YerBeezWax

Facebook is Winning

2011-08-24T14:07:00.004-04:00

It is so much easier to post a status and go...and then come back, post again, read someone else's post, comment, and end up wasting an hour. I used to use that hour to blog here. For the past few years, I forgot I even had a blog. I used to think, "Wow, now there is something to write about!" and put fingers to the keyboard. Now I think in "statuses" - which generally are less than 30 words. I don't begrudge a status - it's good practice for my editing skills when the statuses in my head start out as a paragraph.

But, maybe it's time to get back into the habit of blogging. I write for a living, so I write all day long. I love what I do, but it's not my stuff. It's someone else's. With lots of rules and no swearing allowed.

Here I can write what I want. I can vent a little. Maybe it will progress into a daily "me" writing habit and I'll get my ass moving on the middle grade and YA novels I've had in my computer for years (so long that I had to remove a pay phone reference and replace with texting). And then I read my novel in progress and think wow, what happens next?? And I don't know because I didn't write it yet. Duh.

So hopefully this is a start to what happens next. :)

I AM A BIG, FAT, SNOOPER

2008-06-25T20:11:00.002-04:00

I’m a big fat snooper. I think pretty much everything is my beeswax. When I say this, I am actually referring to poking around in the big giant underwear drawer known as the World Wide Web. The internet makes it so damn easy to just FIND OUT STUFF about people. I mean, if you are going to throw your dirty laundry into that proverbial underwear drawer, then be prepared. I think I may be obsessed with Googling. It is part of my everyday vocabulary and I have inducted the word Google into my personal Verb Hall of Fame. “I’ll Google it for you.” “Oh, I need to Google that.”

And with the fast-growing personal beeswax websites such as Facebook, Yahoo Personals, AIM, and MySpace – it is just that more tantalizing. If you put stuff there, I want to know about it! And I have found some juicy stuff. I know who is looking for a boyfriend or girlfriend. Who is lying. Who has PhotoShopped their face. Who is snooping into “married but looking” sites. And it’s not as if people are advertising their activities with their full first and last name next to the web site – but through some basic information and a little detective work, it takes about five minutes for me to find out what kind of profile, nickname, or information someone might attach to said sites. Did you know that many towns have a police blotter right on the web? Forget buying the newspaper. Find out who got pulled over for disorderly conduct. Not your favorite person? Copy and paste it into a mass email. I know who has been in jail, where, and when.

So my philosophy is this… I don’t put anything on the web that I wouldn’t want posted on a bulletin board. It’s enough that someone can find out where I live, what sexual predators live in my town, how much I have paid for my house or in taxes, when I graduated high school, and any time I have been quoted and posted somewhere on the Web. That is all without me doing anything proactive. So, I guess I feel like, hey – if someone put it out there, it is for me to find out.

Is it healthier to self-examine my own motives or even my own dreams and goals – of course! But it’s not as fun. And I have this little “shit” file to go to should anyone ever cross me ;-)

Long Time No Frog

2007-09-13T12:54:00.000-04:00

I say this because 1) I haven't been here in a very long time, and 2) I have decided to combine “forget” and “blog” into 2 words. Frog is what I got. This merge of words came upon me in the shower, where most useless ideas do, when I was thinking about calling a new stylist for my hair color. I recently read a magazine blurb that said “Celebs New Hair Color – Bronde” and I thought, well, which celeb coined that phrase, Scooby Doo? “Ruh-roh Shaggy, I need to color my hair bronde.” Isn’t a mix of blonde and brown, well, dishwater blonde? Is it sexier now that some celeb... well, actually media person called it something “new”?

And then I thought, how many other ridiculous new words has the celebrity-obsessed media brought to us? TomKat, K-Fed, Brangelina? Bennifer? If I merge my and my husband’s names together I either end up with a word describing a female dog or an old fashioned way to say pants. And did you know that if you round the corner of your fingernails with a nail file, you are making them “squoval”? Try telling that to your manicurist. She'll either look at you as if you had five heads or perform the hemilich on you.

And what is it with the IT bag? Or the IT girl? Any relation to Cousin It? A fashion web site told me that I could have instant “IT-girl status” by putting on a baby-doll dress. I believe it. If I put on that dress, the most common question asked would be “What is IT, girl?”

So what is it if you're specail AND and It girl? Spit Girl? If you're ferocious and an It girl? Fit Girl? Me, I'm just an It girl with thoughts to share. I guess that makes me Shit Girl.

Frog on, people.

Hey, Wanna Go to the DMV?

2006-11-29T15:31:00.000-05:00

Department of Motor Victim, that’s me. And one would think it is in the realistic sense that perhaps there was a long line, obnoxious personnel, a demand for the removal of one of my ovaries as proof I’m a woman and, in fact, me. But no. Actually I was a victim of my own making.

You see, last year I got a new license. And the picture was pretty good! Imagine my dismay when I discovered I have to renew the whole license a year later. And a new picture. Being the day before the license actually expires, I choose lunch time to head over. Just for kicks.

So I take a shower, do my hair, wear photograph-appropriate attire, and put on lipstick. I mean, God forbid a zitty 16-year old at a retail store or a 50-year old man-woman security checker at the airport should see my picture and it doesn’t look good. I don’t use ID for clubs any more because A) I don’t go to clubs any more and B) who would card a 41-year old? But I digress….. I still have the vanity that is pushing me to get a good license picture.

So I take the 20-minute drive to the DMV and woops.... I left my other (almost expired) license at home. Need the old to get the new, and no Ma’am I don’t happen to have my birth certificate on me. So I schlep back…. get the license…. put on more lip gloss and wander back in the DMV. It's pracitcally empty. No line! Miracle.
(the whole renewal process(and nice personnel to boot) took just 10 minutes).

So in the midst of the process, as I walked up to Picture Lady and whooshed my hair back a bit and cleared my teeth of any potential debris…all ready to SMILE. She pulled up last year's license and said, “Do you want to just keep last year’s picture?”

If you want to know what I did, you’d have to either 1) be a cop, 2) work for the NTSA, or 3) convince me to go clubbing.

My Boyfriend's Ex Wife is in My Freezer

2006-11-09T08:28:00.000-05:00

To quote my good friend CJBlue, "Sometimes the headline is really much more interesting than the story."

No need to call the cops. Or the Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club. It's not what you think. Another friend of mine had a great suggestion to rid oneself of a bothersome person. According to an American Indian Shaman, you immerse a photo of the offender in water, then place it in the freezer. Perhaps it's a placebo effect. Maybe it really works. Maybe there is an ex-wife walking around wondering why she needs an extra sweater.

When I asked what kind of container I should put the photo in, she replied, "Whatever... tupperware is fine." I didn't have tupperware, but I did have a Glad disposable container.

So now when someone is really bugging me, I don't get mad.... I get Glad.

Ludicrous Lyrics

2006-11-02T16:00:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been singing along with a song… and then it clicks in your head… “OH….is that what they’re saying?” This notion first came to mind when I realized that during Simon and Garfunkel’s “Scarborough Fair” they did not actually sing “Sagebrush, parsley, Mary and bright.” And then I asked around. A lot of people have had wrong-lyric incidents. Even if you know the real words, sometimes it’s hard to sing them once you’re used to the wrong ones! So here is my small collection of wrong lyrics… any to add?

One song I had never learned the chorus to was Earth Wind and Fire’s “September” I just sang along “Oh dee do, Saturday Remember….oh dee do, Saturday September.” So then I looked up the lyrics. It appears I wasn’t that far off: "Ba de ya - say do you remember… Ba de ya - dancing in September".

My daughter sang with all her might in the back seat at age three “Bob the Build-ahh aaa-er…” to the chorus of “Born to be Wild”

A friend of mine had a friend who sang “I have a little Moe, he rides in the back…” from Joe Walsh’s “Life’s Been Good”

And Donna Summer… “Someone left the cake out in the rain…and I don’t think that I can take it, because it took so long to bake it…” Oh wait, those ARE the real lyrics, they just don’t make any sense.

Melting...

2006-08-03T13:02:00.000-04:00

So, not to point out the obvious, but it's been HOT the last few days here. Aside from many of my brain cells melting, I'm dealing with a hot, crabby, melting 7-year-old. All I can muster to "cook" are microwavable dinners. Today's lunch is LeanQuisine pot sticers. She just announced to me:
Her: "Ewww! The kitchen smells like salmon."
Me: "It's not salmon. It's Asian food." (okay, not that LQ is Asian...but you get the drift)
Her: "Well, then if it's not salmon it smells like the guys at the bowling alley."
Me: "Huh?"
Her: "Everytime I went to get a drink, I could smell guys' hairy, stinky armpits and it smelled like salmon."

Heat and all, it gave a chuckle. Guess I'll go eat my stinky, hairy armpits now.

Tagged My Own Self

2006-06-12T14:56:00.000-04:00

Why am I doing this? Because I can....
1) Do you remember playing 45s? Surely
2) What is the worst band you ever liked?Air Supply
3) Have you ever done the macarena? Once. Against my will.
4) Are there books/magazines are currently in your bathroom? (if yes, what?) Yes. Trash. I like to get the poop scoop.
5) Have you ever done one of those embarrassing group dances at weddings? Who hasn't?
6) Coffee or tea?Coffee
7) Whip or no whip?Whip it good.
8) Did you ever have an imaginary friend and if so, what was he/she/it named?No.
9) Do you know how to perform the Heimlich Maneuver?Yes.
10) Do you still celebrate your birthday? Yessir.
11) Do you or have you ever cross dressed? (women in overalls and men in kilts don’t count) no.
12) What is the worst food you ever ate? chitlins.
13) How old were you when you had your first real kiss? 12. At choir camp. I rinsed my mouth out.
14) Have you had your 15 minutes of fame? Does an interview at the airport for News Channel 4 count? It was about 10 seconds.
15) What is the longest you ever went without sleep for? Probably 24 hours.
16) If your hair could be any color, what would it be? I like it blonde.
17) What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Mint chocolate chip (white, not green)
18) Wax, bleach, pluck, or shave? pluck/shave... interested in Brazilian
19) If you were a super hero, what would your power be? Time travel.
20) If you had to pick, what is your favorite National Lampoon movie? Vacation.

Squeeze Me

2006-05-10T09:18:00.000-04:00

Once Upon a time in a far, far, far-away land, there lived a lovely wench and a crafty duke. TAKE ME I’M YOURS! She purred, in a desperate voice. She knew that the duke’s marvelous hunk of flesh was too COOL FOR CATS, so she didn’t protest when he took her UP THE JUNCTION to SLAP AND TICKLE her.
This love affair went on for months and months and months…. passionately. One night, after a candlelit seafood dinner, and hours of PULLING MUSSELS FROM THE SHELL, the duke confessed his secret sin to his lovely lady. “I have been TEMPTED BY THE FRUIT OF ANOTHER,” he said.
“Oh!” she cried, “Woe is me….JUST POUNDING ANOTHER NAIL IN MY HEART….oh, the pain….the pain!” Tears of sorrow slid down her rosy cheeks.
“Don’t cry, my love,” he comforted her, “IF I DIDN’T LOVE YOU I would have given her champagne instead of BLACK COFFEE IN BED – I always give you champagne!”
“In bed?? Champagne??!” she screamed. “IS THAT LOVE??”
At first the duke had felt sorry for his lovely wailing wench, but this carrying on was a bit much. A teensy bit more than he wanted to handle. “Don’t cry, darling,” he said in a tight voice.
“Oh…the pain…the pain…” she moaned.
I’ll give you pain, he thought. He picked up his Medieval cell phone and called his bodyguard. “ANNIE, GET YOUR GUN and come to the castle right away.”
Moments later, Big Annie arrived.
“GOODBYE GIRL,” he said calmly to his sobbing lover, “I’ve decided to SQUEEZE SINGLE’S FANNIES instead of yours.”
He took the gun and shot his wailing wench. The crafty duke smiled, finished his ale, and gave Annie a little SQUEEZE.

The Well Has Dried

2006-04-20T09:40:00.000-04:00

Writing all day for real life just sucks the life out of me, leaving the "fun" writing (including blogging) to just flounder around in the brain and then flop before taking fingers to keys.

That being said, I'm on hiatus for a spell. Trust me, no blog is better than bad blog. And it has been a bad blog spell (just check the "0 comments" at the bottom of each post!!).

What's funny, is that no one is reading this or checking that! So I'm just blogging to my damn self. So am I crazy? I think so, but not for blogging to myself!

xo all!

Call Hating

2006-03-30T15:40:00.000-05:00

Can someone explain to me why you would answer the phone if you knew, upon answering it, that you had no intention of speaking to the person and that you answered just to tell them that you can't speak? "Oh Hi. I can't talk; I'm on the other line." Leading me to my second question: Why would you interrupt someone from speaking, put the person on hold, answer call waiting, only to tell the call waiting person you can't talk? Imagine if you did all of this in person, face to face?

So I guess my thought is this: Talk to the person you are talking to. Then talk to the next person when you are talking to that person.

Don't Bug Me

2006-03-09T10:49:00.000-05:00

CJ Blue's Bug post has brought me to this topic. I wrongly guessed that she ignored the bug (wrong). She send Mr. Hubby to the rescue. At this point in my life, the only person I could send to the Bug Zone would be my 7-year-old daughter. And unless I plan on sticking a $20 bill in her therapy jar for freaking her out about a bug, it's up to me. I've had a few buggy experiences in my life - once long ago and once fairly recently.

The long ago incident pretty much cured me of being afraid of bugs (or so I thought....) At any rate, I lived in Miami, where the bugs are ginormous, so you really can't escape the exposure. SO, I was at a Halloween party (what is it with me and Halloween?), and I was wearing a devil costume, equipped with a leotard and tights and I had to take a pee. So on the pot, leotard and tights around my ankles, I did my thing. Enter giant cockroach (AKA: Palmetto bug). It was crawling up the wall directly in front of me above the toilet paper. My first reaction was to run screaming from the bathroom but (A) that would have put me attempting to run naked with tights around my ankles and (B) I was in the middle of a beer pee, which we all know was not about to stop mid-stream for some measly (okay, HUGE) cockroach. So was forced to sit there and watch it. And freak. And watch. And freak. It eventually disappeared somewhere, which was puzzling as there was no space large enough for it to crawl into, which leads me to believe these suckers can constrict their body size to fit in and out of tiny openings. From that day on, large bugs did not creep me out so much.

My latest adventure occurred when I had to reset a fuse down in my scary basement. Standing next to said fuse box I hear this scratchy, fast crawly noise. I look to my right and discover what appear to me to be tarantulas with antlers. After screaming and running away (and having no electricity for the next two hours), I did call on a friend's husband who came and stood next to these bugs to fix the fuse. I then went and did my research to find out that they are called camel crickets.
Ick. This pic is not actual size. The CCs were BIGGER. And why did there have to be 200 of them on the wall in my basement? Of course, the next day the fuse blew again. DAMN. This time I called my "I'm not afraid of anything" girlfriend. Well, she was afraid. Eventually, I had to be the one to stand next to these little suckers (old house + window air conditioners = frequently blown fuses). So I got over the fear. And do you know what? They have now moved to the other side of the basement near the furnace, and they are in little baby form. So when I check the furnace, I just glance over and and grumble. Little buggers.

PV...Not a Fun Thing...

2006-02-08T16:19:00.000-05:00

I can't believe how many times I used the term "projectile vomit" in the last 8 hours. So I looked it up.
No entry found for projectile vomit.
Did you mean projectile vomiting? (Seems I misspoke the phrase)
Suggestions:projectile vomiting
For better results, try our search tips:
Nausea Vomiting
Vomiting Treatment
Sick Stomach
Dog Vomit
Would you like to search the Web for projectile vomit? WHY YES I WOULD...

pro·jec·tile vomiting n.: Expulsion of the contents of the stomach with great force.
OR
Your six-year-old starting at 2 a.m. and continuing for the next 18 hours...
And to think I paled when she announced yesterday to me, "They sent me to the school nurse so she could check me for fleas."
We don't have fleas. But we do have vomit.
(sidebar to other mommies and daddies: Red Jell-O not a good plan until at least a day has passed).

Don't Take This Illiterately

2006-01-17T09:44:00.000-05:00

The 2005 published book "Life is Not a Fairy Tale" was written by Fantasia Barrino, a "functionally illiterate" singer. You know, I'm sure there are plenty of illiterate people trying to get published, but not having won "American Idol", they just don't have a chance. Life doesn't seem fair sometimes, does it?

This Just In...

2006-01-04T14:27:00.000-05:00

From my six year old. "Please don't look at what I'm writing, Mommy. It's my own personal beezwax."

Do You Know What I Know?

2006-01-04T13:08:00.000-05:00

Or do you hear what I don't hear?
This is going to be quick, but I have twice now read the article in which Pete Townshend warns the world not to use I-Pods because of potential hearing loss. PT apparently lost his hearing wearing headphones during recording sessions. His website states: "If you use an iPod or anything like it, or your child uses one, you MAY be OK. ... But my intuition tells me there is terrible trouble ahead."

HUH? Is it me, or is the absolute DUMBEST thing you have ever read? This is newsworthy?Hello, Doctor T, you are an electric guitar player. You played in a really loud band for many years. In stadiums with sometimes a hundred thousand people screaming. With amps cranked up to 11 (pardon the Spinal Tap analogy). But I'm sure it was less loud when you smashed your guitar into the amps than it was inside of your studio headphones. What about your fellow musicians? Thousands of them who have been in recording studios. Are they all deaf too? And why just i-pod? Why not personal CD players or MP3 players? Those really big headphones from the 70s...should I throw them away?

I suppose if Madonna is a children's book writer and Tom Cruise is a psychologist, why can't Pete Townsend be an audiologist? I once farted in the bathtub, so does that make me an expert in anything? Heck no, but if it was Brad Pitt, you could bet your tootie he would be the world's next jacuzzi genius.

Waxing and Waning

2005-12-17T19:12:00.000-05:00

Very recently I caught about 10 minutes of a daytime talk show, and the segment was showcaseing a woman who designs jewelry. She's extremely creative, successful, and has a appearingly loving husband and beautiful kids. Yet, despite this "yay woman" pat-on-the-back special, I found myself distracted by her eyebrows. The more I watched her speak about her life, the more I ignored what she was saying and stared at her eyebrows. Surely she knows they are so unruly! I thought. Didn't the crew of the show delicately suggest she do something about them before going on air? WAX, anyone? As my curiousity climbed, I couldn't help but wonder if it was really the eybrows that were bugging me or the fact that they didn't seem to bother her? Or her handsome husband. Or her kids. Or the people slapping cash on the counter for her wares. Yet I kept thinking how she'd be so much prettier without all that wild shrubbery above her warm brown eyes. But prettier wasn't what she was about. Or maybe she is quite content with it all. And feels beautiful. And doesn't need an eybrow wax to be a better woman.

I'm a little torn. Have I fallen prey to our appearance obsessed culture? Am I bordering on shallow? I'll admit it, I'm a girly girl. Love sparkles, perfume, clothes... but I don't think sporting all the flash makes me have less depth. I don't feel like I'm trying to overcompensate for anything. I just like to do that stuff because it's fun...and a little freeing for me at times. I once told a friend that I was convinced I was some kind of exotic, Egyptian cat in a former life because I was so attracted to shiny things...to which he replied, "Either that or you were a crow."

I didn't get the impression that woman felt like a crow. So maybe that's the point. I got how she felt, even though I didn't get how she looked.

Who Bit the Bitter Bar?

2005-12-15T19:40:00.000-05:00

I think it was perhaps moi. Big, huge mouthful of it. Upon reading again my last post, I realize that maybe I was leaking a little bit of resentment with a sprinkle of Scrooge. And the truth of the matter is that I really have only been annoyed by a few Holiday letters. My beef (besides single-spaced travelogues and bragfests) was that I was an unwilling participant in one particular letter of 2004. It was MY dirty laundry, and a third party decided a mass mailing was her perfect platform in which to announce to the Christmas Letter Reading world my personal BEEZWAX with her spin on it. The letter was sent to her people. And mine. It was also sent to me. I thought it was tacky, insensitive, and inappropriate. I had experienced enough pain, and didn't need a cup of Morton's dumped in the proverbial wound.

Hey, call me insensitive. Call me a little bitchy. Call me George, I don't care. My family says I hold a grudge. Maybe I do. Or maybe I just BLOG and try to move on.

Honestly, Happy New Year y'all!!

Merry Christmas -- My Life is Better Than Yours! Happy Holidays -- Everyone I Know is Sick or Dying!

2005-11-15T11:26:00.000-05:00

Couldn’t we all just write that and ditch the long form? The infamous HOLIDAY LETTER. The very first thing I’ll point out is that I am guilty of writing a holiday newsletter. It doesn’t make me better than anyone, but I did steer clear of tragedies and bragging rights. I’ll also point out that there are some holiday letters I ENJOY getting. My mother always writes a story of some kind. Another friend provides a one-sheet compilation of photos and captions. I like those. Some people have the gift of being entertaining and upbeat. Sometimes they make me feel warm and fuzzy. That is just fine by me.

It’s the OTHER letters to which I’m referring. The kind where people use the annual letter as their own personal reflecting pool of family trips and depressing obits. I have some tips for said people.

Dirty Laundry Is Better Washed and Worn at Home
Your perspective does not a Christmas letter make. Family business shouldn’t be displayed like a tacky, Christmas neon light. Telling everyone “sadly this year, my nephew came out of the closet and left his wife and three kids. We were devastated” only tells us you’re a gossip. I’m sure it wouldn’t occur to you to point out that the poor nephew’s family members are homophobes, the wife knew all along, and it was a horrible, grueling and personal process for said nephew. And far be it for you to include your personal laundry about how every Christmas Eve you like to tie your hubby up and make him wear your crotchless panties while singing Deck My Balls.

Oh My Aching.....
I don’t need a master list of ailments of every Tom, Dick, and Betty associated with your life. Cousin Lou's gout. Your aching back. Or that Aunt Junie Bug is having her eyes done. Stop. Please.

It Was A Balmy 78 Degrees on Our Fifteenth Day in Maui Accompanied By Our Genius Children
Tell me the last time someone said, “Oh, I went to Spokane Washington last week” and you stopped everything you were doing, sat down, and said, “Well, DO tell and don’t leave out a single detail”? Also, if Junior learned to walk when he was six weeks, keep it to yourself. You never know if Junior may end up armed in a clock tower in 15 years. Will that be in your letter? A holiday letter shouldn’t be your vacation itinerary or your kids’ IQ scores.

A Picture Paints A Thousand Words
Photos are great. A few words though. I miss you. As interesting as your kids may be, their growth progress over the years shouldn’t replace you. Send a family shot. Also, don’t send me one of your new house. Do you think people who live in small shacks are mass mailing pics of their humble abode? There is absolutely no other way to interpret a house shot other than you’re being an ass.

I'm not a Scroodge. It's just that if I want to be depressed or annoyed, I can always turn on the news. Believe me, a glittery card with smudgy ink and the imperfect holiday photo will make my day.

Witchy Woman

2005-10-25T13:52:00.000-04:00

So last year my daughter brings home a Halloween party invitation – for adults and kids. It boasts games, movies, and treats. Adults are also required to dress up – there are prizes for best costume, elaborate games, food, palm readings, sketch artist – you name it. I was a little intimidated and intrigued at the same time. Halloween is definitely my thing, so even though I don’t know a soul (including the host), I’m up for the challenge.

So I dig out the costume box. I sport a long, black wig, sorceress cape, long gown, purple lipstick, and other spooky make up. The costume is no competition from my 1992 Dead Prom Queen with the hatchet in her neck, but it will do. We bake a very cool graveyard brownie dessert. And we GO!

We arrive. Adults and kids galore and, well........I am the MOST dressed up adult. Possibly the most dressed up PERSON. The host is a witch and oohs and aahs over my costume, which she labels as witch. I think, thankfully I don’t know anyone here because when I bump into any of these people at a future event, they will have no idea who I am.

So I attempt to mingle - to no avail. Wives are clutching their husbands and giving the “do not talk to that person, honey” look. A few people nod politely, then impolitely turn the other way. Honestly, I wasn't that scary. Does my being single and the most dressed up make me seem on the prowl? Maybe... if I was dressed as one of the Slutz or a trampy devil. But ghoulish scary person with her cute Dorothy and Toto clad daughter? Not thinking I’m a big threat to Mrs. Put-On-a-Cat-Headband.

So the host wanders over and we chat a bit, at which point she explains how her 5-year old handed out all the invitations willy-nilly. “She wasn’t supposed to give them to everyone – just the soccer team!”

Soccer Mom I am not. So not only am I the most dressed up, but I’m NOT EVEN REALLY INVITED! The host didn't think it was weird that she told me what she did, so I blew it off for the moment. My daughter was having fun, so I decide to stick out the party a little longer. A glass of wine might have hit the spot at this point, but it was a dry party. Strike Three.

At the end of the night (which in reality was only about an hour later), I was hot and my fake hair was getting in the dip, so I took off my wig. At this point, the host freaked out. She couldn’t deal with me not being a brunette. She even asked me to put it back on.

* * *
For the rest of the year, whenever I see the Halloween Hostess, she mildly freaks that I don't have long dark hair with a white stripe. I’m like her personal ghost or something. And she oddly seems to like me.

This year, I get a REAL invitation to the party (the envelope was addressed to my daughter and The Witch). I showed up as a gypsy. With a long BLONDE wig (yes, to make a point). Everyone, I mean everyone was DRESSED UP this year. And I won a soccer ball prize for best costume.

Happy Halloweirdo!

Halloweens Past...

2005-10-20T09:30:00.000-04:00

A few howling moons ago, my child had her first trick-or-treating experience. It was quite an experience for her mother as well. Luckily I documented said event and have pasted it below for this post. (Okay, maybe a bit like cheating or regifting....but why not pull from the archives if possible? So what if it wasn't called blogging then, the intent was the same...minus the World Wide Audience)

SO,
I could see that magical day in my mind. I bought fabric. I sewed, broke a few needles, conned the sitter into threading the bobbin (I really had no idea what I was doing). Then I hand-sewed silk flowers to the skirt and tracked glitter all over the house. I made a wand...and a crown. I practically lived the few days before Halloween as a deranged would-be stage mother, playing down the fact that I made the costume....Oh, I just threw it together! (at midnight).

Halloween arrived cold and rainy. My child lasted about five seconds in the costume before announcing with conviction "I don't like my fairy princess costume." She then insisted I take it off (which of course I had to do because she pooped in it). She soon discovered the candy bowl and helped herself to her first tootsie pop, getting red, sticky candy juice all over her face (and eventually in my hair when she jammed said lollypop into my ear). Then she got a stomach ache. But I was still somewhat determined, and even though she was sans costume, I took her outside, hoping the trick-or-treating event might actually happen. And during the screaming fit of her telling me that she wants “to go to trick or treat", it dawned on me that she thinks it's a party. With swings. And why isn't she there? An hour and a half later, after constant screaming and her head making a 360 degree revolution, I threw her into the van hoping for some peace and quiet (no such luck) -- while listening to her Baby Songs tape for the 9 millionth time.

Once home, I popped some migraine medication, thought about breaking open a bottle of Scotch from the bar, and counted the minutes until her 7:30 bedtime when the (expletive) holiday was over. On the flip side, I got to eat all her candy.

I'm "It"

2005-10-19T08:09:00.000-04:00

I am honored to have received my very first Tagging from CJblue. I have been charged with writing 20 random facts about myself. My instructions are to tag 5 other bloggers. I don't know 5 other bloggers. I'll have to figure out what to do without seeming like a blogstalker!

Here goes...

1. I taught middle school English in Miami, Florida, where I received “combat” pay for teaching in the projects.
2. I started keeping a journal 27 years ago. I still have them all.
3. I love Jelly Bellies. Blueberry+Popcorn=Blueberry Muffin.
4. I moved 8 times by the time I turned 17.
5. I was born in the Motor City.
6. I detest mob movies.
7. I’m a good cook.
8. If I had money to burn, I’d own an obscene number of shoes.
9. Blonde I am. Dizzy I’m not (usually)
10. I lettered in track and tennis in high school.
11. I’m a closet “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” fan (well, anything Joss Wheden writes…)
12. I’m a soprano but have been known to sing bass and tenor in a pinch.
13. 4 colleges; 4 years; no summers; graduated on time.
14. I get wicked, insane, want-to-run-people-off-the-road PMS.
15. My very first rock album was Van Halen.
16. I’m a beer snob.
17. I am blessed with an amazing group of friends.
18. I’m a single mom.
19. My best friend and I had a secret language in Jr. High. We are still best friends but speak regular English.
20. I’m madly in love with a man who lives too far away.

Blog Trailer

2005-10-12T09:40:00.000-04:00

Okay, I know I'm behind. I promise I'm not being blazy. Just blusy. That being said, look next week for the possible following features....

Speaking of behind, I feel the need to add my ten cents to CJBlue's topic on Beauty and Weight.
Halloween approaches. Halloweens past brings to mind a few stories. Not ghost stories, but horrific nonetheless.
Christmas Letters. Not the "Dear Santa" kind. The "Two-page, single-spaced, let me take some time out of your life to talk about my cruise" kind. I realize we have a few months, but perhaps discussion about this topic may prevent some holiday tragedies.

Bastardizing Blog

2005-09-21T08:03:00.000-04:00

Been wanting to write, but lately I’ve been blogsausted. I’ve discovered myself morphing whole or parts of the word blog into new words. I call it Blocabulary. I am a child of the 80s, when Sniglets were running rampant. It's not an excuse, just an observation.
blogsausted: just plain tuckered
blog block: a more specific version of writer’s block
blogophobia: fear of blogging
blogbsessed: can’t stop reading/writing/commenting on blogs
blidiot: a blogger no one can stand
blix: getting your blog fix
Sniglet: not my word, but here are some old favs...
Blurfle (bler' ful) - v. To be caught talking at the top of one's lungs when the music at the bar or disco suddenly stops. (note ancient word "disco")
Arachnidiot (ar ak ni' di ot) - n. A person, who, having wandered into an "invisible" spider web, begins gyrating and flailing about wildly. (this happened to me yesterday, but the spider web was real)
Chalktrauma (chawk' traw ma) - n. The body's reaction to someone running his fingernails down a chalkboard. (the vision comes to mind of everyone's hair standing on end in "Better Off Dead")
napjerk (np-jrk) - n. The sudden convulsion of the body just as one is about to doze off. (especially funny to watch when someone did it in the middle of math class)

Is there a word for the person who is avoiding doing anything except half-blogging?

No Offense, But....

2005-09-16T11:22:00.000-04:00

I just did something that is big pet peeve of mine. I actually just began a sentence with the phrase "No offense, but..." Wouldn't you agree that the person who starts with "No offense, but..." isn't acutally intending not to offend you, they are just warning you to brace yourself for a majorly offensive remark about to spew from their mouth? I mean, let's get real, what should be said is, "I am SO about to offend you now, so if you don't think you can stand it, stick your fingers in your ears and make humming sounds until my mouth stops moving."

I checked out a website called http://www.wordorigins.org/ Pet Peeve wasn't on the list, but these were: Happy as a clam, Keeping up with the Joneses, Pay through the nose, and Dressed to the nines.

SO You're Getting a Divorce? Hmmmmmmm.

2005-09-16T10:57:00.000-04:00

Apparently I have blogophobia. It’s kind of like when I decided I was ready to get pregnant then didn’t have sex for two months. There was no immaculate conception; so i suppose there will be no immaculate blogging. A friend commented that I just have to do the free-flowing thing…talk about my day…or my week…or my life.

So let’s just jump right into this Me-Fest and talk about divorce. It is really a kick and a hoot. For those of you tired of the same humdrum of sticking needles in your eyes, going through a divorce is an option to consider. There are of course about ten thousand subjects I could drone on about. So, I’ll begin with one.

You think people are a certain way. Then you go and do something that goes against their grain, and BAM, things are revealed. I discovered that outside the courtroom, judgment was going to be a big part of this divorce. Aside from the true-bluers in my friendship circle (who believe me, became even truer), there were others who just didn’t do well with my divorce. With comments such as “did you try counseling?” and “what about your child?” and “can’t you stick it out?” and “how bad could it be?” and “how will you survive?” and “how could you rip apart your family?” I discovered that many of these comments were driven by unhappy, scared people who have taken up residence on Planet Denial and would rather blame and judge you than look into the mirror. And then I thought back to any person I knew who was going through a divorce. How did I react to it? Was I all holier than thou about staying married? Did I try to “fix” their problems or insist that they try harder? I don’t think I did. I think I thought it was none of my beeswax. But then again I don’t have any close friends or relatives who have gone through it.

And so with these people, the division line began. Those who supported me. Those who thought I was cockroach crap. Oh, I struggled with the judgment; believe me, because I can be a bit of a people pleaser. But I worked through it, and do you know what? Life is less complicated with those people no longer in my life. It made room for the ones who have given me more than I could ask for. It also makes room for all the new complications that have arisen….like feeling like a hootchie mama man-eater divorcee at your child’s first ever Halloween party, but that’s another entry.

I've Been Blogged

2005-09-14T19:28:00.000-04:00

I suppose I'm actually the blogger. We'll see.