing again. Got put on hold. New Miss CR comes back and says:

"I told him to cancel the order for the part and bring your television back. Once you get it back to your home, call me and we'll arrange for an exchange. That will take 10-14 days after you get it back."

Oh-mah-freakin-gawd-and-holy-hell. AFTER they bring it back? The fight, my friends, is just beginning I fear. I'm giving them until Monday morning. If that television isn't back in my house by then? Jeff-the-Jackass & Circuit City will have to deal with the wrath of the Hotfessional. And friends? Hot isn't just a term for sexy-little-me's looks.

Happy Birthday Shortman

As of 9 pm Eastern time tonight, this precious bundle of joy and oh-so-pinchable cheeks will officially become 16. Seriously y'all. Don't you want to reach through the screen and grab you some Shortman? He was one happy baby. Slept through the night by the time he was 8 weeks old. Always babbling and laughing. Loved to try to grab the cats. Sat through calculus and software engineering classes with me and never whimpered (although I did - many times).

Able to fill multiple buckets every day with drool.

And what about now?

More hair. Less drool. Same great smile.

---- Happy Birthday my precious son. Sixteen years has flown by far too fast - I hope that someday you know just how deeply embedded into my very being you are. Love, Mom XXOO----

Homecoming Weekend

So, my Spartans won, I had a nice evening away with Mr. Hot. The End.

Ha! Like you'd believe that.

Note to self: Contrary to what you may believe, you are NOT 22 any longer. You simply cannot eat a tuna sandwich at Noon then drink for 10 hours without putting another freakin' morsel in your tummy. If you attempt this, you will have no recollection of the final 2 hours of the evening. You will wake up the next morning and feel like there's an icepick sticking through your right temple. You will puke the 4 glasses of water that Mr. Hot insists you drink to help you rehydrate your OLD efffin' body.

We had a wonderful time. We walked the campus. We sat on the banks of the Red Cedar river. We watched the band walk in. We sat with the students. (Hi Lauren!!!!)

So, in honor of all that, here's some pics.

MSU Stadium

The Band is on its way (and the photographer is slightly crocked)

I couldn't resist the tattoo

Color Guard

Our Baton Twirler

These guys are sooooo serious

The scoreboard after the Spartans scored the first touchdown of the game.

This student sat in front of us. He was as looped as I was. Maybe more so. But he's like, 19? 20? I used him as a handrail to go down the 60-freaking' stairs to get to the bathroom.

And this? Was in our room. Yes, an honest to Gawd jacuzzi from the '70's.


---- Thank goodness we're playing away next week. (By the way? Vodka & Sierra Mist? NOT a good combination. Spartan Taxi Service? Worth an extra large tip!)----

Blog Action Day - What Happens to Michigan

I've complained before about the lack of public transportation in Michigan. Detroit is not "The Motor City" for nothing. My grandfather moved his family from Pennsylvania and its coal mines to Michigan and its auto plants in 1955. His sons all worked for General Motors. Most of his grandsons worked for GM. Their families; my family were all beneficiaries of the industry that made Michigan one of the great industrial states of the North.

But what did this industry do to the environment in Michigan? What happened to our air quality? Is Michigan going to become a different place? What happens to the Great Lakes? To our wildlife ?

The Water Wonderland is polluted. The Great Lakes State is drying up. Now that the auto companies are closing down and our economy is down the tubes, maybe we should think about some ride sharing programs. Use of busses. Trains back on the tracks.

If I were to post in my usual smartassed manner, I'd include something here about how Michigan will soon be the place to come for vacations - mild year 'round. The ideal state. But we're supposed to have suck ass snow. We're supposed to be gross and rainy and muddy in the Spring.

So, let's pay attention and think about what we're doing to our environment.

The Wheels on the Bus Went Nowhere in 1994

Mr. Hot and I are going on an overnighter. Alone. No Shortman! No sleeping with the 35-lb pile of snoring dog! No cats attacking unsuspecting feet at 2 a.m.!

Y'all? This is exactly the third time in sixteen years that we've done this. (So.freaking.sad.)

Once, we took a bus trip with a bunch of senior citizens. (Ahem. Now? In 2007? This would be appropriate. We are AARP members. In 1994? I was only 31 y'all. ) We went from Royal Oak to Sault St. Marie. (330 miles. 6 freakin' hours. On a bus. It boggles the mind, doesn't it?) To gamble at the casinos.

We don't gamble.

But! We figured it would be a way to see the U.P. I hadn't been up that far since 4th grade. Mr. Hot, being the southern boy he is, hadn't ever been north of the Bridge. (Hell, we were going further north than a bunch of the population of Canada.) Our plans were that we'd hitch a ride with the old people and then take off on our own - do some sight-seeing - eat some pasties - have the honeymoon we never got.

What we didn't expect is that I, the Hotfessional, would get violently ill from breathing diesel fumes (for 330 miles & six hours). I was either in the bathroom puking my guts out or in bed trying NOT to puke my guts out the entire weekend. Poor Mr. Hot. He ended up gambling with the old people. He swears he broke even. [hee]

Um, the second time we snuck off alone was May 2006. Apparently, the first experience scared us so badly we didn't attempt a repeat for (oh my holy hell) 12 years! Yes. Twelve. Years.

We had bought the house we're now living in, but hadn't moved yet since school wasn't out. Weekends were usually spent travelling back and forth from old house to new - painting, cleaning, cutting-the-effin'-grass.

Shortman begged and pleaded to be allowed to spend a weekend with the next door neighbor and NOT make the trip with us one weekend. We knew it was because he really didn't want to miss another weekend of World of Warcraft was going to miss this neighbor. The fact that it was my birthday and I figured I could sweet talk Mr. Hot into a romantic candlelight dinner on the living room floor cinched the deal.

We unloaded more stuff we'd brought, painted the bedrooms, cut the grass, cleaned the flowerbeds, cleared out the grapevines that were choking the trees, had takeout Chinese food, watched the Toledo television stations (only channel we could get with no cable), and fell asleep on the air mattress at 9 o'clock.

Sigh.

Tomorrow though, is Homecoming at M.S.U. We're driving up in the afternoon to see what's going on. I'm hoping to show Mr. Hot some of my old hangouts. (By the way, did I mention that I lived in "Holmes Hall" while I was there? John Holmes Hall. Seriously.)

It's supposed to be 45-degrees at game time. (I'll be wearing my down parka - sexy!) Schnapps anyone?

Anyway - if y'all don't hear from me tomorrow - this is why. I'll be on my third attempt at a weekend away with my husband.

Dear Spartans,
Please, please don't screw this up for me. Learn how to tackle. Do NOT lose to Indiana.
Kthanxbai.
Love,
The Hotfessional XXOO

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Oh and here's this week's installment of the Save The Boobies campaign.

Remember, the drawing is October 30th.

Cupcake
WhyMommy
Sherry
Shelly
Phil
Jennifer
Mouse
Lys
Miss Zoot
Ben
MamaKaren

If I've missed anyone who linked to my post, please let me know! It's not an intentional slight by any means!

---- As someone wrote to remind me, this is about Savings Lives, not just breasts. I understand that and hope that you all know that. My use of the slang term for breasts is in keeping with my personality (as I told the commenter - highly irreverent, but hopefully not irrelevant!) and has very little to do with how serious I take the fight for a cure for this horrific disease. ----

I Love Me Some Jon Stewart

He cracks me up.



---- But now I'm craving a bean burrito. ----

Spellcheck Wisdom

Um, do you think it's strange that someone that I've known for 5 years (my admin, who was my ex-boss's admin before she got handed down to me - shall we guess why?) doesn't know how to spell my name? Seriously. I just looked on her calendar to make sure she had my vacation next week marked, and WTF? My name is spelled wrong. It's a possible spelling of my name, but it's not how my name is spelled on my business email address. Or the snail mail that she delivers to me daily. Or the fuckin' name plate on my office door that she sits right in front of! She also has it misspelled on the calendar for the week after - my trip to Chicago. Sigh.

She's out with a sick kid today. Do you think she'd notice if I took a big red marker and crossed out her entry and replaced it with the correct spelling? Because, y'know? I'm her boss and she may want to know that it's kinda important to me.

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Mr. Hot made an appointment for Shortman with the dentist for next Monday. He's complaining about one of his wisdom teeth cutting through. (Yes, my dear young friends that have teething babies and toddlers...it doesn't end - teething pain continues into the teens!)

My own wisdom teeth experience was frightening, to say the least. We (me, Mr. Hot & Shortman) had gone to see the Detroit Tigers (when they really sucked). I think it was a Monday night game. We had popcorn and peanuts and the usual ballpark food. Wednesday morning, I woke up and couldn't open my mouth. (Not an issue for Mr. Hot, but for me? Ack!) And the pain? If I opened my jaw more than wide enough to allow a coffee stirrer in between my teeth, it was like an ice pick drilling into my ear.

I stumbled to the kitchen to find the Yellow Pages. We had only moved back to Michigan about 6 months previously - and I have had some really bad experiences with dentists - so finding a new torturer one wasn't high on my list.

With tears blurring my vision, I paged to the Ds and looked for the most important feature there could be in an ad during this time of need.

"Nitrous Oxide Available"
in 72 point font. Flashing - with little twinkly Christmas lights.

I dialed the phone and begged them to see me as soon as possible (after asking them if they had replenished their gas tanks recently). When I got to the office, a very sweet hygienist helped me into the examination room, tied my hands and feet to the chair, assured me that everything would be alright, and gently pried my jaws open. She slipped a mirror and a tiny little penlight into the hurty place and screeched in horror exhaled slowly.

"Oh, sweetie. It's pretty swollen. It must be infected. Let me get the doctor."

They determined that my trip to the ballpark resulted in a kernel of popcorn getting wedged into a tiny section of impacted, semi-poked-through-by-a-damn-tooth section of gum, and infected my entire effin' jaw! The infection could travel to my brain! (So, maybe not, but - y'know? May.be.)

I was referred to an oral surgeon who wouldn't be able to do the x-rays until the swelling went down and the infection was cleared. So I got my prescription for penicillin and Vicodin (which, y'all? didn't do shit for this pain) filled and headed home to lay on the couch for the next two days.

Friday, the oral surgeon confirmed that I had 4 impacted wisdom teeth (not ALL on the infected side obviously, but y'know, when I decide to do something, I go all out!). And sorry, but he couldn't operate that day. Oh, and Monday - was Memorial Day. No surgeries! Barbeques instead!

"So, hey, just keep downin' those Vikes until we get you in here Tuesday morning for surgery."

Oh my holy hell. I was in for another three days of pain. At least this sawbones surgeon could give me a general anesthetic. I would be out-freaking-cold.

So, Tuesday? No problem. Mr. Hot goes with me. I remember sitting in the chair. I remember them putting the IV into my arm. And I remember Mr. Hot coming into the room when it was all over to help me out to the car and get me home to my couch so I could recover.

I also remember the nurse whispering to Mr. Hot: "Could you take her out the back door please?"

---- Because, y'all? I looked sooooooooo bad they didn't want me to scare the other patients that were in for their exams. Is it any wonder I asked Mr. Hot for a pencil and piece of paper and wrote this down for the nurse? "Screw the Vicodin. Make it Percoset." ----

The Table Needs to be About 2 Feet to the Left...

Okay, so if you've been checking in without a reader yesterday and today, you may see some funky things happening. Like that hot chick up there. In my header. Because, y'know, I'm bored with the template and I am trying to be a little bit more, shall we say.....sexy.

(And with the itching, I need all the help I can get)

(And I think that I may come home next Monday with that hair color. Whattya think?)

(And is that enough with the parentheses?)

So, while I'm rearranging the furniture, (which someone will surely trip over), you can ooh and ahh over my new purchase:

The shiny-ness will blind you. But it can actually be used for file folders - like a tote. (Shhhh. That's my story and I'm sticking to it, so don't go blabbing to Mr. Hot that I bought another purse.)

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Oh, and here's my take on casual Friday:

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Have I bored you to tears yet? No? Liar!

Well, then, I stole this from Badger:

What you do is take the following list of books (the top 106 marked most often as "unread" by LibraryThing’s users). Bold the ones you've read, italicize the ones you started but couldn't finish, strike through the ones you really sort of hated, put an asterisk next to the ones you've read more than once, and underline the ones on your own personal To Be Read list. (I tried to make the ones I read Bold and Bigger, but I can't tell the difference. Damn useless eyes.)

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and punishment
Catch-22
One hundred years of solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi
The name of the rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame BovaryThe Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel: the fates of human societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveller’s Wife*
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A heartbreaking work of staggering genius
Atlas shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran: a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury tales
The Historian : a novel (JUST finished)
A portrait of the artist as a young man
Love in the time of cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A clockwork orange
Anansi boys
The once and future king
The grapes of wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels & demons
The inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One flew over the cuckoo’s nest
To the lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s travels
Les misérables
The corrections
The amazing adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The curious incident of the dog in the night-time
Dune
The prince
The sound and the fury
Angela’s ashes
The god of small things
A people’s history of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A confederacy of dunces
A short history of nearly everything
Dubliners
The unbearable lightness of being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything (been in my bookcase for 2 years)
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In cold blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers

Right now, I'm reading: Studies in Forensic Psychiatry. Does that fact and some of the bolded titles up there scare you? (Kristabella, I'm not dangerous, I promise! I just have unusual interests. I won't wig out after a glass or ten of wine.)

---- Alright, back to another conference call. These calls just suck the creativity right outta mah brain. So if I block your way in with the couch or you trip over that rug while I'm rearranging stuff, blame it on my day job. ----

These Things Kill Birds*

Well, now maybe Autumn is coming to Michigan. Today's high is expected to be 73. Tomorrow? 59. That's right. From 91 to 59 in a mere 2 days.

WTF Mother Nature? You just like messin' with us, right? Get out the sweaters and jeans. No, put them away. Get them out. No, get the shorts. Musical-effin'-closets.

(You're all rolling your eyes, saying to yourselves, "Make up your mind Hotfessional. Geez. Don't you ever do anything but complain?" That would be no. Not about the weather. So there. But I'm just Hottie Smiley-face about most other things in life. All sweetness and light. Just ask Mr. Hot.)

(No don't. Please. Snirk. I like to bitch. Blogging is the new bitching. )

Here's another thing I have to complain about today. See this? This thing?


This tiny little thing that is no bigger than this little "*" asterisk? Bites. Like mutha.

Yesterday, Mr. Hot and I decided to relax in the afternoon (after a trip to Lowes and Home Depot for shelving supplies, OMG) with our books, on the deck. I was reading my anniversary booty "Compulsion" by Keith Ablow, Mr. Hot was reading some real-life political account of the ...snore...(um, sorry about that) Iran Contra hearings. It was all nice and cozy. Warm, but a breeze was blowing, and someone was burning leaves somewhere. You could almost believe it was 70, not 90 degrees out.

And then, "Ouch! Damnitfuck. What the hell was that??" (Told ya - I have a potty mouth. Especially when pain is involved.)

I look down, and right where that sharp, biting, bee-sting type of hurt was? Was that creature up there. About the size of a broken pencil lead. From one of those little bitty pencils at the bulk food section or Putt-Putt golf.

Hotfessional: "Mr. Hot? Do gnats bite?"
Mr. Hot: "Not that I know of. Ouch! WTF?"
Hotfessional: "That's my point. Is this a flea?" (Thinking of Poopy Puppy and Fric and Frac the cats...infecting my entire house...I hold out the smashed carcass of the nasty little shit. )
Mr. Hot: "No. Fleas are impossible to smash." (Has he learned nothing in 17 years of marriage? When in pain, I'm capable of smashing a Volkswagen.) "And they jump. Not fly."
Hotfessional: "Then what is it? It hurts!" (Smashing more of the creatures - landing on soft, vulnerable, exposed, skin. Like, oh, my arms and legs. And neck. And now I'm thinking about bats. And vampires.)
Mr. Hot: "I don't know, but I don't want to go in. Let's move off the deck."

And so we do. We go in the grass. And Mr. Hot goes in and gets my Deet-laden mosquito repellent that I bought for my trip to India - and never opened. Not once. Go to India and come back healthy. Get malaria or spotted heyhoo fever in my backyard? Sure!

We apply the Deet liberally (should I worry that my lips started tingling soon afterwards?). And sit, unmolested for another 10 minutes. Then they find us. The leader of the colony, I swear, said something like:

"You, there. The little one. Go find those huge pieces of sweet human that were sitting here sucking back the wine so that we can continue extracting that yummy grapeness out of their flesh."

And so the little one found us. And flew back to the rest of the group to point them to our secluded area on the lawn. "Over there! Over there! Over there!"

Mr. Hot calculated that even if there were millions of the pests, by destroying one, we were probably preventing 50,000 of his offspring from biting our asses. So we read. And drank. And slapped.

I tried lighting a cigarette (which I never do near Mr. Hot, because, y'know, the asthma?) - thinking the smoke would drive them away. Nah. They're also nicotine addicts, apparently.

We tried the smelly mosquito-prevention candles. Gnats like citronella! Who knew?

Finally, I went out to the front porch, where it is hot, because it is south facing and the sun thought it was July, not October. Mr. Hot hung out in the back for a bit longer, and then went into watch the news.

This morning, I woke up covered in these freakin' welts. And they itch.


So, I've been downing the Benadryl. Because he says that if you scratch, you can infect. Like I don't have enough scars already. And believe me, an itchy Hotfessional? Is a Hotfessional you really don't want to be around.

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Oh, and y'all? Read this and help out a fellow Blogger. I received an email from Kim:

Dear Friends and Family:

I am writing because I need your help! I just found out that my blog has been nominated for a $10,000 Blogging Scholarship. The only way I can win it is through your votes, however.

Twenty blogs have been nominated…all of them are blogs written by college students. The winner will be chosen by public vote….the blog that gets the most votes between now and October 28, 2007 wins the $10,000.

In order to vote, click on this link . It will take you to a voting page. My name is 7th on the list. In order to vote, you just click on the circle next to my name and then submit the vote by clicking on the button at the bottom of the list. You can only vote once, but you can ask your friends to vote for me, too.

I will also be posting about this on my blog. Thank you so much for your help. I really appreciate it. Needless to say, my family and I could really use this scholarship right now!

Thank you!

Kim

Kim writes over here at LawMom about her life as a Law Student, Mom and Breast Cancer patient. She's an inspiring woman and I'm happy to help her out and plead her cause.

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---- Maybe the fact that it's supposed to dip into the 30s over the next couple nights will make gnat-popsicles out of the creatures. I just hope that by that time, I can wash the calamine lotion off. That really wasn't what I had in mind for Mr. Hot to rub on me. ----

*These Things Kill Birds

Rituals

We all have our little rituals that we perform, don't we? Never stepping on a crack in the sidewalk? Throwing salt over our left shoulder? Wearing our lucky thong to the game? (Well, obviously, that didn't work this weekend...dammittohell.)

Mr. Hot and I have an evening ritual. (Hey. Shut.up. Yea, we have one then, too, but that's not what I'm going to write about here - geez y'all.) I always let him know when I'm leaving the office. I used to pick up the phone and call, but then we'd start yacking and I wouldn't get out of there until 10 or 15 minutes AFTER I called. It became less of a "heads up, I'm on my way", than a "So, how was your day and where is my martini?"

Which, y'know, sucked. Because he couldn't actually hand me my martini when I was still in.the.office.

So, to solve that problem - I started texting him "On my way." Which, okay, was fine. It meant that I didn't get all lost in conversation and delayed and shit. But, no creativity. Boooooooring.

Then, we got our camera phones. (Yes, y'all, we're about 4 or 5 years behind.the.freaking.times with our cells. More if you're in the U.K. or anywhere else other than the midwest of the States. But hey, I've said it before, I hate, hate, hate talking on the phone. So, give me a hello/goodbye kinda phone and I'm happy. However, now? Creativity abounds. I can send him a pic - so far, I haven't run out of ideas, but I think I'll probably need to recycle some originals before too long.

Anyway, here are some of my favorite "I'm on my way. Pour the freakin' vodka" messages.

Keys in the ignition - on my way.

Hand grabbing purse. I'm on the way.

Blackberry holder empty. I'm on my way.

Emergency tag on back of my door. I'm on my way.

Exit. I'm on my way.

I forgot to stop for fuckin' gas. I'm on my way (after the gas station).

Calls forwarded. I'm on my way.

---- So, what are your favorite rituals? ----

Damn Spartans

They scored forty-one points! Northwestern? Scored 48. How's that for a shit day? Couldn't stop a third down for love nor money. Seriously. Either side. I think there were 3 punts the entire freakin' game.

During overtime, Mr. Hot and I were already walking to the car. I couldn't stand what I knew the outcome would be. Northwestern scored a touchdown and their kicker (who had missed an extra point and a field goal to win the game at the end) - put it right through the uprights.

My Spartans? Threw four straight freakin' incomplete passes into the end zone. The end.

And hot. Oh Mah Gawd. So freakin' hot. I am sunburned. On my left side. The side I sleep on.

So, yea, the evening sucked.

But we Spartans are nothing if not optimistic:
"King Leonidas: It's an easy choice for us, Arcadian! Spartans never retreat! Spartans never surrender! Go spread the word. Let every Greek assembled know the truth of this. Let each among them search his own soul. And while your at it, search your own."
(Dammit, I am searching my own - like why I continue to love this team!? They break my heart every single year.)

And so, next week - for Homecoming, Mr. Hot and I will go back to East Lansing and watch them try to beat Indiana. [sigh] But! We're having an overnighter. Yep. And I'm going to show him the sights. And said sights will most definitely include the tan lines from this week's debacle. Maybe it'll keep his mind off the fact that I drag him to these games just to see craptastic performances.

He just yelled up that the Redskins are beating the Lions. Fuck.

---- Oh well. They the Lions. And Notre Dame won yesterday. We know someone is happy. ----

Too Early on Saturday to Think

Quickly - before we head over to Spartan Stadium to kick some Wildcat butt:

We watched "Pushing Daisies" last night. I liked it. The Shortman and Mr. Hot are still undecided.

The Lions are playing the Redskins tomorrow. Cupcake may try to produce some smack talk today. But y'all remember, her Redskins had an off week last week. Wimps. (That's the extent of my trashmouthin' at 8:44 a.m. on a Saturday. Especially with only 2 sips of coffee.

Mr. Hot is downstairs cooking breakfast and I'm swealtering in the computer room in my robe and with my head wrapped in a towel. Have to go change and get my hair drying.

And last, but not least - an update on the Save the Boobies campaign! We're up to $60 from me and we have 11 entries in the drawing. My new GGFF (that's Greatest GuyFriend Forever, not a stutter) Ben, gets two entries since he also contributed bucks to the Susan G. Komen Foundation.

Here are our participants so far:

Cupcake
WhyMommy
Sherry
Shelly
Phil
Jennifer
Mouse
Lys
Miss Zoot (I owe her a special thanks. I'm sure she has link requests coming out of her ears)
and
Ben

You guys are the greatest - thanks so much.

---- Spartans!!!!!!! What is your profession? Arooof. Aroof. Arrooff. (Okay, so it doesn't translate well to the keyboard). ----

Crisp and Crunchy

Heard from the other end of the couch last night:

"Y'know Mom, this school and eleventh grade are almost worth getting up for in the morning."

My son? Liking something that I said he would? My work as a mother is complete.

---

It's October. We're getting ready for Autumn in the midwest. I get to bring my sweaters back out. I get to hang Frank on the front door. I think I'll get the pumpkins and corn stalks when we go shopping tonight.

Growing up here, Summer has always been my favorite season. It's too short. It's too hot. It's humid and sticky and the mosquitoes are fuckin' unbelievable. But, Michigan in the Summer is a novelty that you wait for when the sun goes into hiding in January and doesn't come back until May.

Autumn was back to school and away from freedom. It was dresses instead of shorts. (The seventies y'all. Bell bottom polyester hip huggers or dresses. It's what you wore to school. I don't think I owned jeans.)

Now, though, I love the Fall. The colors and the different blue of the sky. It's the smell of leaves burning and hay and pumpkin lattes. I watch the geese from my office here in the middle of the wetlands. Huge flocks flying further south. We'll drive to East Lansing tomorrow to watch the Spartans play (and beat!) Northwestern. The leaves will have changed more the closer we get to campus. Maybe we'll stop and grab a pumpkin or two from one of the farms on the way.

I could get all philosophical on y'all and say it's because I'm also getting older - and the Fall is symbolic of the passing of time and my maturing view on life and love.

Snort) That would be, um, so not me.

We all know the fact of the matter is that it's football season, and brats, beer and football ONLY happen in the Fall. And it's the only time of the year that you can get fresh apple cider and right out of the fryer donuts. (Excuse me while I wipe the drool off my keyboard.)

---

Jen tagged me for another Meme. This one is Four by Four. So, here goes:

4 Jobs I've had

1. Parks & Recreation Leader (a glorified babysitter),
2. College Instructor (Computer Science 101),
3. Human Resources Specialist (Soooo bad at this - I wanted to hire everyone),
4. I.T. Executive (And resident Hotfessional)

4 Movies I could watch over and over

1. The Wizard of Oz (I want my own Flying Monkeys)
2. Anything with Stephen Seagal (I so love him)
3. The Sound of Music (and I'll always cry)
4. Willie Wonka & The Chocolate Factory (Yes, the Gene Wilder version although Johnny Depp is cute!)

4 TV Shows I watch

1. Entourage (HBO, WTF? The season is too short)
2. Dream Team (On Fox Sports Network - it's a British show)
3. Football (pretty much every freakin' night this week, in fact)
4. Countdown with Keith Olbermann

4 Places I've lived

1. Royal Oak, Michigan
2. Ann Arbor, Michigan
3. St. Albans, WV
4. Huntington, WV (Yes, only Michigan and WV. Booooooring)

4 Favorite Foods

1. Gnocchi (Italian potato dumplings)
2. Salmon (Grilled, then chilled)
3. Banana Pudding (My mom's)
4. Lamb with Hummus with pine nuts (although I rarely, rarely eat this because I gave up on red meat)

4 Favorite Colors

1. Forest green
2. Garnet red
3. Royal blue
4. Orange (yes, seriously. I don't know why)

4 Places I'd love to be right now

1. Amsterdam
2. San Francisco
3. Any Spa
4. In bed napping

4 Names I love but could/would not use for my children

1. Jane (because if I had a girl, I'd have to give her my middle name and it wouldn't work with Jane.)
2. Emma (because it's too close to Mr. Hot's ex-wife's name.)
3. Philip (wouldn't work with my last name)
4. Omar (again, would not go with the last name)

And now I'm tagging: Lacey Bean, Alex's Mom, Shelly and Alyndabear. Play if you'd like.

---

---- Here's the latest visitor to my window. Appropriate for October, eh? ----

More Off My Chest

Damn! Yesterday wore my ass out. You all were great about commenting. I have new people to stalk. Alex's Mom and Shelly and Phil and Lacey Bean and Sherry.

But today? My inner activist is clawing my insides trying to escape.

I'm not usually the type that shouts about the unfairness and stupidity of others (well, until that fateful day in May when I started blogging), but I want to beat someone over the head with share my opinions about some, um, bullshit.

It's important stuff y'all.

---

This one is all over the blogosphere, so you've undoubtedly seen it and the posts that all of my wonderful friends and the ladies I stalk and those who actually read me have written.



I'm not a Facebook user, so I can't take down my Facebook account. I didn't breastfeed for many reasons (none of which were "breasts = pornography", by the way), but I understand the humongorrific benefits of breastfeeding. And Facebook? Beyond stupidity.

---

Insurance. Specifically, Health Insurance. For Kids. Vetoed.

Moms Rising, Moms Speak Up - they're just as angry about it as me.

Let me take you back to a time in West-By-Gawd-Virginia when I worked in Human Resources. It was 1986. The economy sucked eggs - and I was working for less than peanuts after getting my Management degree (with honors). The Practice Husband made good money though, and we had health insurance. I thought that everyone had health insurance. It had never been an issue with my parents (who worked for city government).

My eyes were opened when I found out that the women who were working to try to support a family (whose husbands were laid off from the railroad, or the chemical company, or the coal mine) on $9000/year (yes, you read that right) were paying $125/month for health insurance. Right off the bat, nearly 17% of their before-tax salary was whisked away. So their kids could see a doctor.

It's only gotten worse. Health insurance costs continue to rise. More people are un- or under-insured. These are our children.

I know it's late notice, but take a look here for women who are acting on this and letting our Resident know they're unhappy.

---

I'm still prostituting my cause. You can steal my graphic to link (it's over there, with the pretty ribbon and "Save the Boobies" title). So far, I've only gotten three people to link to that post. I'm sad. I don't like begging. In fact, I'm whispering here. Get in on the contest. You don't have to contribute. Just link.

---- My brain is tired. I want the weekend to be here. Shortman is sick with one of those late summer hacking colds. Do you know how much Benadryl it takes to knock out decongest a 6'3" 210 lb sixteen year old? ----

The Boys I've Kissed

I had 112.2 miles of driving yesterday (yes! I just filled out my expense report, so I know) to think of something to post on The Great MoFo Delurk Day, and that topic up there? Was the best I could come up with. So sad. And I had such great plans. Even chopping (well, getting chopped) 4 inches off of my hair this morning (which had every possibility of post material heaven) was anti-climactic.

(Although this new salon I found - and stylist? Oh Mah Gawd. The girl knows how to cut hair and flatter, but her voice? Think "The Nanny". And her laugh? Think "Mr. Ed")

And so, here they are. I don't know if my inner slut feels bad or good about the number(s), and really, I was a cop's daughter, so believe it or not, even if I missed a couple? This is about it.

Kindergarten - Roy M.
Freckle-faced and red-headed, Roy was the brain of the Kindergarten class. Even then, he was about a foot shorter than me. Since I was the "girl brain", it was assumed that we should be boyfriend and girlfriend. He kissed me during recess....over by the monkey bars....standing on his tiptoes.....

Seventh Grade - Kirk? Kurt? I have no freakin' clue
Okay, so I had a bit of a dry spell. (yea, yea, I may as well have been a nun!) I met this guy at a cub scout meeting. (My brother was the cub scout, not me.) Turns out my dad and his dad had gone to high school together. (History! Connection!) He walked over to my house one day after school (he went to a different Jr. High) because I told all my girlfriends that I had a boyfriend. I needed proof.

Um, he kissed me, but y'all? He wasn't as cute as he was the night of the cub scout meeting. In fact? He was downright dorky...greasy, stringy hair and all. (Yes, it was 7th grade and I was ALL ABOUT looks.) So, I broke up with him after the first kiss and sent him walking back home. (Sorry about that Kirk?Kurt?)

Eighth Grade - Steve L.
Oh, the cuteness of this boy. He was yummalicious. No other way to describe him. He lived in the subdivision down the street. He was a year younger than me. (And, yes, dammit, shorter). I think we lasted a month. I sang a lot of Air Supply (I'm lying alone with my head on the phone...Thinking of you till it hurts) to ease my poor broken heart.

Ninth Grade - Another Steve. Or was it Mike?
He was a sophomore. He kept asking me out, but ... y'all? My Dad said no dating until I was 15. And my dad? Was a police sergeant. So Steve (or Mike) - who rode the bus with me - kissed me on the bus. But that was it. Flirtation, thy name is Hotfessional.

I think tenth grade was a nun-erific year, too. Hell, I can't remember. I remember getting in a whole shitload of trouble for skipping classes in 9th grade, so I was probably on my absolute best behavior.

Eleventh Grade - Mike K., Jeff M.
Mike was love. love. love. No ifs/ands/buts about this one. The one I gave myself to. I was 16 and we could date - football games, movies, 'helping me babysit'. He tried to teach me how to drive a standard transmission car. I failed miserably. He took me to Junior Prom in February and we broke up in March. He was a theatre geek and he dumped me for a singer in the Spring Musical. Gah. I cried for weeks.

After Mike, there was Jeff. He was 23, I was 17. Needless to say, MomandDad? Not. effin'. pleased. Well, he lasted the summer, with lots of sneakin' around.

Senior Year - Brian, George K, Dan I, Ken M, Andy W (It was senior year people! Geez.)

Brian was a friend's brother.

George was a long-distance runner and his locker was right next to mine. He took me to Red Lobster for dinner and we made out in the car afterwards. He was a great kisser. Unfortunately, there was no repeat performance.

Dan was another runner - and he showed up at my house for our date in a Rocky Horror-inspired clear plastic raincoat and black lipstick. Um, need I say more?

Ken - Unmemorable. Other than he rode horses with me.

Andy - Senior Prom date. He's a doctor now. Sigh.

Then I went to become a "Spartan Woman!!!!!!" - and met Practice Husband. My second day on campus. Ack. Sometimes I'm such an idiot. 20,000 men and I fall for the guy playing frisbee on the front lawn. Side Note -> Everclear Vodka and Grape Koolaid? Not good.

So, I went through the next 9 years and kissed ONE man. (Wait. There was that guy at my bachelorette party - does that count? I think his name was John Studly.)

Then Practice and I split, and I've been kissin' with Mr. Hot ever since.

---- So, that's that. And here's the hair - less 4 inches. And y'all? Come 10/15, I'm getting rid of the gray. I'm officially having a mid-life crisis. Now go forth and comment! ----

Comments! The Great DeLurk.

Y'all! Sixty-seven unique visitors last night! Wowee. I'm so excited, I don't think I've ever hit that # before. In.One.Night. I love you all.

But - Seven comments. Hmmmmm. Now, I know that not everything I write merits oohs and ahhs and flowery praise. Or even a "shut the fuck up bitch." I'm okay with that. (Well, it makes me sad in my little hot heart, but I'll pretend I'm okay with it because y'know, I want you to think I'm all adult-like and shit.)

And in reading this post on Schmutzie's site, I discovered that I'm not the only one craving more comments. So, I'm jumping on the beggin' bandwagon and I've joined the Great MoFo Delurk movement. (See? Pretty button up over there ----->)

Tomorrow! Delurk! Make me happy. Click on that comments link below and tell me something about yourself. I'll try really hard to make my post interesting tomorrow so that you actually have something semi-intelligent to comment about. I can't promise it won't just be my regular rambling crap, but I promise to try.

I personally plan on shoving my opinion down the throats of delurking on all 110 sites that I read on a regular basis. Well, at least those that actually, y'know, post tomorrow. Or if I haven't commented on the current entry. Because, y'know, I know I'm a big mouth, and Mr. Hot knows I'm a big mouth, but some people out there still haven't figured out that - sometimes, I talk, - just to - y'know, - talk.

---- Okay, I'm off to drive 60 miles (each way!!!) to attend an hour long meeting with some executive from the company that bought us. Road rage, here I come! ----

And Because I Couldn't Resist

How The Hell Did We Get To October?

Darkness. Uck. It's now officially "dark" when I get to the office in the morning. This whole daylight savings time change is messin' with me. With the smoked windows in this office and the dark clouds overhead, and the general, um, shit attitudes morale issues around here...it actually feels more like the end of October than the first. I could really use some laughter and brightness this morning.

So, my perfect post nominee for today is.....Sassy!

We all have days when it seems that everyone we speak to is either a) smoking drugs, or b) shooting drugs or c) huffing drugs. Trying to get a simple transaction completed is akin to pouring tar over yourself and then rolling in feathers. (Actually, I think I read about a spa that offers that treatment - supposed to make your skin abso-freakin-lutely radiant!)

Sassy, over at Oh.My.Gawd.Really knows exactly how to take a situation that would have made me kick some cashier ass blow a gasket grab my Superbucks and walk away into the perfect post for September. On a day when I was beating my head against a wall, she posted this little gem and had me laughing my ass off. I think I have her cashier's relative working for me!

So, Sassy, you are my nomination for September's Perfect Post. Many thanks to Kimberly at Petroville and Lindsey at Suburban Turmoil for the opportunity to award the button to Sassy.

----Now, y'all go look at the other Perfect Posts. I'm sure there's plenty for a giggle or two and possibly a tear or two. It's perfect for what ails ya.----