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. ----

I Am a Wuss

2007-11-21T14:09:00.000-05:00

I pass out. (And no, NOT [always] because of the wine or vodka). I'm a pain-pussy. I admit it. Childbirth was, to say the least, a gruesome experience for all involved.

(Especially when, after my epidural wore off, and they tried to put another drip into the tube in my back, and they pulled the tube out, and the drug, rather than numbing me just gave me a wet back because it poured out of the tube, and....oh mah gawd, they wouldn't believe me when I told them that I wasn't numb and then they proceeded to stitch me up for the next 3 fuckin' hours, without an painkiller...and....ah ah ah. deeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath. Yah. A pain pussy.)

Aaaaaaanyway.

In addition to being a wuss about pain, I'm also a wuss about others' pain. Even if they're not in pain.

My unconciousness, let me tell you about it.

The first time I passed out, I was in the pediatrician's office with my sister, Ski. We were both there with some minor ailment. I was about 10, which would have made her 4. The Doctor had Ski's shirt pulled up to listen to her heart, and noticed a little skin tag on her chest. He asked Mom if she wanted him to remove it. She told him to go ahead.

So, out comes his little scalpel; he scrapes it up against her little body. The next thing I know, Mom is picking me up off the floor. "We heard a thud, and there you were, out cold on the tile. You slid right out of the chair."

The next time I remember passing out, I was working as a veterinary assistant. We were spaying a rabbit. (Seriously y'all. I bet during the 10 months I worked there, we spayed 25 rabbits. Before that, I didn't even know it could be done.) This wasn't the first rabbit we'd spayed. And I had assisted on many other surgeries, but this time? Kerthunk. Apparently I thought too much about what was going on in front of me. Because, y'know, when you're holding a rabbit's freakin' uterus in your hands, you should think about what you're doing.

One time, Mr. Hot (who is a vitamin freak and has taken an aspirin every day since, well, for-freakin'-ever because of the sheer volume of heart-attacks in his family), had a little scrape on his face. It was between the bottom of his nose and one side of his mouth. Right......

....where that blue arrow is pointing.

And this scratch started bleeding. Y'all? It.would.not.stop. That man's blood is so thin, if he was the one that gave birth 16 years ago and got ripped like I did? He'd still be bleeding today.

As he tried, for like, 20 minutes to get this teensy tiny little cut to stop.fuckin'.bleedin'.already, I started feeling sweaty and clammy and like there was a bit of a fog rolling in. Then I got these little pin-pricky things in front of my eyes. And I watched, fascinated, at the buckets of blood pouring from his face and there was no wound. It was like a damn stigmata y'all.

So, the next thing I know, I'm picking my ass up off the deck while he's staring at me, holding a napkin to his face.

That brings us to today. Shortman's surgery was over in less than an hour. Mr. Hot called me and told me they were on their way. I fluffed up Shortman's pillows, got his television remote ready, and straightened his sheets and blankies. I moved the step stool so that Poopy the Puppy could jump up into bed with him.

When they came in, Mr. Hot and I helped the patient up the stairs and adjusted everything. Then Mr. Hot handed me the "Home Care Instructions following Tooth Removal" pamphlet. I read through everything carefully; got to the part where we must "Change gauze every 30-45 minutes up to 4 to 6 hours."

***Warning - Squeamishness may ensue.***
At the 45 minute mark, I told Shortman we needed to change his gauze (yeah, I delayed it to the very last minute, so what?). He pulled out the bloody pieces. I took them from him and wadded up the clean ones to put in his mouth. He has a horrible gag reflex, and my fingers in his swollen mouth didn't help matters any.

After 4 attempts at getting the freakin' gauze pads in the proper places, and having his blood on my hands, I realized that I was going down. And I was going to go down fast.

I looked at him and said, "Shortman, I think I'm going to faint." I sat on the stool, put my head between my legs, and breathed. Again. and Again. I finally felt like I could stand up.

He was almost grinning (well, as much as someone can grin with swollen cheeks). "Ah oo a-raht? Oo k? Wha me call Dah?" The little shit was laughing at me!

I stood up (shaky, but I did not hit the floor) and told him to open up his mouth. Took a deep breath. And stuck those damn gauze pieces right into the back of his mouth. (And tried not to look while I did it.)

---- He's eating vanilla milk shakes. The drugs are doing their job (he's very funny and not at all crabby.....like when he was 8!). Mr. Hot is going to get applesauce so we can at least pretend he's having something nutritious. I'm adding wine to that grocery list to celebrate my reduced level of wussiness. ----

Camel Jumping in Yemen

2007-11-20T11:10:00.000-05:00

Last night, Mr. Hot and I stumbled upon "Dr. Danger" - starring Dr. Bob Arnot. Our DVR immediately got programmed to record all new episodes. Have you seen this show? This guy is effen' nuts.

During last night's adventures (in Yemen), he was climbing to one of the highest points in the country with his guide. He slipped down the ridge and dislocated his shoulder. You could see where his shoulder ball was 4 inches lower than the socket where it should have been. He had his cameraman film him while he called New York on his Blackberry and had his guide try to shove it back into the socket. (Excuse me while I puke a little in the back of my throat remembering that.....)

But, I have a question here - and it's one that Mr. Hot and I have discussed many times. Why not the Cameraman? Wouldn't you expect a Cameraman on an adventure show like this to have some medical training? Oh. Shush. You know you've wondered the same thing.

And what about the ones where "There's never been another human to step into this part of the world. So-and-so will be the only person to ever accomplish this feat!" - okay, so who the fuck is filming them?

Let's hear it for the intrepid cameramen! Yay!

(Okay, sorry, off the soapbox now.)

Aaaaaaaanyway. Interesting show. Especially if you like to learn about exotic places and don't pass out easily.

Then we were watching Keith Olbermann and saw this. I'm sorry, and yes, I think normally that theme diners can be fun, but there is just something wrong going on in Taiwan.

I managed to open my salad dressing (Dole Taco Toss , yum) today without squirting it all over my keyboard, so the week is looking up. And today's my last day in the office since I'll be working from home tomorrow and taking care of Shortman. That's good too.

And I managed to get in a good 35-minute weight/aerobics workout yesterday. Today, I'm reloading my mp3 player since Yahoo Music-To-Go is dead. Dead to me. Dead to the world. Mr. Hot and I had a 2-years-for-the-price-of-1 subscription (or so we thought) because he paid for it with our Mastercard. It was a promotional price - if you were a new subscriber and used your Mastercard.

Then, the beginning of October, he got notified that our membership was going to expire November 18th. "Wait a minute, here", thinks Mr. Hot. "This wasn't supposed to expire until 2008." So, he emails Yahoo.

The response he got back? Was certainly from a yahoo. A yahoo with no concept of customer service. "Since you used the 10 day free trial before you signed up for your membership, you weren't considered a 'new' subscriber, and therefore, you don't get the deal."

Seriously y'all? WTF? Use the free trial to figure out if you want to be tied to a membership for two years and they use that to disqualify you from the membership special? Dead I tell you. (And actually, they're not even offering the 'To Go' plan that allows you to copy files to your mp3 on Yahoo Music anymore. Coincidence? I think not.)

So, we've switched to Napster. I'm loading up the player in order to hit the treadmill tonight. What do they say? Twenty-one days to make a habit? That's my new winter goal. Get back to doing the kick-my-ass workouts before I scare away ~~those of you I've bribed~~ all my readers with my morose-ness. I can still fit in all of my clothing, but the attitude? Bitchy-Blah doesn't begin to describe me. (Well, of course it does....but I'd prefer it didn't.)

So, now, here - watch this excerpt from last night's episode of Dr. Danger. By the way, Yemeni men? Are like 5 ft. 3. Not. tall. Think about that when you watch them.

---- Please think good thoughts for Shortman tomorrow. I know it's just teeth, but it's the first time my baby has ever been knocked-out-cold and cut on. sniff. kathunk. ----

As Political As I'll Get

2007-11-19T12:40:00.000-05:00

So...depress you much? Yea, that was quite a little pity party going on there yesterday. Sorry about that. I really do think I need to start exercising regularly again. I was so good for two solid years, but then moving to Ann Arbor and this job situation and everything else has zapped all of my motivation and energy. But now that it's winter (hate. did I mention? hate.) I know that I've got to do something to get out of this funk. Besides, if I do get in 60 minutes every day, I can justify an extra glass or two of wine every week! And cheese!

Plus, maybe it'll help my coordination. So far today, I've knocked my oatmeal over onto my desk for breakfast, squirted bacon/ranch salad dressing onto my keyboard (damn plastic packets) for lunch, and, while shaking my cup of soup? forgot to cover the hole in the lid. You can imagine. I have gotten the potato sludge off of my glasses and my phone - but Gawd only knows where else it's hiding. I'm afraid to walk over to the bathroom because y'know what cup-o-fake-potato-soup looks like? especially if it dries on your pants?

I'm just sayin....maybe thats what happened to that blue dress.

Beginning of Winter Blues

2007-11-18T19:45:00.000-05:00

Not a big fan of Sundays here. The fact that work and school are rearing their heads again make Sundays, kind of, meh. It's also lazy in the Hotfessional household, which means that it's a long day. We step on each other, and are too polite for family. We're shut inside. We are unfailingly careful not to bruise feelings or get in each other's way. But we do. Sometimes we do.

In the summer, in Michigan, there's all kinds of activities - to stay busy, to stay active. Walks in the park, yardwork (yes, I like to work in my perennial beds, I even like to weed), barbecues and reading out on the deck, enjoying the sun.

In the winter (which, yes, I've finally given in...it's freakin' winter. Hate.), there's no fussing around with flowers and plants unless you want to freeze your fingertips. Walks are bone-chilling and damp. We don't have a tiny house, but it's not sprawling, either. Today, in the winter, Shortman is usually in the office, doing homework, or playing on the computer. I sit on one end of the couch, working on my latest project (a new throw for the couch - crocheted, not knitted, since I can't knit), and Mr. Hot roams. He roams the house, his ADD kicking in and making him crazy. It makes us all crazy. A glance that accidently shows me that he's scowling makes me wonder what I've done to piss him off.

I remind Shortman to finish his homework and that he needs to put gas in the truck. He stomps off; obviously I've turned from helpful to nagging without meaning to. But he's sixteen and knows best. I know only that I would like to not be the one who needs to keep track of whether he's completed what he needs to do, so tomorrow morning won't be a madhouse of "don't forgets" and "hurry ups".

DetectiveMom calls. Is impatient that I've missed an earlier call and didn't get her voicemail. When told that I was vacuuming, her response about my homemaking skills raises the hair on my neck. Too touchy today. Nerves too close to the skin because there's been no sun to warm it and deepen them to where they should be.

At the beginning of this season, when no one is acclimated to the cold and the gray, (it's so.damn.gray.) this cloud that settles over is disheartening. We don't know how to handle it, we've forgotten the dance steps, we stomp each other's feet and try to lead when we should follow. Another couple of weeks or so will pass, and we'll have remembered. We'll remember the moves, remember that the others will hold you when the dip comes.

---- But now, it's too early. It's dark too early and the day is done, but not done. It's too long. And tomorrow, it's back to work; to school. Sundays. Meh. Next week will be better. ----

Let's Go Bowling

2007-11-17T19:06:00.001-05:00

Headed for some bowl game. Michigan State 35 - Penn State 31. I'm fuckin' freezin'. It was soooooo damn cold.

Ohio State 14 - Michigan 3. Ohio State takes the Big Ten championship.

If my Spartans end up at the Motor City Bowl, playing some Mid-American Conference team, y'all better watch for me.

Short post today. Must.thaw.my.fingers.

Go Sparty. XX

Cruella DeMomme

2007-11-16T10:14:00.000-05:00

Shortman has to have his wisdom teeth yanked. Yes, apparently, he has the same issues that I do with the damn things. This is the x-ray that Mr. Hot mailed to my phone while they were in the consulting room. It was done with a panoramic x-ray machine. It travels completely around your head zapping x-rays through your skull. (Killing brain cells with no hangover! Sweet! But no wine-buzz. Damn.)

See the buggers there? The one on the lower left has pushed through already. He has decided to have the general anesthetic (Truly, he is my son. Pain-pussies is what we are.) He wants the surgeon to make sure that he saves the teeth - for a necklace? I don't know. I don't think I want to know. Nor do I want to see them. Because, y'know, I will probably pass out. I have been know to do just that (another post for another time!).

When the surgeon described what would need to be done (Thank Gawd Mr. Hot took him to the appointment), he specifically pointed out the tooth in the lower right corner. The one I've circled in the picture below. See it? See what the surgeon said? Must.be.sawed.in.half. Before they take the freakin' thing out.

(Did I mention that Shortman decided on having the general anesthetic? Smart boy.)
I think I will probably work from home that day. His appointment is at 8:30 a.m. I'll make sure that his bed is nice and toasty warm for when Mr. Hot has to sneak him out the back door of the surgeon's office and bring him home. Then Mr. Hot can go get his prescription for painkillers filled (Hmmmm, I wonder if his pain-pussiness will be as oblivious to Vicodin as mine was? Note to self: Tell Mr. Hot to make sure it's Percoset on the prescription.) and I can be a good Mom and fluff pillows and tuck covers and stroke his precious forehead. I'll lay in a supply of DVDs that I know he'll enjoy.

I think it's a good plan and, caring, nurturing parents that we are, we'll pamper our little patient - all 6 foot 2 inches of him - so that he knows exactly how much we love him.

What day is this all happening?

Um. Yea, about that.

The Doctor said that it would probably take him a few days to feel up to moving around or going back to school. He suggested a Friday.

We, as parents, want to make sure that there is nothing distracting Shortman from being a diligent student. We don't want him to feel poorly during classes. We want to make sure he has every advantage to take all the time that he needs to heal.

So, we looked at the calendar. Hm.

Yep, we agree. It makes sense. That way, he has two whole extra days to feel better.

Wednesday, November 21. The day before Thanksgiving.

---- I wonder what a turkey milkshake tastes like? ----

I'll Be Hanging With The Royals

2007-11-15T11:36:00.000-05:00

The Weekly Random is taking over again.

Did I tell y'all that Mr. Hot and I recently invested actual money in an English soccer team? (That's The Footy for all of us, y'know, ehem, owners.)

He called me earlier in the week and asked if I had received his email. Um, no. Probably caught by the spam filter that allows "Pen!s Gr()w$ 4 1nch3s" but destroys "Make sure you enroll in your Health Benefits during Open Enrollment" (the latter, I'm not kidding, came from an internal email address!)

So, he bought us shares in Ebbsfleet United. Through this site. Hee. Maybe I'll get to meet the Queen when we win the Championship or whatever. She'll call me "Lady Hot" and I'll get to ogle our Will. Or is it Harry that's the cute one? Anyway, I'll still remember all of you when I'm hanging with Posh and Becks.

I told Major Bedhead that I'd send people over to take a look at her birthday wish from yesterday. (Yes, MB and my Mom have the same birthday.) Go look and learn. It's important.

One of the guys I work with sent me an email that had a bunch of "Mood Buttons You Can't Wear to Work" graphics. The phone call I just got off of made me wish I could wear this one while talking to the brainiac from Audit.
or this one
or this one
I just don't know how many times I can tell him that something doesn't exist. If it did exist I would certainly send it, just so he would quit calling me every hour (he even refers to it by a different name, in case, y'know, I didn't understand the first eleventy-seven times.

And, to end, since I started on an English note, enjoy yourselves some Lily Allen. I love the lyrics from this. Seriously, "Tesco" and "Al Fresco"? How good is that?

---- Okay. Now, I have to go make some calls about this phantom document that the brainiac wants me to pull out of my arse. (See, arse! I'll fit right in.) ----

aWardnesday

2007-11-14T08:58:00.000-05:00

Today is my Mom's birthday! She's a wonderful lady - I love her to death and don't spend nearly enough time with her because I'm too ~~lazy~~ busy and she's got a much fuller social calendar than me. I wrote a bit about her here, and showed you her handiwork here, but you may not know that she was also a career woman. And that's what made me sure that I could do whatever I wanted when I grew up.

Mom worked for the same city where my dad was a cop. She was the Chief of Police's administrative assistant (at a time when they were still called secretaries). Nepotism anyone? Snort.

One day, she received a call from a distraught woman in the Phillipines. The woman's son-in-law had written to this poor lady that her daughter (his wife) had been killed instantly in a car accident, and she wanted Mom to send her a copy of the police report. Mom looked for the report. And looked. And looked. There was no police report.

Mom called her friends at the local newspaper and got in contact with her buddies over at the Fire station. No articles. No firemen sent to the scene of any wreck. Hmmmmmmm. Her internal 'mom alarms' started going off. Something wasn't right.

After discussing the issue with Dad and the rest of the detective squad, a search warrant was authorized for the son-in-law's home. In the garage, they found bags and bags of the missing woman's clothing and effects. (Yes, they asked Mom to tag along....cool, eh?) Those alarms were sounding again. Mom wondered why this man would have, in less than a week, packed up all of his wife's stuff? and why would he have put it all in garbage bags? Wouldn't he, if he really loved her, packed up some of the stuff and sent it to relatives? Or at least given it to Goodwill or the Salvation Army?

They continued searching and found that the incinerator was full. (Read more about when houses had incinerators here.) In this town, the trucks came and emptied home incinerators monthly. Because of the timing of the last pickup, the fact that it was full was extremely strange. Detective Mom knew this. She grew up in a home with a stove like this. She asked the cops to empty out the ashbin.

As they sifted through the ashes, the detectives found bone fragments and teeth. A home incinerator doesn't get hot enough to burn bone completely. This woman's entire family lived in the Phillipines. They were poor and couldn't have made the trip to the States for a funeral. The man had no ties to this city; no relations, and as far as any neighbors knew, no friends.

Detective Mom had solved a murder that no one knew had happened!
This is one of my very favorite stories. Happy Birthday Detective Mom! Hope your mom alarms never fail.

On behalf of this special day, I'm giving out a couple of awards that I've been terribly lax in passing along.

To Heidi at Family Adventure, to Amy, and Jen On The Edge - the

I'm Fabulous Award (because, y'know, they're fab!)And to:

Lisa at Midwestern Mommy, Lys at Just Because..., and Candy at Candy's Corner the

Brownie Point Award (because, y'know, they're sweet!)

And last, but not least - the Inaugural "Hot" Award. Created this morning.

Amanda, Kristabella, Marianne, Alyndabear and Meghan:

Because, y'know, they're smokin' hot.
---- Now, go raise a toast to my Mom! ----

The Internet Crashed

2007-11-13T10:54:00.000-05:00

My days off are so much freakin' fun. Uh huh. Yep.

For instance - yesterday after Shortman got home from school, I volunteered to accompany him to his dental appointment so that Mr. Hot could finish cleaning the bathroom (because, y'know, I'm sweet that way. Mr. Hot hates sitting in waiting rooms.).

As we got into the car, Shortman asks if I would call the World of Warcraft administrators, since his password got hacked (again. sigh. can I tell you how much I hate that they won't let you change your "secret word"?) and he has a character that is, like, level 173,676 or something and his characters on the other account are just sooooo.booorinnggg. and he really wants that character back and...and...and. Being the wonderful mother that I am, I tell him to drive and I get on the phone.

I just get connected and am sitting there listening to the worst.hold.music.ever (which, amazingly enough, is the damn soundtrack from the game), when my purse starts ringing. I put my cell on speaker (and from past experience, I know that I could be listening to the crap soundtrack for up to 45 minutes), throw it into the cupholder, and answer my ~~Crackberry~~ Blackberry. One of my ~~least~~ most favorite clients asks me if I have seen the emails about "the whole internet being down." (Got that? I now have control over the entire.fuckin.internet. So there! I am awed by my own power.)

I assure him that I have been following the email string that he sent, that our network support vendors are working on the issue and have been in touch with the staff members having the problems. He's mumbling something about making sure the vendor is doing their job because so-and-so isn't available and he doesn't trust the vendor and y'know the entire internet is down and....and....

Y'all? It's about this time that I notice that we should be getting to the dentist, but the office doesn't seem to be where it should be.

Are you following all of this? I'm:

1. Listening to static-y hold music on speaker phone coming cup holder while waiting for WoW administrators to get to me because if I miss them taking me off of hold, I will have to listen for another 45 minutes. To static.on.steroids.

2. Listening to a client explain to me how it's my job to bring back the internet because the guy who is normally in charge of making sure that vendors do their jobs is not available because it's a holiday. (Um, yes, he had the nerve to tell me this.)

3. Wondering who the fuck moved the dentist's office and how I'm going to find it in the 10 minutes we have left to make it to Shortman's appointment on time.

I motion to Shortman to pull into a parking lot, manage to get client off the phone with a promise to call the vendor myself, and start pulling things out of my purse to see if I have a number for Dr. DisappearingOffice. The hold music is still playing. If you've never heard the WoW hold soundtrack, imagine "Ride of the Valkyries" over a loudspeaker on the verge of exploding. Then, imagine it with bits of silence and the usual "Your business is very important to us." teases. Fun!

While dialing the vendor representative, I tell Shortman to turn the car around, we must have missed the office in all the confusion. Just then the vendor rep picks up. I ask her if she's heard that the clients are experiencing connectivity issues with the network. Her answer back to me is the standard:

"Did they open a ticket? What severity is the ticket? What is the ticket number? Were the proper processes followed? "

I respond back, "I simply need to know whether you heard there is an issue going on. We have the appropriate people involved, I am asking if you are aware."

She comes back with, "No, but if you give me the information.....yadayadaydada."

Once again, we're back at the beginning of the road that I was *sure* the dentist's office was on. We can't have missed it again. Once again, I motion Shortman into a parking lot.

=Do you see how sad this is? How it's only going to get worse? =

In an effort to NOT scare all of you away, I'm going to end it here. I will tell you that eventually we:

1. Did find the office. It was on Main Street, not First Street. Thank you Mr. Hot for picking up the phone when I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and not laughing at my stupidity. We were only 5 minutes late.

2. The internet did return. The She-Devil representative from the vendor called her contacts to see what the status was, which allowed me, once Shortman went back to the examining room, to call the client to let him know that "Yes, the vendor knows what to do to bring the Internet back from the dead."

3. The WoW administrators actually waited until we:
a) were on our way to the correct address and
b) my client was temporarily appeased that I knew what was going on
before getting to my call because "My business is important to them". They graciously reset Shortman's password with little effort.

And last, but not least:

4. Shortman's appointment took only 25 minutes and I was back home with a stiff drink in just over an hour total.

---- And the holiday season is just starting. I'm terrified, y'all. But, y'know, if the Internet goes down again? You can call 1-800-Hot-Fsnl. I have some spectacular music for you to listen to while you're on hold. ----

More MeMeMeMeMe

2007-11-12T13:41:00.000-05:00

First off, y'all are way too cool - (thanks for the responses to yesterday's question) - I want to put you all on my Christmas list, but I don't think that would go over too well considering my possible pending unemployment and all. But! I can still give one of you presents for the holiday! L Sass and RA are doing a fantastically cool Secret Santa for Bloggers this year. Go sign up. But wait until you read some more about me. Because, y'know, Kristabella tagged me.

This doesn't have a name as far as I know, so I'm naming it the NaBloFourMoreForPoMo:

Four First Names of Crushes I Had
1. Shawn (Cassidy)
2. Andy (Gibb)
3. Mr. Hot (yes, that's really his first name....snort)
4. Matthew (McConaughey)

Four Pieces of Clothing I Wish I Still Owned
1. Calvin Klein jeans that fit perfectly (although my 515s are pretty darn close)
2. Cream colored wool skirt - lined and just the right length.
3. My cowboy boots from 11th grade.
4. A blue sweater that disappeared suddenly after we moved back north. Such a shame, it works so well with the weather here.

Four Professions I Secretly Want to Try
1. Winery owner (it is conceivable that I would drink myself out of business)
2. Jockey (at 5'9" I think this is out of reach)
3. Corporate Contract Lawyer
4. Stay at Home Mom

Four Musicians I’d Most Want to Go On a Date With
1. Chris Duarte
2. George Harrison (I know, he's dead, but it wouldn't happen anyway, so I can dream)
3. Bryan Adams
4. Bruce Springsteen (so I could tell him how wonderful Cupcake is)

Four Foods I’d Rather Throw Than Eat
1. Liver
2. Tongue (seriously, can this be considered food? There's something wrong with eating something you use to eat.)
3. Overcooked eggplant (slimmmmmmmmmmmmmmmy)
4. Green peppers (I like them, they don't like me....so I figure throwing them will prevent massive indigestion)

Four Things I Like to Sniff
1. Coffee - right after opening the can
2. Mr. Hot's neck
3. Vanilla spice candles
4. Shortman's hair after he washes it

Speaking of Shortman, he got to drive the baby mama car today to school since Mr. Hot and I needed his truck to get the lumber for him to finish the floor in the storage barn. It's really beginning to get cold here and we've got to get all of the stuff out of the yard and into storage. Since ~~the guy they hired to do the weather because he looks cute~~ the meterologist on the news fucked up the weather forecast yesterday, I didn't get to my original plans of cleaning out the perennial beds and transplanting hostas. I didn't get to it today, and since I can't convince my employer to declare a day-after-Veteran's Day-holiday-that-is-really-already-the-next-day, so that I can get another day off work, I guess I won't get to it tomorrow, or probably the day after that either. Mr. Hot will be getting instructions on what to cut back and what to leave alone at some point.

I'm not going to tag anyone, but if you're doing NaBloPoMo and get stuck, feel free to join in the fun.

---- Now, go do that Secret Santa stuff - I can't wait to find out who I get to ~~stalk~~ ~~mess with~~ give presents to. ----

Enquiring Minds Want to Know

2007-11-11T17:58:00.000-05:00

First, a question.

I was telling Mr. Hot about an email I received from a reader, Candy. In her email, she said she was a big fan. (Of mine! Not, like, a baseball fan or a window fan. She did. I love her. ) I sent her back a note where I thanked her (and offered to buy her wine). Seriously, you have no idea how much that email made my day. But then I said that I was intimidated when I think that people actually read what I write. (Of course, I also suggested a date, because y'know, I'm soooo stalking her now.)

Then yesterday, when I wrote what had to have been the absolute worst thing I've ever written (and yes, I am including that term paper on Beowulf that I wrote in high school), I told him that I compared my day's work to warm milk. Because, y'know, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

He responded that I was insulting my readers by insinuating that my writing was so horrible that it was a waste of time to read it. And I wanted to sob!

So, part one of the question is, Am I insulting you by being self-critical and self-deprecating? Ack! If so, please, please, accept my apology. I'm sorry. I love my readers more than my rye crisps and goat cheese. I love my readers more than Victoria's Secrets clearance sales. I love my readers more than beer and some wines. Gulp. I even love my readers more than at least 4 pairs of shoes I have in my closet.

Part two of my question (yes, I forgot to mention that it was a multiple-part answer I require) is Why are women so much more critical of themselves than men are? Or are they? I work with men. I live with men. Mr. Hot is critical of himself, but not in the way that I am. Shortman thinks the sun shines outta his own butt (but, okay, he's 16 and an only child...I maybe shouldn't be surprised.)

So, am I imagining it? The Difference Blog has some interesting items on self-esteem and the difference between men's and women's views of themselves and their worth. I've seen the phenomenon all my life.

My ex-husband was an expert at making sure that I felt like crap whenever I complained about anything. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I only wanted him to listen to me vent and nod his head. He didn't have to agree with me. He didn't have to slam the person I was complaining about. But ninety-nine percent of the time? He managed to come up with some way of making me believe it was my fault. Of course, he was never wrong. Ever.

When I bitched about the person I trained to do payroll who "forgot" to make the tax deposit? My fault because obviously I didn't train her well. How about when I needed to rant about my sister who teased me constantly about my inability to cook? Well, (according to the practice husband) she's right because one time I burned the cookies I was making for our housewarming party. (To this day, I don't cook because of my own fear of making a fool of myself...luckily, Mr. Hot is more than willing to feed us. Probably because I can't.freakin'.cook. See????)

Anyway, I think it's an interesting topic. My step-daughter has tons of self-confidence. I'm proud of her - we all are. I wonder if it's a generational thing? Let me know your thoughts. She's twenty. Old enough not to be a snotty teen, young enough not to be too jaded? Let me know what you think please. Comments or emails are fine.

Now on to lighter stuff.

Turn off teh lite. kthxbai.

Muv ur feet luz ur seat.

Ear cat is listening to u.
---- It was cold, windy and drizzling here all day today. The pets spent the entire afternoon asleep on the top of the couch cushions (as evidenced above). I sat thinking about what I would blog about today. I'm happy with my decision. Do let me know what you think. Thanks, love to you all. ----

Better Than Warm Milk

2007-11-10T12:10:00.000-05:00

Okay, here's how absolutely exciting my life is. Last night, after we got back from the U. of M. basketball game (Yes I have Wolverine season tickets for basketball - Sparty that I am. I go to make fun of them since they're so obviously deficient to Izzo's boys on the court), Mr. Hot and I watched the Pistons, had a beer, and went to bed. To. Sleep. It was 10:30 pm. Sigh.

This morning, I woke up (9 am, do you think I have a problem? I sleep more than anyone I know), had coffee and toast for breakfast, and went grocery shopping. Sigh. I looked at toasters and gasped that the toaster I had my eyes on? Was $55. Two slice toaster. Fifty-five dollars.

What happened to dates and parties? What happened to movies and dinners? Poor, poor, pitiful me.

Actually, this is exactly what I want at this stage in my life. I would prefer (oh, yes, how I would prefer) that I didn't have to hear "I have 70 kazillion pages of homework that I knew for the past week was due Monday, but I wanted to play WoW instead, so now I'm going to be pissy because I don't want to do it." from Shortman. I would prefer that the dog didn't decide to carry his bone onto the couch (yuck!) so that I have to spend an hour vacuuming up pieces of Milkbone or rawhide. I would prefer that Mr. Hot would not talk to me constantly (and I do mean constantly) while I'm trying to read or write. And then get angry because "I'm ignoring him." But, hey, it's my life.

---- It's official. I've written the most boring post ever. Read this before you go to bed tonight. NaBloPoMoBorMor. Take that! ----

Jeans (not Genes)

2007-11-09T11:43:00.000-05:00

I finally found the right style of jeans for me. Yes, I'm 44 (and a half) - and it's taken me this long to figure it out.

They're Levi 515s. The description (from the Levi's site) says it all: A bootcut jean that's not too slim or too relaxed. Sits just below the waist with a close, comfortable fit through the seat and thigh.

And it's true! I picked up two pair at Kohl's last weekend - and I see them being part of my wardrobe for the entire winter.

It's hard to fit my body. I have to find pants that sit below my natural waist and (and believe me, this is the important part) fit my ass. I don't have wide hips - they're actually pretty narrow, but my butt? Not flat, that's for sure. Baby Got Back? Yea, Sir Mix-A-Lot walked behind me one time.

I can remember being in high school and having to wear jeans and pants (y'all remember Dittos?) that gapped so badly at the waist that I refused to sit on the bleachers at football games because guys would attempt to throw things down my pants. I was a horrible seamstress (and my mother was just as bad) so making any alteration to a pair of pants? Standing up for an entire school day was less painful.

So, anyway, to say I'm excited about finally finding these jeans that.fit.me. is a bit of an understatement. It means that Casual Friday and the whole Business Casual dress code is finally within my reach. (Yay, me!) And since I can actually find the "long" sizes, I can continue to wear my heels with them without looking the fool. (Since all of the other NaBloPoMoHos are showing their shoes, I thought I'd show you mine. They're old and ratty, but amazingly comfortable. Dress Barn, circa 2003.)

Plus, I used my $10 gift card from Vicky's Slutwear to get this on sale. In red.

---- So, what are your favorite jeans? Why are they your favorite? Is it their fit? Their softness? The hole that is in just the right place on your knee? ----

What Do You Get....

2007-11-08T10:52:00.000-05:00

And on the 8th day, she completely blanked out and couldn't think of a single freakin' thing to write about.

So, here's what she did:

1. Went to Random.org.
2. Got a random number between 1 and 100.
3. Went to her list of 100 Things.
4. Found the one that matched her random number (88).
5. Wrote a post to elaborate on the 88th thing she'd listed:

"I am Lebanese, Polish, and Slovak."
Whooo-hoo. She bets you wish she'd typed "The End" after the first sentence and called it good.

But, since she ~~needs to be~~ committed (to actually doing this NaBloPoMo thingie), she will bore you with more information about her. And you're probably wondering why she decided to write this in the 3rd person. Fuck if she knows, it just happened somehow.

Alright, that's too hard. We'll go back to first person now, okay?

Aaaaaanyway. My father is Lebanese. My mother is Polish (her dad) and Slovak (her mom). You're wondering (or maybe you're not....but hey, let me finish, okay?) - How does a nice Polish/Slovakian girl meet a Lebanese boy from the wrong side of the tracks?

An opportunity to open a trophy store with her uncle brought my mother's family from the Pennsylvania hills and the danger of the coal mines to Michigan in 1955. Mom is the fourth child of five; two girls, three boys. She's the younger sister. I wrote about my grandmother here - she was one of my favorite people in the world. I didn't know my grandfather - he died when I was 5, but I am told he was instrumental in the care and spoiling of a certain baby who lived with him for a time.

My father's dad worked in the automotive industry until he died of colon cancer in 1968. I never saw him when he wasn't bedridden but I do have a picture of him sitting on the couch in their old house; the house where he died; before he got sick. My father looks a lot like him. I was never close to my Dad's mother. She never liked my mother, and I took that to mean that she didn't like me or my brother or sister as well. She lived the longest of any of my grandparents, though and was the only one to ever meet Shortman and Mr. Hot, so, in some way, I feel that bond to her.

MomandDad's hometown was a mix of immigrants outside of Detroit. They knew each other while in high school, but didn't date. Mom worked as a secretary after she graduated and dated a guy that she thought she would marry. Things didn't work out (thank goodness! there would be no Hotfessional [snort]) - they split and she started dating Dad. Her parents didn't want a "mixed marriage" for their daughter (yes, it was the early 60's), but eventually, my father won them over (he has that way with people). Dad was in the Marines, stationed in North Carolina when they tied the knot. I was born 10 months and 13 days after their wedding (honeymoon baby? I believe so.). He was gone for the first six months of my life, so my mother and I lived with her parents, her older sister and her youngest brother. I was completely and utterly doted upon. It's a wonder I grew up as humble as I did [snort, again.]

My brother was born in 1965 and my sister was born in 1968. We're all about as different as full siblings can be. They are olive-skinned with dark hair and dark brown eyes. They're very much like my father - in their looks, beliefs and their actions. They are close to each other, but not to me. This isn't a criticism or a complaint. I'm as much at fault (if there is a fault) as they are.

They both have large families (my brother has 4 and my sister has 5 children); they travel to each other's homes on a regular basis. (They live over 600 miles from each other, so this is amazing to me. I can barely stand being in a car for an hour, much less 11 or 12 - and with children......they're either drugging the kids or themselves. I'm convinced).

I am fairer. My hair was light brown/blond when I was younger (and before I needed help from my friend Emily.....). I have green eyes. I have one child and a stay-at-home dad husband. Me? Not too traditional, not at all religious. Put me in a room with more than 5 people, and someone will probably die. Painfully. Because I can't deal with crowds. Put my brother, sister, their spouses and their children in a room together? It's a freakin' mob. A loud one.

Being Lebanese, my father's hurt by a lot of what is going on in the world today. He's Muslim, but is not fanatical. My mother, raised Catholic, follows my father's faith except when it comes to covering her head and praying. They're good people. They take care of each other; they love their children and absolutely adore their grandchildren.

So, you may wonder....what do you get when you cross a Lebanese man with a Polish/Slovak woman?

Well, other than a near-sighted lunatic with writer's block? Someone who loves pierogis and falafel and can write her name in Arabic and say "Give me a kiss" in Polish.

---- Oh, and feel free, if you're stuck, to use the above method to figure out a topic. Next time, though, I'm going to randomize from 1 to 201 and go pick one of Kristabella's topics and write about HER! ----

He Wants to Be My Superhero

2007-11-07T08:15:00.000-05:00

Last night, I got home and Mr. Hot handed me a present! He said "Happy 1/2 Birthday!".

(Um, since when do we celebrate half-birthdays? Since last night apparently! So, y'all, on November 6th, I officially became 44.5 years old. And this is supposed to make me fuckin' happy? Can you say, officially middle-aged? And pre-menopausal? Where's the damn cake and ice cream?)

But, he got me this book - I can officially drool over Adrian Grenier and the glossy pages will wipe off!

This is my very favorite theme song. Ever.

---- Okay, who am I kidding? He's already my superhero. Y'know, the one who is 51 years, 10 months and 7 days old. The one who surprises me every single day. ----

A Bit of Randomness Is Always Good

2007-11-06T12:32:00.000-05:00

Stolen from The Perks of Being a Jap:

The all-knowing Oracle of Starbucks Behold the Oracle's wisdom:

Personality type: Schmuck

You work your ass off because you're obsessed with money and status. You're always lying about having powerful friends. You wouldn't mind sleeping your way to the top but would miss getting to backstab coworkers along the way. All porn stars drink venti nonfat latte.

Also drinks: $15 martinis
Can also be found: Staring at self in mirror

You, too, can be humiliated and insulted for your Starbucks choice at The Oracle of Starbucks.

Are you wondering where and why the purple? See over there -> on the sidebar? The Go Purple for November picture? Go see Elle and find out about Sweet Hope Truffles and Adoption Awareness and all kinds of cool stuff. So, on behalf of Elle, I made some purply changes around here for a while.

I was reading this post from Kris and remembered a funny story from when Mr. Hot and I were first married.

A little background. Mr. Hot was married when we met. So was I. Neither one of us were going to be married for much longer - whether we had gotten together or not. Neither my marriage nor his were the 'happily ever after' type. But, then neither one of us went through an amicable divorce either. His parents refused to acknowledge my existence. His ex-wife was certain, even after we were married, that they were going to reconcile - she even sent love letters. (We all do get along just fine now. In fact I speak to Mrs. Ex-Hot more than Mr. Hot does.)

Mr. Hot's son (aka TYO) was 8 or 9 and was playing soccer. He asked us to come to the game and so we went, even though we knew that Mrs. Ex-Hot and her mother (a real piece of work) and brother were going to be there.

So, Mr. Hot and I are sitting on a blanket, watching these kids run around, and suddenly, there's a shadow looming over us. Mr. Hot looks up:

"Well, Junior, How are you?" Junior is Mrs. Ex-Hot's brother.

Junior replys, "Fine, Mr. Hot. I wanted to introduce you to my girlfriend, Snookums. Snookums, this is Mr. Hot and um, Mrs. Hot, TYO's step mother."

So, hellos and handshakes were exchanged and polite conversation occurred and Junior and Snookums left to return to the ~~coven~~ company of Junior's sister and mother.

As they turned to leave, Snookums looks back over her shoulder and says, "It was so nice to meet you both."

I say, "You, too."

at the same time Mr. Hot is saying, "Oh, yea, I just bet it was."

He then immediately looks at me and says, with this terrified look on his face, "Fuck. Please, please tell me I didn't say that out loud."

I, on the other hand, collapsed onto the blanket, laughing hysterically, and pulled the corner up over my head as all of these other parents stood around looking at us, slack-jawed.

---- Oh, yea. That was definitely one of the defining moments of my relationship with my husband's ex and one of the first times we thought about moving out of state. ----

The Peanut Butter Pissing Contest

2007-11-05T09:40:00.000-05:00

I'm in a pissing contest with the cashier at our building's cafeteria. How sad is this? I'm a professional 44-year-old woman and I'm setting up for a battle with a 75-year-old cafeteria cashier that wears her stockings rolled down to her ankles and black orthopedic shoes.

Regardless of her age or the scariness of those shoes, though, I vow that I will win this fight. I'm going to crush her spirit and her ability to get away with charging me 15¢ for a teaspoon of peanut butter.

Every morning, I go over to the cafeteria and get a medium coffee ($1.74) and a small container of plain oatmeal ($0.89). I usually always have correct change, but if I don't have the $2.63 exactly, I leave the pennies in the little penny jar, or take a couple of pennies...y'know how it goes. No big deal, right? I don't carry my purse or my wallet. I carry what money I need because I need my hands to carry back the oatmeal and the coffee and be able to open doors. (Remember that I'm clumsy and tend to drop things?)

The oatmeal is regular cooked oatmeal with nothing extra added in. But! there are little bowls with nuts and raisins and dried cranberries sitting around. There are also bowls of cream cheese for bagels or butter for toast. There used to be a bowl of peanut butter and those little plastic rectangles of jelly sitting out, too.

I like to get some protein in the morning, so I always add about a teaspoon of peanut butter to my oatmeal. By the time I would get back to my desk, the peanut butter would be all melty and yummy and I would stir it through with some Splenda and a few raisins, and oh mah gawd y'all, it was as close to heaven as freakin' plain oatmeal could come.

(Yes, I would have much rather had one of those chocolate chocolate-chip muffins or scrambled eggs with cheese and a side of bacon, but to fit into my Execuhot wardrobe, y'know, I have to think about some of the crap I put in my mouth.)

Anyway, one day I walked over and lo and behold, they had changed the bowl of peanut butter to a bowl of these little containers of peanut butter. Okay? Okay. Not a problem. It was probably about the same amount of p.b. that I added every day anyway. So I grab a container and walk on up to Cashier Ratched.

I plop my $2.63 into her hand, just like I've done every day for the past six months - and just as she says "$2.78".

"Excuse me?" I say. "Did y'all raise the price of coffee?"

"No."

"Oatmeal?"

"No."

"Well then why is it $2.78? It's always $2.63."

I am truly dumbfounded. There is a growing line of bagel-bearing, spandex-clad women behind me. Cashier Ratched points at my little container of peanut butter.

"Fifteen cents for peanut butter."

"But you've never charged me for peanut butter before, I've always added it directly to the oatmeal from the bowl that was out there."

"We have to charge for peanut butter."

I am not happy, but who am I to argue? Besides, she's wearing a hair net and I have visions of her coming up behind me while I'm getting my plastic spoon and napkins with a butcher knife.

"Okay, I'll have to go get the difference. I'll be right back."

And so I go back to my desk, grab the 15¢ and carry it back to her. Now I start carrying $2.78 to the cafeteria every morning.

A few days later, I decide, on a whim, (well, that and the fact that the oatmeal looked like soup, and I cannot abide watery oatmeal) to get a couple of pieces of toast and fruit instead. I grab a container of peanut butter for my toast (no margarine for this girl) and head over to Cashier Ratched.

I watch her ring up: $2.28 for the fruit (salad bar by the ounce, yikes!), $0.75 for the toast.

"That'll be $3.03."

"You didn't charge me for the peanut butter."

"The peanut butter is free with toast."

Are y'all following this logic? Peanut butter is free with bread, but not if you take it to put in your oatmeal. I'm learning all about fuckin' cafeteria-lady logic. But, I decide to not rock the boat. Just learn the rules and move along now, eh?

Until the next time I go in and get the fruit and toast and - Yes! You got it.

"Excuse me, you charged me for the peanut butter. You said it was free with toast."

"Oh no I wouldn't have done that. We have to charge for peanut butter."

"But you didn't charge me the last time."

"Oh yes, I would have. We have to charge for peanut butter."

And the line of fried egg/hash brown/sausage sandwich plus a diet Pepsi wielding ladies behind me is getting longer.

I pay my peanut butter surcharge and vow that I will get to the bottom of this.

Last week, I saw the cafeteria manager counting tea bags while I was spooning my oatmeal into its styrofoam bowl. I walk over, holding my oatmeal and my coffee and my little container of peanut butter.

"Excuse me? Can you tell me if I'll be charged for this peanut butter?"

"Well, normally peanut butter is complimentary, but are you just getting the peanut butter? No toast?"

"No, I put the peanut butter in my oatmeal. The thing is, sometimes your cashier charges me for it, and sometimes she doesn't. It's not that big of a deal, only 15¢ but I usually come in with correct change and I get tired of her changing her mind on whether to charge me or not."

"Well, it's complimentary for something that you usually have with peanut butter, like toast, but most people don't put peanut butter in oatmeal."

Ahhhhh, the fucked-up cafeteria-lady logic presents itself again! I agree that it makes sense, and I pay my money and take my oatmeal. And we go on happily for the next couple of days, because I get toast and don't have to pay for my peanut butter because, y'know, I've figured out the logic. Go me! Am a genius.

Then, last Thursday, I get toast. And she charges me.

---- Awright bitch. It's ON. It's so ON. ----

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

2007-11-04T12:06:00.001-05:00

I'm just going with pics today my dears. I'm nursing my broken Spartan heart but I'm trying to get over it (seriously Hotfessional, when do they ever do anything else to you?) by remembering all that is good in my life.

The view from my front porch in the Fall.

My new cordless kettle. And my pretty blue countertops.

Sunday morning's kitchen table. Filled with newspapers, fruit and plants. Good for my soul.

My living room. Pure coziness. After years of family rooms with no windows, I love the sunshine that pours through this room. And that table in front of the couch? My Dad designed and built that for me.

Royal Gala apples. A staple in the Autumn.

A mirror from my favorite next-door-neighbors ever. Unfortunately, they refused to move with us when we came west.

My Samsung MP3 player. The best way to keep airplane stress to a minimum.

Burt's Bees Beeswax Lip Balm. My one can't-live-without product.

Shrinky-dink from Shortman's elementary school days. It has a permanent place in my wallet.

My pink fuzzy slippers. Extra warm for cold toesies.

---- How about you all? Besides raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, what are your favorite things? ----

Years Beyond My Wise

2007-11-02T13:14:00.000-04:00

You Belong in 1962

You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too.

What Year Do You Belong In?

Considering this is actually the year before I was born, it says something about my views of the world, eh? Or my taste in television reruns. Definitely not my fashion sense though.

The menu for today's football watching feast:

Smoked cheddar cheese with rye crisps
Goat cheese spread with red peppers and wheat crackers
Buffalo wings with Bleu cheese and celery
Peach Salsa with regular and blue corn chips
Leinenkugel's Red

If you come over, I'll share, but you have to promise me to cheer for the Spartans. (Yea, we actually sold our tickets because we've all got these colds-from-hell. I'm dying at the thought of not being there, but the though of curling up on the couch under a blanket instead of being out in the chill and wind does have it's plusses.)

---- My headband is slipping and my go-go boots need to be shined up. Mr. Hot is getting all uptight waiting for the game to start. I'm going to go put Johnny Angel and Chubby Checker on the record player and do the Twist. It's so cool, man. ----

46 Inches of Shiny

2007-11-02T07:00:00.000-04:00

Sad. So very, very sad. Way back in August (when it was hot and green and dry and I had hair that was 4 inches longer, but gray), I wrote about what happened while I was in Chicago. (Go ahead, scroll down to the big red blob in the middle of the post, I'll wait. Um, don't forget to come back, though, okay? I'll give you wine!)

So we've been watching football and Pushing Daisies and Cavemen and Dream Team on that. Up there. It does not belong in the living room. It belongs on the dresser in our bedroom where I can catch up on syndicated dramas like J.A.G. and Law & Order at 6 a.m. while I ~~mainline~~ drink my coffee in the morning before I ~~drag my ass into the office that has become a sinkhole for the morale of everyone I work with~~ skip off to the career that I love so much.

Then I wrote an update where I recounted how Mr. Hot and I were ready to firebomb a certain repair shop and a very large, well-known electronics store. (Back again? How sweet of you! Let me refill your glass with merlot. And have some cheese!)

Well, day-before-yesterday, on Halloween, our trick turned into a treat. Jeff-the-Jackass (who wasn't so much a jackass as a habitual liar and all around creep - sorry Jeff!) brought back this:

which has a completely fucked-up digital board that has been backordered for 2 months, 10 days, and 3 hours and 47 seconds. (Um, Mr. Hot did NOT take the picture with the gas cans in the background on purpose. No he did not. I swear. It just happened that way. )

And then Mr. Hot and Shortman loaded the very thin, very expensive, not even good as a paperweight ~~piece of shit~~ television into this:

drove it back to that very large, well known electronics store and they gave us (because of ~~our pain and suffering~~ the fact that we paid $298.99 for a damn 36-month warranty on a ~~piece of shit~~ television that didn't make it 18 months):

THIS! (And no, I don't know why Mr. Hot decided to take a picture of it while the Disney channel was turned on, since Shortman certainly doesn't watch the Disney channel. There must be things going on in my house while I'm at work ~~having my soul sucked out of me~~ enriching my existence that I really don't want to know about.)

Oh Mah Gawd, ya'll. Now I can spend mindless hours cheering for the Lions and the Pistons and getting quizzed* on the NFL's first round draft pick of 2003.

---- *And Mr. Hot swears he never thought Jevon Kearse went to M.S.U. - he was talking about Ike Hilliard (Florida - 1996). My bad. ----

October Perfect Post

2007-11-01T07:30:00.000-04:00

There are some posts that tear me up emotionally and my heart breaks for some of the things my favorite bloggers have been through. I truly wonder if I could go on had these things happened to me. (I mean, mah Gawd, I whined for days over a broken television.)

These writers inspire me to be a better person, a better wife, a better mother, a better daughter, a better friend. I want to reach through this screen and take them in my arms and hug them, because I know, with all my heart, how much better I feel when Mr. Hot or Shortman give me a soul-enveloping, heal-everything, warm-away-the-fear hug.

When I read RedNeck Mommy's post about her Bug - her darling son, I broke down. Coming so soon on the news that they had been approved by the adoption agency, I can't imagine the swing of emotions that she had to have been feeling. And yet, she keeps her sense of humor - her wicked, wicked, sense of humor - believe me, y'all - you'll want to go along for the ride. Hang on tight and bring your favorite tissues and incontinence panties.

Come help me cheer for RNM. She wrote my pick for October's Perfect Post - and if you want to get in on the Perfect Post Awards, go see Kimberly and Lindsay - the originators of the Perfect Post award.

2007-10-31T10:33:00.001-04:00

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)

2007-10-30T09:58:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-29T11:53:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-28T11:17:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-27T09:23:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-25T18:01:00.000-04:00

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...

2007-10-25T09:34:00.000-04:00

...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.

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.

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!)

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.

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.

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"?

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.
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

2007-10-24T14:33:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-23T10:19:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-22T11:19:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-20T10:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-19T12:27:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-18T08:59:00.000-04:00

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.

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.)

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.

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

2007-10-16T09:44:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-16T08:32:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-15T11:33:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-12T12:09:00.000-04:00

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

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

2007-10-12T08:44:00.000-04:00

He cracks me up.

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

Spellcheck Wisdom

2007-10-11T12:00:00.001-04:00

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.

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...

2007-10-10T13:57:00.000-04:00

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.)

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

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*

2007-10-09T11:38:00.000-04:00

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.

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.

---- 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

2007-10-08T09:21:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-07T13:34:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-06T08:40:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-05T10:05:00.000-04:00

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

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

4 Movies I could watch over and over

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

4 TV Shows I watch

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

4 Places I've lived

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

4 Favorite Foods

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

4 Favorite Colors

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

4 Places I'd love to be right now

Amsterdam
San Francisco
Any Spa
In bed napping

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

Jane (because if I had a girl, I'd have to give her my middle name and it wouldn't work with Jane.)
Emma (because it's too close to Mr. Hot's ex-wife's name.)
Philip (wouldn't work with my last name)
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

2007-10-04T12:16:00.001-04:00

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

2007-10-03T09:45:00.002-04:00

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.

2007-10-02T11:17:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-01T16:22:00.000-04:00

How The Hell Did We Get To October?

2007-10-01T08:16:00.000-04:00

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.----

I'm Outta Clever Titles

2007-09-30T15:14:00.000-04:00

Saturday, Shortman passed his road test - now, as soon as he turns 16, he'll be able to drive. By himself. Legally (as opposed to this time). Heaven help me. His appointment was at 10:00 a.m.; we left the house at 9:30 to ensure plenty of time. After only passing the place once (!), we pulled in and a really nice man came over and said "Hotfessional and Shortman?". We agreed that that was who we were, and he went over all the rules.

First, Shortman would have to pull forward into a parking space, then back into a parking space, and then (gulp), parallel park. He'd been practicing, and we had the Baby Car, so I wasn't worried - too much. He just couldn't knock over any cones. If he passed the parking section, then he'd drive around with Larry the Instructor for 15 miles - on the expressway, on surface roads, through neighborhoods. I was fine with all of this, until Larry told me this:

"And Mrs. Hot, you'll ride in the back since you're the licensed driver of the car. And you can't say a word."

Oh my holy hell. My brand new Baby Car, 1200 miles on it, and Shortman was going to drive with me in the back and I'm not.allowed.to.freakin'.talk. What the hella is wrong with this picture?

But, we set off, and other than missing a turn into a subdivision (in all fairness, the instructor did tell him a tad late that we were going to make a right turn...right there! as we went right past it), and merging into a left-hand turn lane early, he did just fine.

When we pulled back into the parking lot, the Instructor told Shortman to make sure he remembered to smile for the camera when he got his picture taken. Shortman liked to have bust his face apart he was smiling so broadly. I got out of the back seat and walked around to get into the front passenger seat. Look at Mr. Instructor and wiped my hands on my shorts. "Thanks Larry", I said. "Just let me dry my palms off before I shake your hand."

On the way home, Shortman asked me, "Mom, do Driver's Ed instructors make a lot of money?" I told him that I didn't know, but I didn't think so. He responded, "Then why in the world would you subject yourself to that kind of torture?!?".

Thank you all for the lovely anniversary wishes. I got home to this bouquet of the most beautifully colored roses I've ever seen and a couple of really interesting books (about forensic psychology! There's a joke waiting there; something about my husband wanting me to know that people have already tried that method of murder, so it won't work....but it really is one of my favorite subjects...go figure).

Then we went to dinner and had ribs and catfish, and lots of merlot. Yummy. And cornbread. Real, honest to freakin' goodness cornbread and greens. Here's a picture of the merlot. And my, um, chest.

Oh, and you guys? It was my buddy Sue's 11th anniversary. We're anniversary-twins. So Happy, Happy to Mr. and Mrs. Sue - who I love, because we both enjoy a good cry and can weep over Dr. Seuss. Mine, I attribute to pre-menopause. Sue is not quite there, yet, so we're wondering about that E.P.T. Because, you know, the way things are going out here in blogland, I'm sure that if my tubes weren't tied, I'd be pregnant too. From the water. Yea, that's it.

Now, don't y'all forget. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. For those of you who haven't been by WhyMommy's site, please take a look at the information regarding Inflammatory Breast Cancer. IBC is not like "normal" (if you can use that adjective for something that is so horrid) breast cancer. The symptoms of IBC are:

Swelling, usually sudden, sometimes a cup size in a few days
Itching
Pink, red, or dark colored area (called erythema) sometimes with texture similar to the skin of an orange (called peau d'orange)
Ridges and thickened areas of the skin
What appears to be a bruise that does not go away
Nipple retraction
Nipple discharge, may or may not be bloody
Breast is warm to the touch
Breast pain (from a constant ache to stabbing pains)
Change in color and texture of the areola

Also, if you'd like to use my button over there (--->) to link to my "Save the Boobies" drawing, please feel free. If you need the code, send me an email at reereep(at)gmail(dot)com.

----And now, it's back down to the television with my vodka/cranberry and the Lions, who may actually beat the Bears. Sorry Kristabella. Just add another glass of wine to my tab. And, no, I'm not even going to mention the Spartans screw up yesterday. So there.----

'Til Death Do Us Part

2007-09-28T08:36:00.000-04:00

A long, long time ago, in a state far, far away (okay, 17 years in West-by-Gawd-Virginia), I received this proposal:

"So, the Herd is playing Brown on the 28th. Why don't we drive over to Greenup and get married before the game."

I said yes.

And we did.

Dearest Mr. Hot,

I love you darling.

Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for being my partner. For believing in me when I didn't believe in myself.
Thank you for being a wonderful father to your children.
Thank you for listening, not judging. For building up rather than tearing down.
Thank you for evenings on the porch with a glass of wine.
Thank you for raising our son to be a strong and caring young man with a heart of gold.
Thank you for loving my parents and my brother and sister and nieces and nephews.
Thank you for all of what is behind us, and all of what is yet to come.
Thank you for loving me.
You are my heart and soul.
Happy Anniversary Sweetheart. Here's to the next 17.

Buried by Stuff Again

2007-09-27T13:07:00.000-04:00

I mentioned yesterday that I had homework. What I didn't mention was that when I was going into my bedroom to read said homework, I asked Shortman to turn down the speakers on the computer. Or put on his headphones. Or "shut that crap off." (Because, I needed further proof that I am fuckin' old. My kid's music is 'crap'.)

His response? "Well, why don't I just play 'Afternoon Delight' instead?"

Now I'm wondering, as I flip on the reading light and get under the covers, "What???!??".

But there are just some questions that you don't ask, because, y'know, you may actually get an answer.

Lela over at "Who Made This Mess" took me up on my challenge for anyone who wanted to play meme. Go see her 8 things. Note: Contrary to her #2, we are not married to the same man - although Mr. Hot? Does.the.same.thing.

Lys at Just Because sent me her link - right here. Lys, I watch Footballer's Wives, too. My favorite character has just got to be Tanya. How can anyone be that much of a bitch and yet have others out-bitch her?

WhyMommy awarded me another "You Make Me Smile" award, which is so very sweet of her.

She's one of my inspirations for the "Save The Boobies" drawing that I'm having, and she's looking for Walkers/Runners to raise money for Breast Cancer awareness as well. If you all can't contribute (believe me, I understand that times are not easy) or walk, please link to my post (and get your entry!) or join Team WhyMommy and help us.

For the hell of it:

And, since Fall is coming in nicely and fall vegetables are hitting the stands, I thought this just looked yummy, courtesy of emeals:

Baked Acorn Squash

Complexity: Easy
Serves: 2
Category: Easy Recipes I Can Cook
Meal: Other (General)
1 whole acorn squash
2 Tb butter, salted
2 Tb sugar, brown
0.5 tsp salt, table
1 dash pepper, fresh ground
Cut acorn squash in half lengthwise; remove seeds and pulp. Place halves, cut side up, in square baking dish. In each half put 1Tablespoon butter, 1 Tablespoon brown sugar, .25 tsp. salt and sprinkle with pepper. Put water to an inch deep in baking dish and cover tightly with foil. Bake at 350 degrees for 35-40 minutes or until squash is tender.

---- It's a beautiful early Fall day here in the north. This weekend's activities will most likely include pulling out spent flowers and yard cleaning. I think maybe baked squash and pork chops, too. ----

Homework? WTF?

2007-09-26T12:06:00.000-04:00

Gorsh you guys. I couldn't post yesterday because? I had freakin' homework. Reading case studies on global organizations and how they're structured, and why product alignment works for some, but country alignment works for others, and the problem with matrixed organizations is, and....and (stop snoring!).....anyway - that's where I was Monday, and yesterday and today.

But, today, after scarfing down lunch, I hurried back to the classroom to take advantage of the (shhhhhhhhh) University of Michigan's [ugh, it sooooo pains me to admit that] wireless internet to say Hi! to you all. That's pretty much it, because I haven't had much of a chance to read anything (like...blogs) except case studies and I haven't been at the office to find out what those lunatics are up to. (Although I'm very scared to go back tomorrow, because, y'know, three days away? Someone may have been funny and I wasn't there to report it.)

The crowd in this course in kind of interesting though. There are 12 of us, from lots of different industries and lots of areas of the country. (There's even a man from Wales and one from British Columbia.) But, y'all, can you believe that I am the most outspoken of the group? No, really! I understand you're all sitting there going:

"Not our shy little Hotfessional - no way. How is she taking over the discussions when she's soooooooo shy and retiring? "

Well, my darlings, I just don't know. [Snort! Hee hee. Okay, so even I lost it at that picture!]

Seriously though, there are three people in here that haven't said a word over the past three days. Another couple only started speaking today. I am trying to come up with a theory here concerning their reticence.

1. Others (um, who would that be?) are so loud that it's unnerving for them to speak up?
2. They have nothing to add even though their companies spent thousands of dollars for them to attend. - or -
3. They're just using this as an excuse to get away from the office for 3 days.

I figure if I can get to the bottom of it, I can use my gentle ways to bring them out of their shell. (Shut up. I can!)

Humans are such interesting creatures. Sometimes I think that I went into the wrong field and sociology or psychology would have fit me better. Although, really, I guess that in a way, that's exactly what I'm doing nowdays - trying to figure out how to keep people satisfied working in what is essentially an organization that has already told them that they're going to be out of a job in a few months. Doesn't that take understanding an individual's motivation and psyche? Understanding the dynamics of a group of people whose morale is sinking more quickly than Venice?

Now you're all like: "Okay Hotfessional, you're getting a little too cerebral on us again!" So, how about a little factoid that you may not have known? In Germany, Proctor & Gamble sells Dawn dishwashing detergent, but it's not Dawn. It's "Fairy". And when they tried to change the branding to match what they sold in the U.S. - uh, no. It wouldn't fly! (snort. get it? it wouldn't fly! - Fairy dish detergent! hee hee snort.)

Alright - more tomorrow!

---- Don't forget! Save the Boobies. ----

Save the Boobies

2007-09-24T19:30:00.000-04:00

Okay you all, here's the deal. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It's been "my cause" for a number of years.

For this year, and because I've got this wonderful forum, I decided to subject you all to my preaching about this. Get your mammograms! If you notice any abnormalities - let your doctor know. For goodness' sake. Don't let me lose any of you.

And, on behalf of my friends Lawmom and WhyMommy, I've also decided to make it worth your while to help me fund research on this horrific disease.

If you make a contribution to the Susan G. Komen foundation and send me a copy of your receipt anytime between 9/25 and 10/30, you'll be entered into a drawing to win this:

Limited Edition 25th Anniversary necklace

If you link to this post you get a second entry PLUS (and here's the good part) - I'll donate $5 for each and every one of you that link here (send me the link) up to $150. That's cash-on-the-barrelhead girlfriends.

Got it?

1. Send a donation to the Susan G. Komen foundation and send me a copy of your receipt and get an entry for the beautiful necklace.

2. Link to this post and get a second entry PLUS I'll donate $5 for each person (one per person, but feel free to link multiple times, it'll get you a special place in my heart forever) up to $150.

Now, where do you send me this 1. receipt and 2. link address? Well, it's a heavily guarded state secret, but for my special peeps out there: reereep(at)gmail.com.

You can do one or both of these things - I'll love you either way. And, depending on the number of entries, there may be runner-up prizes like this or this or this.

---- It's my personal chant. Say it with me! Save the Boobies. Save the Boobies. Save the Boobies. And help us save lives.----

Schooled!

2007-09-24T06:37:00.000-04:00

So, the Lions got creamed 56-21, and poor Cupcake's Redskins lost at the last minute on a really stupid, stupid play.

I won't be posting until later tonight because I am at (ehem, University of Michigan, shhhhhhhhhh) school finishing my last certificate course. I will miss y'all today, and expect that I will need to spend many, many hours catching up on your posts all later one.

---- One last thing. I have a special Breast Cancer Awareness plan for the month of October that will be starting tomorrow. You have the opportunity to win prizes and offer support to some very special women. ----

Meme

2007-09-23T11:20:00.001-04:00

Helen tagged me. For the 8 Random Facts meme. I think it's only because she thinks I cheated on the 100 Things that I posted, but okay. I love a challenge. And, one of these days I'll make it to her neck of the woods and hunt her cute little ass down.

1. The first day I lived in West by Gawd Virginia, my phone rang. I had gotten married two days before. The voice on the other end said "You don't know me....but I work with your husband." Of course, I immediately thought, "I've only been married 2 days and the fuck is having an affair?" He wasn't. She wanted to take us to lunch to celebrate our wedding.

She became (and still is) a very good friend. We made wine together for years. We named it "Glory" - a combination of our two names. I drank the last bottle I had after Shortman was born (and a different husband). We lost touch for a very long time and recently reconnected.

2. I never would have thought that I would love to blog this much. It's healing. It's heartening. I can share my drunken thoughts and my ranting raves. I believe I could be really good friends with many, many of you. I hope that if you're ever passing through southeastern Michigan, you'll let me know so that I can offer you a place to rest and a glass of wine. By the way, summer is much, much better than winter. Fall and/or Spring are iffy, at best. (Okay, Helen, that one probably was a cheat, but I wrote that from the Admiral's club at O'Horror. After my third glass of Pinot Grigio. I was feeling sappy. But, y'all are still invited, really!)

3. I can get drunk off of wine (see #1 above) much faster than beer or liquor. Except maybe Tequila. I drink tequila once/year. On my birthday. And as long as I don't have to walk or talk afterwards. I have a scar down my back because of tequila and a fight with a wicker laundry hamper. I got up at 2 a.m. because I was so fucking dehydrated I couldn't swallow my own spit. I got light headed and fell, ass first, into the hamper in the hallway. A piece of wicker went right into my back.

4. I also have a scar from exploding lightbulbs in my bathroom. When we bought this house, the previous owners had just completed a renovation of the upstairs bath. I don't think it had ever been used. I like hot showers. Unfortunately, during the renovation, they didn't put in a vent. The light bulbs above the vanity? Were 60 watt lightbulbs. The steam and 60-watt bulbs? Not a good mix. Once morning, I bent over to wrap my head in a towel and one exploded. The hot glass landed on the back of my neck. I have a burn scar about the size of a large paperclip.

5. When I was 42, and playing soccer, a woman from the opposing team asked me how old I was. When I told her, she said, "But you're the buffest one on this field." I had to laugh. Two years before I was heavier than I had been at 9-months pregnant and couldn't run a lap around the high school track. I started training with weights, kickboxing and running - and for an entire two months I was in the best shape of my life. (Yes, for about two months I was happy with my body - it was heaven. Then I had to go on another round of travelling for work and got lazy.) Now, I'm starting back again.

6. I was invited to attend the contract signing between my company and our offshoring partners in Amsterdam in August 2005. I stayed in a hotel that had been created from a row of canal houses. My room was in a house that was built in 1620. I flew by myself to Schipol airport on Sunday evening, arrived Monday morning, and walked for hours admiring this beautiful city. I saw the Anne Frank House, The Royal Palace, and the Rijksmuseum that day. I took a three hour nap and then walked some more. A year later, I was back in Holland, but on the North Sea for a Leadership conference. We were in a castle in the National Forest. These two trips will always hold very special memories for me.

7. I was in 4th grade and we went on a field trip to one of the Metroparks in southeastern Michigan. I don't remember which one, but I remember I was wearing a pair of red hip-hugger bell bottoms with a fake cuff and a red, white and blue checked body shirt. (Hey, it was 1972!) I was running along a path next to this boy (who I ran into many, many years later, after I had moved and had a hot makeout session in the roller rink...hee). He swerved a bit and I moved over so we didn't bump into each other. My foot went down a slope, and next thing I knew, I was head over ass rolling down a hill into the river. Got that? Into.The.River. I had no other clothes, so one of the mothers had to drive me into town and find a laundromat. She went in and dried everything while I sat in her car wrapped in a blanket. One of the most embarrassing moments of my elementary school years.

8. When I was at Michigan State, I worked in my dorm cafeteria during the breakfast shift. I started at 7:00 a.m. My first class was at 8:50 on the other side of campus. Five miles away. I would work for 90 minutes, then run back to my room, grab my stuff, jump on my bike and head to class. At MSU, the bike paths have yellow lines dividing them (like a 2-lane road), and when you come to a street crossing, there are rumble strips to slow you down before you go into the street. One day, I was going back to the dorm, and another bike came into my lane and hit me head on. I ended up in the Intramural Soccer field, glasses bent, books all over the place, and bike in desperate need of repair. I limped home, dragging the sad carcass of my bike behind me.

The next day, I had that class again. I begged my boyfriend to let me borrow his bike. He was hesitant. That bike was his pride and joy. I finished my shift in the cafeteria, headed off to class, and realized that Boyfriend must ride his bike in first gear. I was pedaling like mad, but getting nowhere. I changed gears. Something locked up and I flew right the freak up and over the handlebars. Landed on my back in the middle of the sidewalk. I saw the derailleur shoved into the spokes of Boyfriend's pride and joy back tire. I hoisted the fuckin' bike on my shoulder - walked back to the dorm - ran into his roommate who said to me, "He's going to break up with you over this one" - and went to bed for the rest of the day. Somehow, I wasn't surprised that my nickname that year ended up being "Crash".

---- And so, in return, I'm tagging: Cupcake, Mad Mad Housewife, Jen on the Edge, Kristabella and whoever else wants to play. If you decide to participate, let me know in my comments. Over to you all now. Down to the basement for me to remedy #5 again. ----

Another Post About Nothing

2007-09-22T08:40:00.001-04:00

No football today - not in person anyway. Michigan State is on the road at Notre Dame. But! The drag racing that got rained out is rescheduled for today, so there will be sports(!) again(!) in my Saturday.

....I'd rather sleep right now, but y'know there's always tomorrow, I tell myself a la Scarlett O'Hara.....

My flight home yesterday was (are you ready for this?) delayed. Nah! you say. Couldn't be! you say. Well, I say.

I got a call from American Airlines at 11 a.m. telling me that my 2:15 flight that afternoon had been delayed until 3:45.

My flight actually hit the air at 5:45. The plane that we were supposed to have never left Miami yesterday morning because of the tropical depression hovering over their state. We, (according to the airline), got the ONLY extra plane that was coming to O'Horror. And only 3 1/2 hours late. They called the crew in from home.

I ended up camping out in the Admiral's club with free wireless and blog-reading for the entire time. Oh, and wine. Lots of nice white wine.

---- My maple tree out front is already changing colors. What the hell happened to summer? ----

Uh.Delete.Delete.Delete.

2007-09-21T09:21:00.000-04:00

An Email Haiku
Email can be great
But when you hit the send key
Be sure "To" is right

My company offshored it's application development and support a few years back to an Indian firm. (Although I know offshoring is a politically charged topic, that will not be the point of this post, so do not go there with me! I'm a life-long Democrat, so just hush up.) I worked on the offshoring project, went to India, and helped plan the entire offshoring strategy with a terrific team of Americans and Indians who worked together very well.

Since then, some of us have worked successfully with our Indian partners. Some? Not so much. Prior to the sale of my division, I was one of the success stories. I had a counterpart who worked for the offshore firm, but who was located in Ann Arbor. (We worked on a 70/30 mix -70% were in India, 30% in the U.S.) We had a shared vision of what we could accomplish and were working very closely to make certain that our goals were met.

When Raj was asked to move to New Jersey to work with another group, I was assured that the person replacing him was every bit as committed. "You see no degrading of the services. We continue to perform to what you want."

Uh, may I say? Yea, right. Fuck.

The degrading of the services? Happened nearly immediately. The continue to perform? Sure, if that's what you call playing internet chess after coming into the office at 10 a.m. And I know that chess is a tiring game. So, of course, leave at 4. Make sure you take a break for lunch. I mean, an hour or 90-minute break is expected - you have to get enough nourishment to play that last match.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I had a meeting with my new partner's (and I really use that term loosely) manager. I outlined (with appropriate documentation) exactly what issues I was facing. I let him know that the performance of the onshore part of the offshore team was, to say the least, shitty.

He assured me that checks would be put in place and that he would work with me to assure that we got back to the high level of performance that we had enjoyed with Raj.

That was then. This was yesterday:

Email from Offshore Partner counterpart:

Hotfessional,

I wanted to bring to your notice that XXXXXX support team got to know about the projects ProjectShutDown and ProjectStartUp through John Smith, the XXXXXX Enhancement Manager. He informed the PM to invite me into the meetings. As per my understanding support representation needs to be requested by the PM for any project where XXXXXXX provides support to the applications(as per process). By having formal representation support can get involved into these projects, provide the required inputs for the project and be aware of the impact to the applications.

Request you if proper support representation be requested and support teams get involved in the projects.

My response:

Of course.

Hotfessional

I then sent this to the PM (project manager) and copied my 'counterpart':

I think you've got his now, but can you make sure that there is an XXXXXXX Support Rep (email MyPartner) on ANY teardown or startup meetings you're running?

MyPartner, Project Shutdown has no application support ramifications because we do not support anything in DatacenterA.

thanks!
Hotfessional

A few minutes later, MyPartner's manager, who had assured me, a mere two weeks ago, that he understood my frustration and would do anything in his power to make certain that we continued to work well together, came running into my office. In Chicago, because that's where he sits.

ManagerXXXX: "Hotfessional, I just sent you an email. You delete please."
Hotfessional: "Um, sure. I'll delete it. [click, click, hit delete]. Okay, it's deleted."
ManagerXXXX: "Thank you." [leaves]
Hotfessional: [Clicks into trash folder, finds email, and reads this:
Hi MyPartner,

"Of course" is fine. What next steps is she planning to take?

Can you ask her to write all her PPM group an email stressing on this and laying out the steps that they need to follow when initiating a project? Request her to mark a copy to you such that you know that the communication has gone out.

Even after that if projects do not involve you then escalation is warranted

You might want to give the steps as stated in support representation process

Um, oops.

I don't know if I should be more pissed off about the fact that he didn't believe me when I said "Of course" and have faith that I would actually do what I said ...or... that he doesn't know enough about our email system to know that delete doesn't actually delete, it just moves it over to a holding folder until you empty the trash.

At any rate, I'm betting that he checks to make sure he no longer selects "Reply to All" instead of "Forward". Dickhead.

---- And for those of you who are wondering - those are direct cut/pastes from the actual emails. Only the names of people, companies, and projects have been changed. So, yes, for all of you cringing English Majors? This is what email has done to our language. ----

The Hot 100

2007-09-20T09:44:00.000-04:00

Oh Mah Gawd y'all. One-Hundred freakin' posts. Is this an auspicious occasion or what?

I'll tell you, putting together this list hurt my head. (So, okay, maybe the damn vodka/lemonades and kamikaze shots had something to do with it, too....)

Anyway - here you go. Everything you wanted to know about the Hotfessional and were afraid to ask.

100 Things About Me

I have green eyes and gray hair
I had a pet skunk named Blossom
Until she bit me when I tried to put a collar on her.
I taught horseback riding for two summers.
I had a Quarterhorse/Arabian buckskin mare.
I sold her to buy my first car.
My first car was a 1974 Mustang
It had a silver vinyl interior
I went to 3 different universities
I graduated from 2
All three universities had green and white as their colors
I have a lot of green and white sweatshirts
My favorite food is gnocchi
I don't eat red meat
Grilled salmon is my favorite fish
I have birthmark shaped like New Jersey
On my back
My favorite TV shows are Entourage and Dream Team
My favorite movie is The Wizard of Oz
I must have coffee every day
Black. No sugar.
I could easily sleep 12 hours/day
I have inhaled
I’d rather have champagne than beer
I’d rather drink vodka than rum
I’m a Taurus – and every bit as stubborn as a bull
I am the oldest of three children
I have 1 brother and 1 sister
I have Platinum frequent flyer status on American Airlines
I have Silver status on Northwest
I was conceived in (on?) Top Sail Island, NC
I have 1 child of my own and 2 step kids
I loved being pregnant
I hated giving birth
I am very clumsy and break things easily
Except I’ve never broken a bone
I love rings and earrings
I do not wear necklaces or bracelets
I had 20 pet rats at one time
I grew up with a 120 lb Great Dane
My High School aptitude test recommended FBI Agent as a career
My Dad was a cop for 32 years
Fireballs and Smarties are my favorite candy
Milky Way (preferably dark chocolate) NOT Snickers
I will not drink milk
I was once in a fashion show and did not fall down while walking!
I consider this a major accomplishment
I was diagnosed with alopecia areata in 1997
It makes trying new hairstyles very interesting.
My anniversary is September 28
My birthday is May 6
I love tuna salad, egg salad and chicken salad
I hate mayonnaise and salad dressing
My mom and I have the same middle name.
I love to fly
I have been skydiving.
My sense of direction sucks.
I am an excellent map reader.
I am 5'9" tall
I wear heels 95% of the time
Which makes me 6' tall
I have travelled to India
I have travelled to Holland
I have never been to Texas, Arizona, New Mexico or Colorado
My high school football team won 4 games in the 4 years I attended.
In 2005 they came in 2nd in the State Finals.
I try not to take that personally
I have visited 19 states
I live 25 miles from where I was born
I won the spelling bee in 4th grade
My prize was a Parker pen
My brother once shoved me through a window
It was at my grandmother's house
My grandmother raised me for the first 6 months of my life
My first brand-new car was a Chrysler LeBaron
It was bright red
And had a standard transmission
I hate talking on the phone
I like to write letters
I don't write to my friends often enough
Breyer's Natural Vanilla is my favorite ice cream
Hot fudge, not caramel or fruit
I don't like cake
I have banana pudding for my birthday
I would love to be a professional student
I've read every Stephen King book written
Including those by Richard Bachman
I am Lebanese, Polish, and Slovak
I am married to a German/English/Irish/American Indian
I want to live in Europe
I am a 34C
I have sunbathed topless
I got a really bad sunburn
My first pet was a Siamese Cat
I got him when I was 12 for my birthday
My first boyfriend's name was Michael
Our first date was a football game
I lost my virginity when I was 16
I'm not a fan of diamonds
My favorite gem is garnet

You guys? That was hard to do.

Here's to the next 100 posts. Thanks for coming along with me.

Ah. Real Meetings......*

2007-09-19T12:38:00.001-04:00

...for which I came to Chicago, so, between that (getting up at 4-freakin'-a.m.) and the fact that tomorrow is my 100th post (!!!!!!) and therefore I want to finish my 100 Things About Me list (stay tuned!), I want to just show you all a quick something (I know you love that run-on sentence):

MomandDad made this:

which, y'all?

Looks an awful lot like this:

Doesn't it? (Well, without the flippin', suck-ass snow....that I hate with the fury of a thousand brilliant suns.....).

How cool is that? The birds get to live in a house that looks almost exactly like mine! I hope they like their hardwood floors as much as I like mine and that they never have exploding lightbulbs in their bathroom. (Ooooh, another story to tell you someday soon.)

---- The management team is going out tonight -stories involving shots on the Chicago River at a later date I'm sure. ----

*For those of you who have teenagers....remember Ah! Real Monsters?

That's it....Spank Meh

2007-09-18T11:31:00.000-04:00

Some day, I'll maybe, possibly, have a single subject post. Um. That day would probably not be today, however.

Since tomorrow I leave for Chicago again (wondering if I still get my closet, and if it'll rain), Mr. Hot and I are taking Shortman out to dinner tonight to Joe's Crab Shack. Not exactly my type of 4-star seafood meal, but ... all you can eat popcorn shrimp (yes, Shortman's idea of seafood) for $9.99. Since I'll be in brown-food-fried-heaven later on, I decided to have a nice ~~bowl~~ styrofoam container of soup for lunch.

Excuse me, but aren't you supposed to take the bay leaf OUT of the soup before you serve it?

And of course, the leaving for Chicago always opens up the possibilities for some travel exploit posts in the next couple of days, right?

Last weekend, we did an extraction of 1.6M account records from one of our largest data systems. Those of us with some experience in this process suggested to our buyer that they consider smaller chunks over a longer period of time (i.e. ~500k accounts each over 3 weekends). They ~~told us to eat shit and die~~ disagreed with our analysis.

During the days leading up to this extraction, we met regularly with the buyer, our subject matter experts, and the business people to discuss the ramifications of moving forward in this ~~half-assed~~ manner.

Primarily, our concerns centered around the days immediately following the extraction. Putting the history of 1.6M accounts on tapes (75 of them suckers), hand delivering them to a local airport (accompanied by appropriate security), putting them on a private jet and whisking them away was the easy part. But. First business day after that happened? (Um, that was yesterday for those of you keeping track.) All hell could break loose. Because each one of those 1.6M accounts? Had to be updated to show that they no longer belonged to this bank. Now they belong to that bank.

At 2 a.m., we ran out of swap space for the updates. The job crashed, burned, and generally crapped out. We freed up some space. It sucked it up again three hours later. Like a freakin' Dyson. Finally, at 11:30 this morning, it finished successfully.

Now, if the buyer would have ~~gotten their heads out of their asses~~ listened to us when we said that smaller groups made more sense, this wouldn't have happened because? We would not have been trying to update 1.6M records. Therefore, we would not have run out of swap space 3 times. Hmmmmmmm.

And what did the morons have to say during our status update? Because we were off by 40 minutes in estimating when this would be done after it blew up 3 fucking times? And we'd NEVER done more than 400k records before?

"Well, I guess our culture is just different. We don't give the clients a resolution estimate and then change it 30 minutes later."

Don't you know that it was a damned good thing - probably the most insanely smart thing I've done since this takeover was announced in fact - that my phone was muted. That asshole would have heard things come out of this mouth that would shame a career Navy man.

Thanks to Thora for this:

What would happen if every blog published posts discussing the same issue, on the same day? One issue. One day. Thousands of voices.

This year's Blog Action Day is October 15th. This year's subject is the environment. "Posts do not need to have any specific agenda, they simply need to relate to the larger issue in whatever way suits the blogger and readership. Our aim is not to promote one particular viewpoint, only to push the issue to the table for discussion. "

I love this idea. Your views and my views may be different, but if we get people talking, think about what we can do. Join us!

Do you guys remember "3rd Rock from the Sun"? One of the top 5 funniest shows ever. Ev-Er.(Hey, this is my blog, I can make sweeping statements like that. It's allowed. Shut up.)

I was reading the NYTimes Style section and ran across this article. What? Hey, part of being the Hotfessional is to keep up on today's styles. Especially in light of the fact that I, once again, looked in my closet this morning and about puked. Black pants anyone? How about a black skirt for somethnig different? Yea, right.

Aaaaaannnyway, this little cutie Joseph Gordon-Levitt (who is so going on my list) was in Angels in the Outfield (Shortman's favorite movie ever), and a whole bunch of other stuff. And seeing him got me thinking about the show. And how we still haven't managed to get through the entire first 2 seasons of DVDs that we bought. And then one thing led to another (which it tends to do in my crazy random posts), and here we are:

---- And they had the awesomest theme song, too. ----

Playing...

2007-09-17T16:53:00.000-04:00

...with Google Reader. Comments please?

I can't decide if I trust it yet. I feel like I'm missing some of y'all's posts. And that? would.kill.me.

Hello, It's Me

2007-09-17T13:22:00.000-04:00

9:45 a.m. Ring, Ring, Ring
Mr. Hot: "Are you busy?"
Hotfessional: "Um, never too busy to talk to you honey, what's up?"
Mr. Hot: "Do you know Shortman's Level 1 driver's license number?"
Hotfessional: "? Uh, No, it's probably on his permit - in his wallet, in his backpack, at school."
Mr. Hot: "Fuck. I need it to make the appointment for his road test."

......10 minutes of conversation about nothing - including his plans to go running (make me feel guilty for the box of animal crackers I just ate, eh?) and the Lions coach's news conference - later......

Hotfessional: "Okay, bye, I'll talk to you later. I love you."

Recap: Why would I know Shortman's driver's permit #? I barely know my own social security number. I got a new cell phone 3 months ago and have no idea what the number is. I have to look it up ON THE PHONE in order to give it to anyone. (Which, by itself, is pretty amazing that I figured out how to do that.....and I can usually do it without hanging up on the caller!)

But, okay, so maybe I had some reason to memorize Shortman's permit number. I guess it could have happened. Also, I could have discovered a cure for the common cold and made millions of dollars and been on my way to the private island that I bought in the South Pacific.

11:00 a.m. Ring, Ring, Ring
Mr. Hot: "Are you busy?"
Hotfessional: "Not really, just hung up from a security meeting. What's up?"
Mr. Hot: "Going to take the dog for a walk."
Hotfessional: "Okay. Don't forget Shortman's doctor's appointment today. "
Mr. Hot: "Oh, that's right. Okay."

.......10 minutes of conversation about nothing - including the dog next door that comes over and pees on my rhododenron bushes (it's her grandson's dog, he's staying there, and she refuses to let it in the house) and the birdhouse that my dad built and brought over yesterday - later ......

Hotfessional: "Okay, bye, I'll talk to you later. I love you"

Recap: He's taking the dog for a walk. He takes the dog for a walk every day. Honest. But y'know, in case I call him (always on his cell, we got rid of our landline), I'll know he's walking the dog. Because, it's important that I know that he'll be walking the dog in case I call. For what? No clue. To talk about the birdhouse some more I guess.

12:37 p.m. Ring, Ring, Ring
Mr. Hot: "Are you busy?"
Hotfessional: "Writing a report and getting ready for another meeting in 20 minutes."
Mr. Hot: "Oh, okay, so did you talk to Robert?" (Robert = stockbroker brother in law)
Hotfessional: "Yes, and he wants to know if we're coming down to West-by-gawd-Virginia any time soon. I told him NYO wants us to come to a game, but I didn't know if it was going to fit in the schedule."
Mr. Hot: "Yea, that's a pretty long ride for a weekend."
Hotfessional: "Anyway, I told him you'd call him later. I have his cell number."
Mr. Hot: "Awwwww, I HATE talking on the phone."

Hotfessional: "....................................."

Um, people? My darling readers? This man called me 3 times in the 5 hours after I left for work this morning. Three times. And he hates talking on the phone? WTF?

What do we talk about? Nothing. Nada. Zip-oh-la. Apparently he calls just to hear my dulcet tones. (snort)

---- Remember this? I use up all my words before Noon. Just being on the phone with my husband. I love this man. I really do - more than life itself. But if we were to measure just who hates talking on the phone more? PWNED.----

MSU 120 (Penalty yards that is)

2007-09-15T17:57:00.000-04:00

So, y'all? Personally, I think the fact that this guy brought a U of M seat cushion to the Spartan game says a lot (besides the fact that he's going to put his ass on it - which, y'know, only seems right somehow). They seem to be deserting Ann Arbor. Looking for a winner? (Okay, so right now, they're up on Notre Dame 31-0, but y'all? They.still.lost.to.Appalachian.State.

Michigan State 17. Pitt (is Shitt) 13. Close game dudes. Way too many penalties and stupidity on the field.

There was a family that sat next to us that had 4 kids under the age of 8. How they managed to last until halftime is beyond me. There were more hotdogs, popcorn, pop and candy flowing than a movie theatre filled with stoned college students. We did heave a sigh of relief though when they left. The climbing back and forth and the screaming for more - more - more was getting to be a bit much.

Now, if only my Beloved Marshall could figure out that they do.not.belong.in.Conference.USA.they.should.have.never.left.the.MAC. At the half. New Hampshire 24. Marshall 0. [sob]

Um. Notre Dame chicks? WTF?

Going to thaw out my toes now. And drink.