My Life as a Hotfessional

post idea

2009-02-14T18:49:00.001-05:00

http://www.betterthanaplaydate.com/redneckshower.html

--
Ree
http://hotfessional.com

Fixed!

2008-01-28T13:22:00.000-05:00

Oh Mah Holy Hell people. That was heart attack city.

Anyway, I'm fixed (well, yes, actually I am, but I really mean that Hotfessional is fixed) so you'll see the updates over there!

http://hotfessional.com

Not that I don't have fond memories of this, my original site, but you'll have to read this post over and over and over and over and over and over....again.

Ack. Ack. Ack. And some more Ack.

2008-01-27T16:56:00.001-05:00

Somehow, someway, I hit my bandwidth limit over at my site: http://hotfessional.com. (I didn't link it because, y'know, it's fucking broken!)

If you're looking here to see if I died or didn't pay my hosting bill or something....I'm working on it. Apparently I had someone "stumble" a post I did with a LolCats pic on it, and it caused my traffic to soar to some outrageous numbers. (2300 hits in a single-day. 2300! WTF y'all?) And when that happened? My measly bandwidth overflowed like the toilet after my family (not me, I'm a lady, dammit) has chili.

As soon as I can pay for more bandwidth, I'll be back posting. Promise. Don't leave me!

Moving Day

2007-12-09T21:09:00.000-05:00

Please come see me at my new home:

http://hotfessional.com

Don't forget to change your reader feeds.

---- Wine and whine continues in my new home. Join me and I'll make sure your glass stays full. ----

Random Crappola

2007-12-08T17:36:00.000-05:00

I spent most of the day putting up the tree. It looks crooked. (It's artificial, how the hell can it be crooked?) I'm waiting for the cats to decide to climb up it. I'm waiting for Mr. Hot to bring me a 7&7. I'm waiting for Shortman to come downstairs so I can ask him to bring me my slippers. Snort.

I've been working on my resume today. A friend of mine is a Human Resources director and they have a position open that she thinks is perfect for me. Her boyfriend (who I used to work for) thinks it's perfect for me. She made me promise to send her my non-fuckin'-existent resume. Could I tell her that if I sent it to her today, it would be a blank document? No. I would have liked to, but she would have ripped me a new ass. From 300 miles away. Because she's been after me to do it for the past 4 years. So, I sucked it up, told her I'd send it as soon as possible, and started writing it. Gawd that's sad. I've known for nearly a year that I was going to be looking for a new job, I used to work in H.R., and I still haven't started it. I'm obviously so damned far in denial that I can't think straight. And lazy, to boot.

So, I'm working on it. But I think I'm going to give it up for tonight. If I have to think of one more way to say "responsible for" or "accountable for" or "managed" or "ensured", I'm going to stick my head through something. Possibly the wall. Possibly the mirror that is now decked with blue and green tinsel and little stars and crocheted snowflakes.

I ordered "my Christmas present" - a Canon printer/scanner. We had Mr. Hot's famous turkey burgers for dinner. I vacuumed the living room after the tree (artificial, remember?) shed a shitload of plastic needles all over the place. MomandDad are coming over tomorrow, and the girl cat is attacking the Santa Claus on the tree skirt. The boy cat already carried off one of the sheep from the manger. College basketball is on television, and I opted for a vodka/limeade instead of a 7&7.

---- Tomorrow I will work on the freakin' resume some more, (I'm going to have it finished by Monday) and write Christmas cards. And do more on my move to Wordpress. You all keep me honest, eh? ----

I Do This To Myself

2007-12-07T12:20:00.000-05:00

With all the Blogger hoopla, and my own desire to change things up a bit, I've been working on moving this site over to Wordpress.

Is it driving me ape-shit-freakin'-nuts-crazy? Um, oh. yes. Mostly because it's an entirely new way of thinking. It's not all "draggy/droppy" and "clicky-wicky". And when you're used to something, it's comfortable. When you're trying something new, even when you know it will be better, it makes you kinda hornery.

(No, not horny, people. Hornery. Y'know, what all y'all say down there in the south. Not the north where I'm sitting looking out the gray windows to the grayer sky and where it was 9 damn degrees when I got up this morning, and the suck-ass snow is not going to melt until June?)

Aaaaanyway.

Could y'all go take a look? I'm still playing around, and I know there's probably errors and crap, but I need some other eyes besides my half-blind ones to catch them. It's RIGHT HERE.

Comment there, or here, it doesn't matter. I'm not going to be ready to switch over "permanently" until I get it figured out. I don't have the other site linked to Google or any other Search engines.

---- Also, any Wordpress hints would be appreciated. You'll get my eternal thanks and I'll link you in a post and probably lick you next time I see you. ----

Boy George Says HI!

2007-12-06T08:08:00.000-05:00

Karma.

(Karma karma karma karma karma chameleon,
you come and go, you come and go.
Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreams,
red gold and green, red gold and green.)

I've seen the mention of Karma in a couple of different blogs today. Do I believe in Karma? You bet your sweet little butt I do. Karma is when the car that blasted past me in the right lane doing 15 miles over the speed limit is pulled over by a state trooper a few miles up the road. Karma is when the person behind me in the grocery lane zips into a newly opened lane (even though the cashier asks for "the next person in line") just to get stuck waiting for a price check. Hee! That's always fun.

Last night, I finally got my own Karma for years and years of O'Horror flight delays.

Tuesday and yesterday, the suck ass snow hit Chicago. It started Tuesday evening, and by 8 pm, it was really coming down. (I know, I was freakin' walking back from a mexican restaurant in it.)

When I woke up yesterday morning, the ground was covered, but the streets had melted (well, not the streets, themselves, but...shut.up.). There was snow on the rooftops (which you can see when you're on the 28th floor!), but traffic seemed to be moving okay, and most importantly? There were taxis that were willing to stop for me. (Scoff if you must, but this isn't always the case when you're dragging a suitcase in bad weather - even though I was only going to the office.)

I checked the American Airlines website as soon as I got logged on. According to it, we were still scheduled to leave at 6:30 p.m. (I'm such a sucker. I actually checked 10 hours before scheduled departure time to see if we were delayed. Snirk. Like they're going to fuckin' post that.) The Federal Aviation Administration site showed incoming delays of 3 hours and increasing for O'Horror. But! Only 45 minute delays for outgoing flights.

(Now, I'm by no means a rocket scientist or air traffic controller, but I'm guessing that eventually? If incoming flights are delayed by 3 hours? They're going to run out of planes. Y'know? To go out? Because last time I checked, there's not an overabundance of extra planes laying around Chicago. But, who am I to say? Maybe there are and someone is just hiding them. In the Air & Space Museum? In the basement of the Sears Tower? Under Lake Michigan?)

Aaaaaanyway, I went to my morning meetings, and then met my friend the Logistics Goddess for lunch. As we were sitting there, (her stuffing her skinny little 27-year-old-face with a ginormous piece of chocolate cake with mint frosting, and me sipping my green tea feeling my hips grow just looking at her damn cake), the skies once again let loose with that wet, white crap. Damnity, damn, damn, damn. Another check of the American site tells me, "Yep! Still on time. What are you worried about?!" (sucker)

(I know, I have "sucker" tattooed on my forehead. Must cut bangs so tattoo stays hidden.)

At 2:00, the snow stops and the sky turns that brilliant shade of blue that says, in Midwesternese, "It's about 12 below out here. But you need sun, so come stand outside for 2.3 seconds and try to soak it up because it's going to be cloudy, for, oh, about the next 17 weeks."

At this point, I decide to make my getaway. It's 2:30. Four hours 'til departure. (So says the American site). I say goodbye and Happy Holidays to everyone. I get a cab and make excellent time to O'Horror. Like, 35 minutes! Door to door.

Except, at the 25 minute mark? I get a Crackberry message from American. "Flight 510 ORD to DTW NOW 8:15 p.m."

Sucker. First notification of a 105 minute delay.

You're waiting for the Karma part, right? Well, I'm getting there.

As I get through security, I take a look at the departure board to see which gate I'm scheduled to leave from (yea, like they won't change it 12 times in the next 5 hours) and I pray that there's a bar near it.

Wait, what's that? Right above that big "Delayed - Now 8:15" lettering next to Flight 510 - Detroit? A 5:05 pm flight? to Detroit? That's listed as being "On Time"? And leaving from the gate I'm standing in front of?

Well, well, well. You just know that I dragged me and my Staypuft-marshmallow-coat-covered hotness over to the desk and asked about getting on standby. The nice gate attendant gave me a standby card told me to make sure I checked for gate changes before boarding time.

Boarding time? 4:35. Current time? 3:09. Across from the gate? Macaroni Grill. Wine!

To spare you any ~~additional boredom,~~ er, ~~hitting yourself in the head with your keyboard,~~ er, angst, I will tell you that yes! I did get my standby seat (on an 17 1/2 row, 70 seat plane). We landed at 6:25 pm Central time. Which was 5 minutes before my original flight was even scheduled to take off.

The original flight? Left O'Horror at 8:50 pm. Which would have put my in my front door around 11 pm Eastern. Instead, at 11 pm, I was snuggled in my nice warm flannel sheets. Fast, fast, asleep.

---- That, my friends, is Karma. I hope you get your dose of good Karma today. ----

Interesting Article

2007-12-06T08:02:00.000-05:00

My darlin' friends,

'Tis the Season to be credit aware.

Love,
Hotfessional

Deck the Halls

2007-12-04T22:03:00.000-05:00

So, I'm seriously considering moving to Wordpress in 2008, which means I don't want to spend a ton of time to redecorate here.... but - I do want to give you all an opportunity to win prizes in an anti-contest. And to do that, I need to make some effort at sprucing this place up for the holiday season.

As you know, I'm hopeless at real, live trees. So, I put up a silver, aluminum tree. And, like my great-grandmother, I have one of those rotating disk lamps that I shine on it. (Oh mah gawd people. Does anyone else remember those? I'm trying to find an image on GoogleImages, and can't find one. Am I that freakin' old?)

I like it. It's simple. Unassuming. Like me. (snirk. snort.)

Aaaanywaaaaay. Go check it out:

All of the anti-rules and anti-prizes are listed.

---- A simple picture and a link will get you entered. The anti-contest ends December 10th, so get it in gear y'all. ----

Hot Llama

2007-12-04T13:58:00.000-05:00

Wait, that's not that what they're saying in the B-52's song? Damn. Are you sure?

Well, it's okay, because witchypoo (with a small "w", thankyouverymuch) gave me my own little hot llama.

Simply Curious created this award. (Be careful if you open her link at work. Make sure no one is standing behind you!) So thank you Simply.

The instructions for this is kind of meme-ish, because you scoop the image, reference the creator, and the giver, and go decorate someone else’s house when you are done.

So, I'm decorating. Here's who I'm awarding:

---- Love you guys. You do keep me laughing. Now, I'm going to go play with my template some. I'm getting bored. And that's never a good thing. ----

November Perfect Post

2007-12-03T11:05:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things to do is to lose myself in Meghan's photography. Her little boy makes my heart squeeze, he's so cute. If you don't know about Pyreflies Over Zanarkind, you must go take a look. Grab some coffee and something sweet to go with it and page through her archives. Her photography speaks to me in so many ways. (And yes, she knows I stalk her!)

This post here is just beautiful. The third photo reminds me of the days when Shortman was Xan's age - and they could be brothers from the back. I want to jump through the monitor and pick him up and swing him around doing airplanes. That was my baby's favorite thing.

Because I've been remembering so much about those days with all my new bloggy friends who have little ones, and that picture summed everything up, I'm awarding Meghan with the Perfect Post November 2007 award. (And now she's pregnant with #2, so we'll have newborn pictures to look at next year!)

Meghan, check your email for your badge!

---- And, as always, thanks to Kimberly and Lindsay for creating the Monthly Perfect Posts. If you'd like the opportunity to award your favorite blogger with a nifty little badge for their 'perfect post', take a stroll over to Petroville.com and Suburban Turmoil. They'll tell you all about it. ----

Dear Santa

2007-12-02T21:04:00.000-05:00

Hey, y'all. I have a question. I'm trying to make my Christmas list. (Please Santa? I've been a very, very good girl this year. Yea, I know I made fun of you to the whole internet when you dropped that $25 bottle of vodka on the garage floor, but even you kinda laughed. Remember? I promise I'll make up for it - with, um, y'know.....cookies!)

So, I have two items on my list. But I need your advice.

I want a straight iron. With my new, improved, non-gray hair and cute cut, (which I've already spent more money on since October than in the previous 4 years combined for Gawd's sake), I'd really like to have more "options" than just blowing it dry and walking out of the house. My hair is naturally wavy/curly, but when I dry it, it gets a little frizzy. I want something that will help keep the frizz out. I'm thinking that a big-barrelled curling iron may even help, but, the last curling iron I had was about $14.95. I'm thinking that's probably not the best option now. So, all of you hotties? Tell me. (So I can tell Santa.) What do you suggest? Brand/model?

My next item (and really, the one I want more) is a scanner. Right now, we have a Canon 330 inkjet and an HP Photoprinter. The Canon is great for homework and stuff, the HP sucks ink like I suck, um,...popsicles. In the interest of space, I'm leaning towards getting a combo printer/scanner/copier (I have no phone line, so a fax machine? won't get used). If I had a scanner, I can share some Hotfessional as a youngster pictures. I know you want that. (Shhhh. Be nice. Stop making those faces.) So, again, any suggestions?

Thank you my friends. I know I can count on you.

The Bowl Selection Show for NCAA football is on. My stepdaughter, 20, will be going to the Fiesta Bowl with the WVU Mountainqueers (she's in the colorguard). Ohio State and LSU will be playing in the Championship game. Is it wrong to admit that I danced around the living room last night when Pitt beat (BEAT!) WVU? Well, too bad if it is. I did.

In other news, I'm back to Chicago tomorrow. Well, depending on American Airlines' ability to actually leave Detroit at 7:05 a-freakin'-m tomorrow morning. And their abiity to land at O'Horror at 7:20 a.m. Based on the fact that I can hear the wind howling like a banshee outside the window behind my head? I'll probably be blogging from Gate B8 at Smith Terminal tomorrow for a while. I'm trying to get into my Zen mindset now. Just to be ready.

Also, it's going to be cold. Fucking cold. I have this great full-length down coat (aka "Mom's Chicago coat) - but I feel like the Staypuft Marshmallow Man when I wear it. I don't hardly fit through the damned doorways. And airport security? Bah! "Waddle on through ma'am. Oh, but please, take off the bedspread and put it through the x-ray machine." Granted, I managed to walk 2 1/2 miles while wearing it one night when there was a blizzard while I was there (although the person I was following probably thought I was a stalker). But, hot? Its.so.not. Well, literally, it can be, but y'know, in MY sense of the word? Not so much. Actually, not at all. Oh well. Winter is here again. Damn it. Where is my global warming Al?

Okay, Mr. Hot is making noises over there like it's bedtime. And, I guess it should be since I have to get up at 4 a.m. for that fun, fun, fun trip. If you run into this person on the streets of Chicago anytime over the next three days, please make sure to say Hi!

---- And if you don't mention how much is so fashion-don't about my outfit, I will probably lick you. And buy you a drink. ----

December 1st?

2007-12-01T21:33:00.000-05:00

Okay, I wasn't going to post today, y'know, after 30-freakin'-days-in-a-row of NaBloPoMo. Thank the sweet Gawd that it wasn't a 31-month day.

But, I'm posting after taking a sip of my third vodka/limeade. (not ~~durnk~~, drunk but feeling just fine. Okay, maybe well on my way to kind-of-drunk. Or more than slightly drunk.)

The girl cat is laying on my left leg. Poopy-the-Puppy is giving me the evil eye because he is jea-fucking-lous of the cats. But they lurv him. So he's torn. Because they both think he's the cat's meow. Snirk. Sorry. That was way too bad. But they do. And he is.

I am sitting on my couch enjoying my ~~wifeless~~ wireless. (hee. That was an honest typo. Really. Caught it on a re-read.)

And Missouri is losing to Oklahoma 7-6 - Gawd. When is college football going to be finished? The Big-10 was done two weeks ago. Why are the rest stil playing?

Did I mention that Shortman is taking a web authoring class this semester? And that I used to do that for a living (back in the olden days of pure html and an occasional piece of .asp or javascript?) So, I thought this would be an easy class. (Because I actually, at one time, made money doing this). I could help him. I was fucking wrong. I never used framesets (bad style when I started) or cascading style sheets (before my time). Today, I spent 3 damn-it-to-hell-HOURS trying to debug cascading style sheets for a project. This is wrong. In so many ways.

[Damn. Oklahoma just scored. Mr. Hot is commenting on the "corn-fed Oklahoma girls". I think he's lusting after them, The-Other-Ree. Now he's switched to the West Virginia MountainQueers game. And they're losing! Yes!!!!! Sorry for my non-US-college-football-fan readers....but for WVU to lose? is orgasmic. Take my word for it. Even though 20 is part of the color guard. Sworn-mortal-freakin'-enemy. I Am Marshall. Lets.Go.Pitt!]

Anyway. I'm way too amped from debugging 11th grade homework to go to sleep. So, y'all get me - drunk blogging. Sorry.

Mr. Hot and I are sitting on opposite sides of the couch (It's in the favorite things post...it's like 25-feet of separation) - each with a laptop and Shortman is upstairs on the desktop - playing WoW. Can you have an entire family of nerds? We actually have 2 laptops and 3 desktops. I need to get two of the desktops hooked up for wireless. We're a sad bunch. Go ahead. I know you're thinking it.

Mr. Hot is lusting after the Comcast spokeswoman. (That's just an aside.) He does. I let him. (Meaning I don't throw something at him.)

Okay, I'm going back to reading my bloglines. I'll try to be at least more coherent tomorrow. I may tell you about "The King". Who shares my mom and dad. Who is two years younger than me. Who is (gulp) my brother. Did I mention he's two years younger? But is male? And thinks that Male=Superior? Dudes, I'm serious. He's from the Dark Ages. Yea, I need to NOT be ~~durnk~~ drunk when I write that post.

---- Yea, my family. That I didn't marry or give birth to. That's a story. Stay tuned. It's all about weirdness. ----

You Deserve More Than Fluff

2007-11-30T11:33:00.000-05:00

THE LAST DAY OF NOVEMBER
by The Hotfessional
(with thanks to Clement Clark Moore)

The last day of November, Na-Blo-Po-Mos done,
Not a blogger stopped writing, it was lots of fun;

The keyboards were dusted and vacuumed with care,
In hopes that Eden’s email soon would be there;

The bloggers were reading, not snug in their beds,
While visions of blog-prizes danced in their heads;

And Mr. Hot in his armchair, and I on my couch,
Were amazed that the writers did not even slouch,

When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.

The damn stupid kittens knocked over my wine,
That nectar of gods, that fruit of the vine.

The puddle of Merlot on my countertop
started running toward the edge, it just would not stop.

I cleaned it up quickly so I could return
To my blanket and couch, and my laptop to learn

More about all of ya’ all, so lively and smart,
You’ve burrowed your way right straight to my heart.

More rapid than eagles to the seat my butt came,
And I scrolled down, and shouted, and called you by name;

"Now, Miz S! now, Candy! now, Amy and this Jen!
On, Heidi! on Cupcake! on, Lisa and Helen!

To the top of the post! to the top of the scrawl,
Now write away! write away! write away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild Ann Arbor winds fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the tip-top my fingers they flew,
Refreshing my Bloglines, and Google Reader too.

And then, in a twinkling, my browser refreshed
Adjusting my blanket so I stayed enmeshed,

I just scrolled down the screen, and was lifting my glass,
Laughing while reading Encyclopediasass.

You all have such talent, from your heads to your feet,
And receiving your comments has become such a treat;

A bundle of love I have witnessed right here,
Beauty and joy, lovely photographs, sometimes fear.

Your posts -- how they tickled, your pictures how merry!
Your news was uplifting, LawMom Kim and you Sherry!

My dear friend Amanda is pregnant you know,
And Marianne, and Meghan; Squirrel too, and there’s mo’;

You listened while I cried about Shortman’s teeth,
And joked about the yellow bra worn underneath ;

You had a broad grin and clapped for dear Shelly,
Bitched about peanut butter with me, (not jelly).

You all kept on reading, my virtual dears,
And I laughed right on with you, in spite of some tears;

The Wink, Just Because and witchypoo as well
Bye Bye Buy, Cripes Suzette, oh and Life of Elle;

They spoke not a word, but blogged about their work,
This Sue is a gas, Lacey Bean is a Perk,

Sweet Nancy Marie was a neighbor before,
And Kristin and Bossy have stories galore;

I can’t go on now, my brain has gone to sleep,
If I haven’t linked you, please don’t cry, moan or weep

You are all my dear friends, I’ve enjoyed every site,
NaBloPoMo is done, and to all a good-night.

---- Y'all are truly great! Despite the bitching, I've had loads of fun this month. Now, I'm off to find my NaBloPoMoBadgeOh!----

Random Kristabella

2007-11-29T13:49:00.000-05:00

Back when I ran out of things to say mid-NaBloPoMo, I threatened to randomize Kristabella's 201 things and write a story about her.

Today ... is the day y'all. Because tomorrow? You're getting fluff. Or fashion. Or fluffy fashion. And NaBloPoMo will be OvOMoFos.

Heaven help me, but Random.org puked up "188".

And that entry is: "188. Remember that boyfriend from No. 120? He made horror movies"

All Hail Sparky
It was a dark and stormy night. November's clutches tightened around the Windy City. Lake Michigan's waves were cresting and white-capped and the wind was blowing to beat hell. The clocks had been changed back to Central Standard Time and it was already fuckin' dark by the time Kristabella made it back to her apartment. She was hugging the bottle of Cabernet she picked up; trying to make up her mind whether to finish reading that book for damn book club (which she joined mostly for the free wine) or to kick back on her couch and watch a little reality television.

Walking the streets of Chicago, in November, in the wind, takes a certain heartiness. In the dark? It takes more than that. A "tough girl" strut and attitude-plus come in handy. But the clicking of her bootheels on the concrete combined with the howling gales coming from between the buildings prevented Kristabella from hearing the footsteps of the guy in the black leather jacket and skin-tight jeans walking behind her. Had she heard him, she would have quickened her step more. Had she knew who he was, she probably would have cracked him over the skull with the wine she was carrying. It was the guy she had once thought was "the one." The asshat who had broken up with her on her mother's birthday. During Grey's Anatomy! Fucktard.

When she let herself into her home, Simba and KittyKitty were waiting for her. They were pissed that she was late. They had contemplated using her Jim McMahon jersey as a litter pan liner, or her "What Would Bacon Do" wheel as a scratching post. But in their evil little cat hearts, they loved her and knew that she would never intentionally leave them hungry. She might pass out from the wine, but she always came home (albeit sometimes a bit bruised). Simba was quick to remind KittyKitty of that fact.

Her mind made up and her cats fed, Kristabella put on her duckie pajamas, poured herself a tumbler of Cabernet ('to hell with the fancy glasses', she mumbled to herself. 'I'm just going to read a couple of chapters and get my butt to bed.') and plopped onto the couch.

The book drew her in. The clock ticked and the wind gusted outside her windows. She poured another tumbler. And then another.

What she didn't know is that the guy in the tight jeans and black leather was standing outside her front door, trying to talk himself into knocking. He'd hurt her before. He hadn't meant to, true, but such was his life. Always screwing up the best things about it. He had been thinking about how beautiful her skin was, soft and luminous. He had loved it when she decided to darken her hair. But, asshat that he was, he didn't see it until he'd fucked it all up.

He was back with a proposition. He wanted to make her a star! A star in his new horror show. Maybe he could win her back. She would be the gorgeous marketing executive who discovers the victims of a psychotic football player and then becomes the target of the linebacker's rage. He thinks, "C'mon Dickhead, just knock on the door already." And then he does, three raps. Tap, tap, tap.

Kristabella puts down her book, takes another swig of wine, and walks to the front door. She looks out the peephole, but can't really trust her eyes. She's blind, but afraid of Lasik. She figures it's wine blindness this time though.

"Who is it?"
"Asshat" a voice answers that she recognizes. She may be blind, but her ears work just fine.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I want to talk to you about a movie I'm making. I think you'd be perfect in the starring role. C'mon, let me in."

Against all of her better judgement, (but again, y'know, the wine) she opens the door. She's surprised that she really doesn't feel much at all. Of course, that, too, could be the wine. She lets Asshat in. Simba and KittyKitty look at him. Simba hisses. KittyKitty does the humpback cat shuffle.

Kristabella stands, with her hands on her hips, while he hems and haws about "Nice to see you." and "How've ya been?" He thinks about leaning in for a kiss of her wine-stained mouth. She, on the otherhand, thinks about the Cubs bat in her closet. And her Arizona State Sun Devils pitchfork leaning against her wall. And about how she really just wants some more Cabernet.

But, because she's one of the sweetest, friendliest people in town, and she's been hurt enough by shitheads and pompous asses in her life that she doesn't want anyone else to feel badly, she invites Asshat to sit down. He sets his video camera down on her table. She wonders, "Why the hell did he bring his camera? " just as he begins to explain that he wanted to show her some of the footage that had already been shot for this new horror flick he was making. She smiles politely and starts walking towards her drink.

Just then, KittyKitty darts across the floor. Simba chases, jumps up onto the table and somehow manages to flip the camera switch to Record. Kristabella, slightly tipsy, tries to jump just as KittyKitty runs between her feet. It was not her most graceful move. As she fell, ass over teakettle, her arm hit the lamp on the table where she'd been cuddled up earlier reading. Before Asshat walked back into her life and wanted to make a damn movie. The lamp teetered. Tottered. Finally tilted just far enough to brush against that Arizona SunDevils pitchfork leaning up against the wall.

The handle of the souvenier had been down, the fork part in the air because she didn't want the sharp metal tines to scratch her floors. It hadn't looked like much of a brush from the lamp, but the pitchfork fell. It fell just as Simba jumped on Asshat's back and caused him to lurch forward.

Pitchfork and Asshat met. They met at chest height. The camera continued rolling.

Kristabella silently toasted Sparky the night she won the Academy Award. Her Sun Devils managed a win that night.

---- The End. Mah Gawd people. Tomorrow you are sooooo getting fluff. ----

Steelin' teh Memez, 2

2007-11-28T14:37:00.001-05:00

I'm just Part 2'ing all over the place the last couple of days. Kristabella kindly informed me (she did, it was kind, she wasn't snarky at all!) that there were 10 more items on that Meme when she did it. Damn. That's more than I did the first time! Let's see if I can get some of the others. I'm nothing if not ~~anal competitive~~ thorough.

Favorite Animal:

Horse. Arabian.

Town Where I Live:

Yes. Home of the Wolverines. Small puke in the back of my mouth.

Name of Past Pet:

He was a Siamese cat.

Name of Past Love:

I still watch "Above the Law" whenever it's on. Oh, and he shares a first name with a past love. (8th grade, sigh)

Best Friend's Nickname:

+ Face.

My First Name:

I had no idea.

Bad Habit:

Yes, I know. Three per day. That's all. But I like it. I'll quit when I'm ready.

First job:

Grandmother's name:

And her middle name was Cecilia.

College Major:

---- Fat lot of good that major did me. Actually, I think the second set was easier than the first 8 I did. ----

Iz In Ur Blogs, Steelin' Ur Memez

2007-11-28T10:00:00.000-05:00

First, I have to tell you that my stepchildren, the NYO and TYO (which used to stand for nineteen year old and twenty-three year old) are now twenty (will now be blogged about as "20") and twenty-four (new blogname "24"), respectively. Yes, Mr. Hot is the father of three, and they are four years apart (actually, they are 3 years, 48 weeks and 3 days apart. exact.ly. to.the.day.) Let's just pay 12 consecu-fuckin-tive years of college tuition, okay?

Okay, so we're down to the bitter end of NaBloPoMo. I'm stealing the newest meme. Because it looks like fun. I'm sure I'll change my mind by the time I get to the end.

1. Age at next birthday:

Shhhhhh. I figure that since I feel thirty-five and act twenty-five, I can admit that chronologically, I'm effin' old.

2. Place I'd like to travel:

Prague. I fell in love with it when I first saw a documentary on Czech architecture.

3. Favorite place:

Amsterdam. Canal Houses. The one I stayed in while there in 2005 was built in 1620. Again, the architecture got me.

4. Favorite objects:

I had a whole collage thing going for this one, but when I made myself narrow it down to a single thing? Books. I couldn't live without books.

5. Favorite food:

Cedar Plank Grilled Salmon. Heaven in my mouth.

6. Favorite color:

Forest Green.

7. Nickname:

Believe it or not, that's a Ree.

8. Place you were born:

But there's also places like this:

That's it. I'm not tagging anyone. It wasn't too terribly hard, but it wasn't as easy as I thought either.

---- Oh, and Happy Birthday 24! We all miss you. Wish you'd call us back. Your card and check are in the mail. Love, your Stepmonster. XXXOOO ----

I Fight With Christmas Trees - Part 2

2007-11-27T10:28:00.000-05:00

Okay, you asked for it. But, to get you in the mood, you have to go look here:

It's mah posse!

(The site is getting a lot of hits today apparently, so if it doesn't load the first time, try pasting this link http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=9617793428 into your browser later. And there's sound, so if you're at work or the baby's asleep, turn down your speakers)

Hee! Aaaaaanyway....

When Mr. Hot, Shortman and I moved back to Michigan, we found a ~~basement~~ garden view apartment in Royal Oak. It was a ~~cheap~~ nice place for the three of us - it had ~~no vermin!~~ a fireplace! And a patio with sliding glass doors that led outside from the livingroom. Lots of wood trim and a great neighborhood was the icing on the cake. It was 1993 and our whole lives were in front of us.

Here's the layout of the main living area. Bedrooms and potty down the hall. Marvel at my drawing skillz!
Shortman was only two, and we moved over Thanksgiving weekend. This would be the first time in our married life that we weren't poor students. We wanted to start our own traditions and make memories for our sweet little one. We had great dreams. And what better time to start pursuing them than during the holidays?

I took Shortman to Frank's Nursery and Crafts (which is now, sadly, defunct - at least in Michigan) to pick out a tree. He bounced around in his little snow suit - going from tree to tree to tree. "This one? Twee? Kissmas Twee?" I was trying not to throw up at the prices that were hanging on these sickly looking things.

We finally found one that was ~~only bare in 2 spots~~ fairly full and about 6 foot tall. It was reasonably priced (dinner for three at Pizza Hut). I asked the high school kid working the tree lot to help me load it into my car.

He shaved off the bottom of the trunk so that it could suck up water and last ~~three days~~ until Christmas. He put it through that netting machine and hauled it over to the Cutlass I was driving. We loaded it into the trunk (yes, it fit, do you know you can hide a body in the trunk of an '88 Cutlass Supreme?) and Shortman and I drove home. That little boy was sooooo excited about his "Kissmas Twee".

Mr. Hot was doubtful. "You spent how much on this tree?" "The trunk is twisted." "It's not going to fit." Damn Scrooge.

I was not deterred by his pessimism. Hottie-Blue-Skies, I always see the glass as being half full (especially if there's vodka in it.) I offered him ~~sex~~ cookies if he would only put it in the tree stand. I would do all of the decorating after Shortman went to sleep.

Not one to pass up ~~a blow job~~ cookies, he put the stand on the tree and set it out on the patio so that the branches could settle. Meanwhile, Shortman and I hung the stockings on the fireplace and the wreath on the front door. I read him "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" as his bedtime story that night and got him settled in so sugar plums could dance in his dreams.

After that, I brought the tree inside and hung our ornaments. The crystal stars with minimal damage. The bells that only had small cracks in them. Mr. Hot stoked the fire (in the fireplace first....). We were snuggling; talking about how much fun it was to be done with school; to have new careers. We were giggling while we imagined Shortman's reaction on Christmas morning. How excited he was going to be about his Thomas the Tank Engine (pre-lead-based-paint) track and lunch box for daycare. Dozing in each other's arms.

Okay, now please scroll back up to the picture (marvel some more while you're there, please). See the fireplace? See the green circle with the red box around it (that's the tree). See the space in front of the fireplace where you can imagine Mr. Hot and I enjoying the pretty Duraflame fire? (Yes, I so could have made that a "log" reference, but I didn't. Okay, maybe I just did. Snort.)

The next thing I knew, I had the fuckin' tree on my head. That twisted trunk? It was a bit of a problem apparently.

Once again, I picked up the tree (after crawling out from under the damn thing) and quietly opened the sliding door. I put the tree outside. I did not throw it (contrary to what the other participant ~~Mr. Hot~~ may say). I closed the door and sat on the couch and cried. Nothing like shattering my dreams AND the rest of my effin' ornaments.

Mr. Hot, being the superhero that he is, went into the kitchen junk drawer and found some wire. He brought the tree back in, propped it against the glass and tied the wire around the top. Then he nailed the wires into the ceiling to stabilize the tree. Nine years later, when we moved out (and eight years after we switched to an artificial tree that was only 4 1/2 feet tall) those nail holes were still in the ceiling and the tops of the walls.

But he managed to salvage my dreams and Shortman's surprise the next morning. I mean, wouldn't that have sucked? Shortman gets up and sees his Kwissmas Twee laying out on the patio? And never once did I hear "I told you the damn trunk wasn't straight."

---- So, there you have it. The second time I fought my Christmas tree and lost. I don't even walk through evergreen forests around here. I stick to deciduous trees whenever possible. ----

It's Alive! It's Alive!

2007-11-26T21:14:00.000-05:00

The laptop that is. And I am posting from the mutha. Windows XP installed. Wireless card installed. Security-freakin'-installed.

---- I AM a goddess. ----

Timber!

2007-11-26T11:37:00.001-05:00

Go check out Sarcastic Mom's rack.

Go check out what happened to Miss Puerto Rico.

I'll wait. I'm just gathering my thoughts about what to write here today. I think the story is evolving, but you need to give me a minute.

Ok? Cool.

Tonight, I get to re-image an old laptop. I'm going to wipe it completely clean, re-install the operating system and the appropriate drivers. Note that it may include cursing (not, in and of itself unusual, I know. shut.up.) and throwing things. I have done this once before. It was not pretty. It was not this same laptop. It was a desktop that got a virus from some shithead gamer that sent Shortman an email. About 3 years ago.

I've had this laptop sitting on the desk waiting to be re imaged almost that long. The horror of that exercise has prevented me from popping those XP setup cds into this nice IBM Thinkpad. It runs. It connects to the internet. But, you can't install anything new on it, and it has really old, old versions of Adobe and Mediaplayer. We can't upgrade it.

Why? you ask? (Well, you probably didn't, but I'm going to tell you anyway.) Because it was a 'hand me down or throw me out' computer from work that was set up with no administrator rights. Therefore, I can't administrate new software onto it. And now that I've got the house rigged for wireless, I want to have a computer in every room. Because, y'know, I'm sick that way. And a nerd.

So, with much whining and snarking and grimacing, I'm going to take on that little sucker this evening. Be glad you're not in firing range.

Now, here's where the story evolves. (And another view into the Hotfessional mind - watch the hairpin turns and trackbacks and mudslides, and eeeeeeeeek! there's a cliff.) Picture those wavy-flashback-television-sitcom lines.

I have a mean streak when I can't get something to do what I want. (Like, say, I want that computer to actually work after I get through with it. ) Generally only inanimate objects must fear my wrath; people are fairly safe.

Here's an example (and oh Mah Gawd, it's happened twice. Two different husbands, though, so [shhhh] Mr. Hot has only been subjected to it once):

I fight with Christmas trees.

Yep. This is why I no longer have a live tree for the holidays. They hate me. Yes, it's personal. Don't pretend it's not.

The first time (with the Practice Husband), I was having a holiday luncheon for my boss (The Uppity Southern Bitch) and co-workers (3 other women - yes, we worked in H.R.) Practice and I had just finished putting a hardwood floor in the huge family room. It took us (yes, just the two of us) - 6 weeks of pulling up piss-scented carpeting, scrubbing concrete, laying vapor layers and cushioning layers and oak planks then sanding and staining and varnishing to get that floor down. (Amazingly enough, that was not the cause of the divorce!) It was a beautiful room, and I wanted a 9-foot tall live tree to be the centerpiece. I didn't believe in artificial trees.

We found the tree, unpacked all of my beautiful ornaments - handed down from my Grandmother (who had died that summer) and MomandDad (who weren't having trees anymore since we were all out of the house and Dad is a Muslim). I took hours and hours to make it just.right. - hanging crystal hearts and bells, tying bows, re-arranging bulbs and tinsel and lights. It was my dream tree. The tablecloth (hand-made by me) and the advent candle centerpiece on the table completed the look.

I slaved over the food - cucumber sandwiches, crab dip, fruit salad, little weiners on sticks, petit fours - all very Southern ladylike (in my mind anyway). I had Christmas carols playing softly in the background. I had never hosted a party without lots of vodka and beer before! This was a historic occasion. Champagne punch in beautiful fluted glasses was available for those who chose to imbibe.

One of my cohorts in crime (another transplanted Michiganian, even) came early to calm me down. We did a walk through to make sure TUSB couldn't find fault with anything. I think maybe we also had a cigarette and a shot on the back porch to get us ready.

When TUSB and the other guests arrived at the appointed time (fashionably 7.5 minutes late, I'm sure), I helped them with their wraps and directed them to the family room where, I hoped, they would be awestruck by my decorating prowess and my spiritual festivity.

Instead, they were greeted by 9-fucking-feet of Norway Spruce tipping over and spilling hundreds of hand-blown crystal ornaments onto the kiln-dried and varnished to a high polish oak floor. What didn't fall to the floor and splinter into millions of pieces fell onto the beautifully decorated table with all of my fancy-fucking-finger-foods. (Bonus use of fuck there due to the sheer horror the memories bring back.)

I calmly walked over to the tree. Picked it up by the trunk and dragged it across the floor to the sliding glass doors that opened onto the deck. Pulled that sucker outside and up-ended it over the railing to watch it go crashing from the second story family room (this was a split level house) into the snow below. I walked back into the kitchen and had another shot.

Then I picked the ornaments out of the crab dip and offered champagne punch to my guests.

The ornaments that survived the hardwood floor also survived the fall into the snow. After TUSB and the others left, Eva (my fellow shot-chugger) and I rescued what we could. I had Practice re-cut the bottom of the tree so that it would stand up and we got toasted while we redecorated.

---- I'll save the second story of Hotfessional vs. The Tree for another time. Until then, here's the view outside my window today. Snow. Sigh. This can only mean that I'll have to live that moment again when I unpack the ornaments in a few days. ----

Wheeeee Part 2

2007-11-25T20:31:00.000-05:00

Hee! So far, I've been able to Google "Lenny Kravitz's birthplace" (Brooklyn, NY) and Canadian Football League wages (C$35,000 - 60,000/year.)

And find this - which had us both cackling:

---- Mr. Hot fears he has created a monster! Sports Quiz Nights? No longer a problem. ----

Wheeeeeeee!

2007-11-25T16:39:00.000-05:00

I am, (are you ready for this?) sitting on my couch (yes!!!!) with a wireless connection (finally!!!). Y'all? This is. HUGE. Like - the huge-est. Oh, are y'all are so in trouble. This opens up tons of new drunken blogging possibilities.

Also, you can learn exactly what I'm doing at any given time. Oh, wouldn't it have been cool to have had this available, say, November-fuckin'-first. NaBloPoMo? I would have scoffed at it. Scoff, I tell you! Because, y'know, it takes so much energy to drag my ass off of the couch and up the 13 stairs into the office.

You will, however, probably have to listen to husband/wife dialogue ala Miz S, who claims to

"...disapprove of the practice, so treasured by bloggers, of repeating cute, amusing conversations between 2 spouses, as if it is the funniest, most adorable thing in the world. Generally, it isn't. "

Consider yourselves duly warned. Hee! I will probably only share the really crude stuff though. I know y'all. Sickos. (Kidding!! I <3 you all.)

So, other than squee'ing about my new freedom from wired connections, I'm watching the Broncos beat up the Bears. Poopy the Puppy is asleep on the top of the couch next to me.

We did manage to get the yard cleaned up. First we packed up the furniture into the storage barn, then Mr. Hot raked while I cut back the rosebush (praying the entire time that I didn't end up killing it) and piled up the mulch around it and wrapped it in burlap. Then I tied up the Anise Hyssop that is threatening to take over the front perennial beds. (Maybe I should sometimes read the labels that come on the plants.....and I wouldn't be in this mess.)

So, anyway, Mr. Hot and I need to go pick up the food (that we ordered from Ruby Tuesday's ONLINE To-Go menu, while I sat here working on this post, lalalalalalalalalala, I'm so diggin' this) that is not leftover turkey and mashed potatoes thank gawd y'all.

---- Snirk. I may be back later. Sorry y'all, but you only have our newfound respect for Circuit City to thank. ----

Aaarrrrrgggghhhh

2007-11-24T22:06:00.000-05:00

Internet down for a bunch today. And football all over the place. It's cold and windy.

C'mon Kansas. We don't want the Mountainqueers to be #1.

But, I posted today. Somehow, someway. Besides, the queen of NaBloPoMo said this counts!

Shortman is eating his 17th helping of Mac and cheese.

Tomorrow is 'final cleanup of the yard for the season' day. Have to finish raking leaves, cut back the rose bush, and put up the last of the yard furniture. Hopefully the weather report will be right and we'll get to actually hang the Christmas lights.

---- NaBloPoMo is kickin' mah ass. But with the workouts happening regularly again, it's gonna be a cute, jeans-worth ass. ----

More Facts & 28 Questions About Meme

2007-11-23T10:29:00.000-05:00

Candy tagged me. And just in time, I might add. Day 23 of NaBloPoMo and Ack! I've written some duds.

(Aside: just heard from downstairs, "Dad, can you come here?" and then a few seconds later after Mr. Hot tears down the steps, "My shirt is soaked." I'm betting on a rip in a bag of ice. Last night, the cats dragged one out of Shortman's bedroom and down the stairs. They were playing with a ziploc full of water....geez. Also, we're 1/2 through our 3rd half-gallon of ice cream in less than 2 1/2 days. )

Anyway, here you go.

(X) Been to Canada - In fact, my brother lives there. In Ottawa. I've been to Toronto and Ontario, but I've never been to his place. I would love to see British Columbia.

( ) Been to Mexico - Nope. But I'm a big fan of the food. And Tequila. But Tequila doesn't like me.

(X) Been to Florida - Yes. I actually had an office there for 6 months while we were closing some Audit issues.

(X) Been on a plane - Averaged twice per month for the last 11 years. Sigh.

(X) Been lost - Far too often.

(X) Been on the opposite side of the country - San Fran. Three days. Not long enough by far.

(X) Swam in the ocean - Yes. Virginia, North Carolina and Florida. Oh and The Bahamas.

(X) Cried yourself to sleep - Sigh. Yes.

( ) Played cops and robbers - No, Dad was a cop. Too much like real life.

(X) Played with a Tonka Truck - Oh yes.

(X) Recently colored with crayons - I love crayons. I do Christmas coloring books.

( ) Sang karaoke - No, and you don't want to hear me sing.

(X) Paid for a meal with only coins - Yes. Taco Bell makes this easy!

(X) Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? - Yes, and it usually has to do with drinking or eating.

( ) Made prank phone calls - Too scared of getting caught.

(X) Caught a snowflake on your tongue - Native Michiganian. You can't open your mouth in the winter without doing this.

(X) Danced in the rain - Yep. And run through it. And stood in it. I'm not so sweet that I melt.

(X) Written a letter to Santa Claus - Most recently about 11 years ago though.

(X) Been kissed under the mistletoe - Every year starting with Gramma's house and continuing through my own.

(X) Watched the sunrise with someone you care about - Although I'm much more likely to be watching sunset than sunrise.

(X) Blown bubbles - Yep. I'm a mom.

( ) Made a bonfire on the beach

( ) Crashed a party

( ) Crashed a wedding

( ) Crashed a funeral
--- I'm obviously a horrible bore with no social life. Oh, wait, you guys knew that ---

(X) Gone ice-skating - Yes. That Michiganian thing again. Although I hate the cold.

1. Any nicknames? Yes. Ree is my nickname. Bestowed on me by my first nephew when I was 24. Took me awhile, eh?

2. Mother’s name? Barbara - (Not Barbra like Streisand)

3. Favorite drink? Coffee (black) if we're talking about driving later, vodka/cranberry juice/limeade if we're not.

4. Any tattoos? No, although I would like one, Mr. Hot is morally opposed to it.

5 Body piercing? Ears only. 1 hole each.

6. How much do you love your job? Up until February of this year? I looked forward to getting there every day and enjoyed every minute of it.

7. Favorite vacation spot? Anyplace with a beach, Mr. Hot, and Shortman. Or my backyard in the early summer.

8. Ever been to Africa? No. Europe and Asia, but not Africa.

9. Ever eaten cookies for dinner? Abso-freakin'-lutely.

10. Ever been on TV? Bozo Show. I was 6.

11. Ever steal any traffic signs? No (that DadCop thing)

12. Ever been in a car accident? Yes, but none that were my fault.

13. Drive a 2-door or 4-door vehicle? 4 Door.

14. Favorite pie? Banana cream, extra cream.

15. Favorite Number? 12. I don't know why.

16. Favorite movie? Wizard of Oz

17. Favorite holiday? Thanksgiving

18. Favorite dessert? Ice cream - Breyer's Vanilla

19. Favorite food? Cedar grilled salmon

20. Favorite day of the week? Saturday because I get to sleep in but it's not Sunday.

21. Favorite brand of body wash? Body Shop's Satsuma

22. Favorite toothpaste? Crest Lemon Ice

23. Favorite smell? Coffee, right after you open a new can

24. What do you do to relax? Read or crochet (or, ehem, meet Mr. Hot in the bedroom)

25. Do you have a message to your friends reading this? I love you guys for sticking by me through everything.

26. How do you see yourself in 10 years? In a new career (maybe teaching) - just me and Mr. Hot, because Shortman has gotten settled into his career, in someplace warm - maybe in Europe. With time to travel - a lot.

27. Furthest place you will send this message? Alyndabear is in Australia, so I guess that's about as far as I could possibly send this.

28. Who will respond the fastest? Whoever is most desperate on the 23rd day of NaBloPoMo.

I'm tagging:

Amanda,
Heidi,
witchypoo,
TxPoppet
and
Nancy

and whoever else is doing NaBloPoMo and needs something to write about.

---- Now, I'm off to go find the leftover turkey. ----

Back To the Liquor Store

2007-11-22T09:58:00.000-05:00

I could be really sappy and saccharine sweet here and tell you about how grateful I am for my wonderful family and my friends. How I am so appreciative of the recovery Shortman is making from his surgery yesterday and that there are doctors like his oral surgeon in the world. A doctor who kindly called last night to see how he was doing and laughed with me over my attempts to change his gauze. (I've never even met this man.)

I could wax poetic about how blogging has brought me into a warm, comforting (if mostly virtual) community of like-minded, funny individuals like yourselves, people I would not hesitate to invite into my home and ply with wine (or sparkling apple juice for all of you pregnant ones out there).

I could write long paragraphs about how thankful I am to have my beautiful home and my ~~job from hell~~ exciting career and the opportunity to be a woman in today's modern world who has all of these options rather than being told who I was allowed to marry and what I had to do once I married them.

I could go on and on about all of this and more. But right now? I'm praising my lucky stars that it was Mr. Hot who dropped the $25 bottle of vodka onto the floor of the garage and watched it shatter into a million pieces and not my clumsy ass. Because, y'know, that would have been so damned predictable if it had been me.

---- Seriously'all? Thank you. Thank you for being part of my community. Thank you for your kind and comforting words and thoughts. Thank you for making me laugh, or cry, or simply think on a daily basis. For everyone who stops by my little piece of the blogosphere, thank you. ----