My Three Sons

Torn Between Two Lovers

2012-01-17T19:01:00.000-08:00

I have a confession. I'm in love with another man. Actually, two other men.

Jon. Fortyish. Slightly greying at the temples. A bit on the short side. That's ok. (No one would describe me as tall - unless they were an oompa loompa). Sarcastic sense of humor. (I don't think I need to explain that one)! Politically speaking, we are totally sympatico.

I'm obsessed. I see him when I'm lying in bed watching tv at night.

The best part is that he's not always bothering me to have sex!!!! Yeah, he's happily married and has some kids. And, yeah, he lives in New York, and, yeah, technically we've never met. But I'm relatively sure we're soalmates!

You might have heard of him. He has a tv show. I'd like to say his name, but, given the marital situation, I probably shouldn't.

Then there's Steve. Very different from Jon, but, fabulous, nonetheless. He's contemplative (he wears glasses) in a quiet, yet loud, irreverant kind of way. He is inappropriately confident in his beliefs. If I didn't know better, I would think he was Bill O'Reilly! He's not. (Steve's way better looking). I even see them in my sleep - especially when I leave the tv on (for the light) - on mute, of course.

Stop pressing! I get it. He's married with kids, and I haven't technically met him either. But it's possible we're soulmates. Who are you to judge! Justin Bieber says, "never say never." Seriously. Can't argue with Justin! He's kinda cute. I'm not seventeen, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate his talent and charisma (I would throw in his cuteness but that might imply I'm a pedophile and I swear I'm not)! Crap, I already did.

It's late and now I remember how much I have in common with Craig Ferguson. He's from Scotland. My mother is from Ireland. (I know they are different countries, but they both have accents). He had a problem with alcohol and quit drinking. Oh wait. Nevermind.

Damn. Now I need to move to New York (for Jon or Steve). Or to LA for Craig. What's a woman to do?

I Lost. Nuff Said!

2012-01-17T14:22:00.000-08:00

I Never Met a Moose I Didn't Like

2012-01-17T12:11:00.000-08:00

It's frequently said that the moose, despite their cuteness, are actually vicious animals. Especially a mom moose with her baby (I don't know what a baby moose is called, so I'll stick with baby). This warning was again given by the townspeople during our recent visit to the mountain town, Grand Lake.

I'm a mom. I want to protect my children. But we were riding ATV's and came upon this mom moose and her baby by the side of the road. She didn't try to run or hide, and I wanted a picture.

I'm not totally irresponsible. I told my kids to slow down but not completely stop. I got the picture and no one died. It's all good!

A Day at The Beach

2011-06-18T12:37:00.000-07:00

I'm lying on beautiful white sand (plastic chair) on a deserted island (my deck). The birds are singing familiar tunes (ipod). There are no roads on this island which is fine since I totalled my camel (car). There is a plentiful supply of cold water (diet coke).

In a few minutes I am going to entertain myself by watching the wild life (movie).

Wait a minute. I hear voices coming from the ocean (front door). It's pirates (unspecified members of my family). Uh oh!

First Amendment - How Could You Fail Me Now?

2011-05-31T16:11:00.000-07:00

When I was in law school, I studied First Amendment Law with the visiting professor from Harvard - Archibald Cox. That's like studying philosophy with Socrates himself. Or studying the Bible with God himself. Or learning why E=MC2 from Einstein. Or how to get Adonis DNA from Charlie Sheen. You get the point!

No one in the world believed more in the importance of Freedom of Speech more than Archibald Cox. The First Amendment was "First" for a reason. The founding fathers felt exactly the same way.

Freedom of Speech is the most powerful right that people can have. Which is why it is the right most frequently denied in communist regimes and dictatorships. But despite Mr. Cox's ferocity in representing this right, sometimes, in practice, the consequences of practicing it are huge.

Just ask Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr!

I can't be more specific. But I have decided that it is not in my best interest to post Act II of A Midsummer Nignt's Nightmare.

Sorry. It was funny.

INTERMISSION

2011-05-30T16:44:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dN3GbF9Bx6E

"California Dreamin' by the Mama's and the Papa's.

A Midsummer Night's Nightmare Act I

2011-05-30T12:50:00.000-07:00

For those of you following the "Adventures of Skeletor," I have a new episode. This one is NOT a comedy. It's a true Shakesperian Tragedy!

In the most recent episodes, Skeletor moved to Colorado, moved to California, was banished 10 days later, then moved in with her brother in Chicago. Peace continued in the village of Lakewood.

ENTER CRUELLA: The psychologically-challenged offspring of Skeletor and evil sister of the tragic hero, Barbie, (aka me). Cruella had been lurking, I mean living in California where she had been banished for the previous 25 years.

Barbie never saw the foreboding doom.

Under the cloak of night, Cruella escaped. Rumor spread throughout the village of her hiding in a surrounding township. The village people (not the band) attempted to prepare. Phone numbers were classified. A moat was poured.

Strangely, a huge fire broke out in the precise section of the township where Cruella hid. A quiet whisper swept among townspeople. Did Cruella light it? Or was it the plotting of El Diablo? Cruella was forced to find refuge in a temporary shelter.

Anyone who studied English literature knows that every tragic hero has a fundamental flaw which leads to her ultimate downfall. Woe is me. Barbie has a shit-load of fundamental flaws. She's screwed!

One of her fatal flaws was her huge heart (which shows itself mostly after she has consumed large quantities of Friar Lawrence's Sleeping Potion (a.k.a. Coor's Light). Hearing of Cruella's misfortune and lacking in good judgment due to the Sleeping Potion, Barbie made the mistake of opening her door to Cruella, which opened the door to termites. As you know, once you get termites, you can't get rid of them.

Stay tuned for Act II.

Hitler Was Reincarnated Into My Son's Principal

2011-05-15T16:26:00.000-07:00

Today Brody "graduates" from elementary school and not a moment too soon!

The principal's name isn't REALLY Hitler. Nor do I mean to imply that she would engage in mass genocide (although the similarities are eerie).

Several years ago, Principal Hitler was transferred to our school. The school was adding another wing to the building. The construction materials filled half the parking lot. The rest was reserved for the teachers. Fair enough.

The construction was completed before the next school year. Parents continued with the standard procedure - driving in the entrance - dropping off their child - and continuing to the exit.

Hitler can't concentrate on issues relevant to teaching and education. She decided to focus on more important issues, like the parking lot. She decided the parking lot will be closed during drop off and pick up times. To that end, every day she places a huge yellow sign in the middle of the entry which states: PARKING LOT CLOSED

WHAT? (Dictators don't need approval for the things they do!)

Parents are ordered to drop their children on the street rather than in front of the building. The children are ordered to walk around the parking lot.

I"m no traffic engineer; but I don't understand how this is safer. Did Hitler minor in engineering when she was studying teaching?

There is no exception for rain, snow, or sub-zero temperatures Maybe Hitler finds watching kids get soaked, slip on ice, and catch pneumonia, entertaining.

Hitler isn't stupid. She quickly determined some parents (including me) were violating this critical policy. As in every good fascist group, insubordination is not tolerated. So Hitler stationed two sixth graders by the sign to enforce the rule. (I'm surprised she didn't give them a gun or at least a taser)!

Every lawyer knows that there are exceptions to every rule and there is one here. If a parent could provide to the gestapos satisfaction they had a reason to enter the school, they would step aside.

This is the Heil Hitler period.

I obey most laws. I obey rules only when they make sense. I'm a rebel :)

I was not going to be dissuaded by Hitler or two sixth-grade girls. I approached the lot, stopped to tell the girls I had to go into the building, dropped off my son, and exited the lot. Like I said. I'm a rebel.

I became a little cocky and would not come to a complete stop but indicated by hand gestures that I had to go in the building. What I didn't know was that Hitler had directed these cute little girls to inform on violators. The next day, I approached the lot as usual. This time the girls were on the side and a PTA Gestapo stood directly in the middle. Damn! I had to stop the car to avoid committing vehicular homicide.

(I know I don't obey all laws, but I do obey that one).

To both her and my surprise, we knew each other well and always got along fine. She must have been an undercover Nazi. She said the parking lot was closed. I answered with my tried and true response, "I have to go into the building." For some reason she didn't believe me (Whaaaat?) She began to start the "explanation" for the rule. I cut her off mid-sentence and sternly said, "Angela, Im not going to argue about the rule with you. I am going in." She responded, "Ok," and stayed in the middle of the entry. Again, sternly, I said "You're going to have to get out of the way." So, she did.

DUH, WINNING!

Nothing makes me happier than winning! Nothing makes Hitler angrier than losing! But I hate losing even more.

GAME ON HITLER! You just met Winston Churchill!

I sent a letter to the Superintendent of Jefferson County schools regarding my concerns about the safety of six-graders situated in the direct path of moving vehicles. They stopped that. DUH, WINNING!

I kept dropping off my kids in the parking lot. DUH, WINNING?

Then Hitler sent me a letter accusing me of "frightening" two children in the parking lot. (Cuz now the kids don't pay attention to cars in the lot). And if I continued to drive into the parking lot, she would have my sons kicked out of school based on my being a threat to the school. I researched this. Trust me! Turns out she could.

(I didn't know that Hitler had an atomic bomb.)

Now I have a dilemma.

Hitler has a vastly larger military who have proven that they will fight to the death to support her. I'm just one mom. I'm a lawyer. That helps. But if I lost, my kids would be kicked out of their school. Other parents who dislike Hitler as much as I do, and want her to be dethroned, encouraged me to continue the war despite the fact that they wouldn't enlist themselves.

Like Hiroshima, I decided the risk of a bomb directed at my children wasn't worth the fight.

I lost. Hitler won. And every time I see her, she knows it, and I know it.

Brody graduates today and will attend junior high next year. We're almost across the border!

HITLER MAY HAVE WON THE BATTLE; BUT SHE WILL NOT WIN THE WAR!

DISCLAIMER: Nothing here is asserted as fact. It constitutes opinion. (I'm a lawyer. I can't help it)!

Where Do You Get Your Air?

2011-03-26T19:29:00.000-07:00

Rockies Spring Training. This year in Phoenix. We arrived in today at about 3 pm (hence the half). Dan, Gunnar and Brody went to the Green Mountain High School game. I don't know why since we don't watch them when they are at home. Nonetheless, it gave Aidan and I a chance to go have some food and talk.

There happened to be an ENORMOUS Walmart near. I know you think ALL Walmarts are huge, so you get the comparison!

We stopped in the music section. I found "Greatest Hits of Air Supply!. OMG! I'm seventeen years old. I'm graduating from high school in New York. My mother flies out from Boulder. It's not lost on me that she wants to hang out with her friend, Margo, and my graduation is a convenient excuse.

So, we walked out of the ceremony straight into someone's wedding reception. I don't know who it was. The next day we hopped a bus to NYC for our flight back to Colorado. I'm not entirely sure who thought it was a good idea to take a bus to NYC, rather than just fly from Binghamton. All I know is that we missed our flight and had to sit in the airport for 4 hours.

\My mother would never show up at an event witnessed by other people without a present. So she gave me a Sony Walkman. Great. The problem was when I asked her to buy a tape to play in it.

Given the audience, she finally agreed. Guess what I bought? Air Supply :)

I listened to Air Supply sitting on the floor of JFK, and then on the plane. All the while I knew that I was leaving my friends - and my life. When the plane landed I was in Colorado.

And nothing was ever the same.

Zombieland

2010-12-15T12:51:00.000-08:00

xxxxxxxxx

Gunnar loves the move
"Zombieland."

xxxxx
So now he and Brody are zombies.

And Charmaine is a witch.

Ok, so it was just Halloween!

Charmaine made a haunted house and made several small children cry.

"Mom, You Look Like a Hobo!"

2010-10-18T18:27:00.000-07:00

ME: "Excuse me? Did I hear you correctly? You think I look like I am homeless?"

BRODY: "Yes. The homeless guy on "60 Minutes" looked better than you." "And your hair is all (He imitates the sound of an explosion and waves his hands in the air)."

Apparently, words cannot adequately describe how bad my hair looks in the morning.

All this from my little punk rock kid who likes to wear men's large basketball shorts with knee high black socks!

It's not fair! My boys can all flop out of bed, pull on shorts and a t-shirt (which they likely wore to bed anyway), and go on their merry way. When I do the same thing (at least I brush my teeth first ........ sometimes), everyone has a cow!

My boys are not what I would call "fashionistas." Yet they've already learned what women are supposed to look like. And they are embarrassed when I don't measure up.

I'd like to dismiss their opinions based on the fact they only have one X chromosome. The problem is that even my sister tells me I need to be on the show "What Not to Wear."

I routinely watch that show. (I'll have to admit that maybe, occassionally, I wear something similar to the clothes that are ridiculed on the show.) Still, I like my ripped up jeans and my Uggs and my sweatshirtsand my message t-shirts (like the one that says "This is what a feminist looks like") and, well, umm, you get the idea.

Ok, Brody, I'll put my hair in a ponytail and change out of my jammies before I take you to school. Are you happy now?

I Must Be Psychic!

2010-08-03T16:52:00.000-07:00

Skeletor called today.

She said that she's "not sure she likes it out there" (after one week).

I asked her why she didn't like it and noted that she hated it here, too. What she heard was, "So, I can move back there if I want?"

Where's my fricking receipt!!!!

Where's My Receipt?

2010-08-02T18:58:00.000-07:00

I just deposited Skeletor in California, and I didn't get a fricking receipt!

Why do I need a receipt, you ask?

Because the receipt is what says "All sales final," and "No returns!"

It's only a matter of time. One day soon, Trish is going to call me to inquire about the return procedure.

I need proof that there are NO returns! EVER!

I don't know what I was thinking! I'm a lawyer for Christ's sake! I'm supposed to know to get things in writing!

I know. It's an implied contract. No one would ask an elderly woman to give up her apartment, sell most of her belongings, uproot herself, and take her away from her favorite daughter only to send her back. Right?

Every lawyer aspires to argue a case before the US Supreme Court - I just might have one!

SKELETOR FOUND HER LICENSE BUT NOW REFUSES TO FLY. SHE WANTS TO DRIVE WITH US :(

2010-07-23T13:10:00.000-07:00

SKELETOR COULDN"T FIND HER LICENSE SO SHE MISSED THE PLANE :(

2010-07-22T13:44:00.001-07:00

Don't Cry For Me, Colorado!

2010-07-21T20:00:00.000-07:00

Have you heard the saying, "When God closes a door, He opens a window?"

Yeah, me too!

Bet you didn't know it went the other way.

This should be a happy day. Skeletor is getting on a jet plane in the morning to move to California. Ordinarily, I would be jumping up and down naked in the street right now. I thought that all of my "prayers" over the last three years had finally been answered.

There could be a day when I might not be insulted. I'm 46 years old. That's amazing!

There were parties planned! They were going to be catered! And fireworks!

Skeletor's door opened. My window shut! My door shut! My garage shut! My car door shut! Well, you get the picture.

Erin. She's moving to Colorado. Right now.

Be afraid! That's all I can say. She might read this!

Rockies at Spring Training

2010-07-09T20:54:00.000-07:00

These are Gunnar's favorite photos from Spring Training in Tucson.

Yes Briana, There IS a God!

2010-05-29T14:16:00.000-07:00

I've never been one you could describe as religious. I mean, my Uncle John spent 30 minutes lecturing my children on the "absurdity of religion" when he was in town last week.

But now I have to re-evaluate.

Ring Ring Ring

ME: "Hello"

SKELETOR: "I'm coming over. I need to tell you something, and I don't want to do it over the phone."

ME (to myself): This can't be good. The last time she said that she told me my cousin had committed suicide.

Five minutes later, the Skeletormobile pulls up. From under my bed, I heard Skeletor say, "Where's Briana?"

DAN: "She's in the bedroom."

ME (to myself): "Narc!"

SKELETOR (very seriously): "Sit down, Briana. My friend Trish (in California) called. She asked me if I would move in with her and her husband in their mansion."

ME: (to myself) I didn't take any acid, so why am I hallucinating?

SKELETOR: "Do you think I should go?"

ME (to myself): How long do I have to sit here before I start jumping up and down screaming "WOO HOO?"

"You'd have someone to hang out with, so you wouldn't be so lonely. There's no snow there. She probably needs you to help her deal with her husband's cancer. There's no rent. Sounds like that would be good for both you and her."

(to myself): What else can I come up with to convince her it's in HER best interest to move to California, not just MINE?

"We can help you pack. Dan can rent a U-haul and take some of his vacation to move you out. I'm sure I can get you out of your lease. When do you think you'll be ready?"

SKELETOR: "I'm gonna go."

PRAISE THE LORD!

(I hope this doesn't mean I have to start going to church.)

A Woman Without a Country

2010-05-23T19:24:00.000-07:00

I'm a woman without a country (ok, family).

You may recall the recent incident at my in-laws house, in which my father-in-law threatened to kick me out of his house because I almost said FU&%. While I don't agree with the notion that saying the word outloud is worse than a teenager doing it without protection, and, therefore, getting pregnant, this is the family that I married into.

This is the problem.

My uncle Peter (the one who still lives in Ireland) flew to Chicago for a visit. He jumped in my uncle John's van for a road trip (never said he was smart) and they arrived in Colorado a couple days ago.

So, we're in the middle of my uncle John's gourmet microwave dinner (in which everything is cooked in a microwave), and the obligatory lecture about the absurdity of religion, and, not surprisingly, a few swear words are mentioned.

I mentioned the aforementioned "incident" at my in-laws. John asked why I didn't actually SAY the word that was perfectly suited for the sentence. "Cause I didn't want to piss off my father-in-law," I replied.

I didn't think it was possible, but I got even MORE shit for NOT saying it from my family than I got for NOT saying it from Dan's family.

Their disappointment in my weenieish behavior resulted in a serious lecture about the appropriateness of the phrase, "Go fuck yourself," and my serious lapse in character for not having implemented that phrase when under attack by my in-laws.

So, I'm screwed by my in-laws if I say (or don't say)"fuck," and I'm screwed by my mom's family if I don't say it. WTF?

I'm a woman without a country (family)!

So what do I do?

Well, as they say, blood is thicker than water :)!

Play Ball!

2010-05-19T14:02:00.000-07:00

I just made this collage of Gunnar. I think it's cute!

Bad Mom of the Year (um Decade) Award

2010-05-19T10:28:00.000-07:00

The other day I had to apologize to all of my boys about my having dropped them or let them fall of the bed/couch/counter, etc. (several times each).

Why did I feel the need to apologize, you ask? They couldn't possibly remember (most likely due to the repeated head trauma).

Because I failed to destroy the evidence.

When my boys were babies, I started a journal for each one. I never did baby books for them, and I knew I wouldn't remember the cute things they said and did.

Apparently, I didn't remember the times I dropped them, either.

When we came upon the books recently, each child started reading their respective journals, thereby learning the truth about what a negligent mother I was.

Oops!

I still think they turned out ok!

Does Anyone Understand You?

2010-05-05T22:06:00.000-07:00

I just got off the phone with Dave. I met Dave when I was in college MANY moons ago. Ok, we all know how old I am, so I'll admit it's more than 25 years ago. I didn't know then, but he has turned out to be one of the few people who really understands me.

Weird!

He's been in California for almost as many years as I have known him.

Yeah, we agree on politics (more or less). And we discuss politics. Of course, he's WAY more knowledgeable about it than I am. But, that's not it.

He actually BELIEVES in me.

Again, weird!

That's never happened before.

Yeah, my sister believes in me; but that doesn't really count. She's related. She's kind of genetically required to (course that doesn't apply to Skeletor, but that's a different story)!

Dave and I very different, but very similar. He believes in me more than I believe in myself. And I believe in him more than he does himself.

It comes down to ego.

The people who have it are generally the people who shouldn't. The people who don't, are generally the people who recognize that, while they know alot, there is much more to know.

As Alexander Pope said, "A little bit of knowledge is dangerous."

I've gotten a little off-track.

My message is that there are people who believe in you. You just need to know who they are.

And I do.

How Many Ways Can My Inlaw Insult Me? Let Me Count the Ways.

2010-04-26T12:41:00.001-07:00

In case you are tempted to interpret these stories as my inlaws "joking," remember - these are not funny people!

1. When I almost said the word "FU#@," my father-in-law sternly warned, "Watch out, Briana; I kicked your mother out of here for saying that."

LESSON #1 You are not welcome in their house if you swear no matter how long you have endured them.

You ARE, however, welcome in their house if you are one of the several teen boys who have impregnated one of their teen granddaughters and you stick your tongues in each other's mouths in front of them. You can actually fuck. You just can't say the word.

2. While discussing some of the funny differences between the US vs Europe (such as having to shop in different places for fruits and meats, having to ask where the "toilet" is, rather than the "restroom"), I contributed that when I was in Ireland, I had to go to a "pharmacy" to find tampons.

My sister-in-law, Sandy, noted that I should have been prepared and brought tampons with me. I asked her if she knew how old I was (since us old gals don't have regular periods). She did, but I still was irresponsible for not bringing them.

LESSON #2 It is irresponsible to not carry tampons with you at all times.

It is responsible, however, to not carry a prophylactic or take birth control pills to prevent pregnancy when you are a sexually active unmarried teen - not once, not twice, not three times, but four (that's the number of kids, not the number of times having sex - four kids - three dads).

3. Speaking to my brother-in-law's girlfriend, my cousin-in-law's husband interrupts to warn her that she has reached her "Briana exposure limit." He added that he was just happy that I had dethroned him from his position as the most disliked person in the family.

LESSON #3 Speaking to me for longer than 10 minutes is toxic.

It is not, however, toxic to continuously insult me. (That's the best I can do here).

4. While discussing the day's crappy weather which involved sun, rain, snow, tornadoes, etc., I spoke enviously of how Charmaine said she was going to take a walk on the beach.

My father-in-law said, "Maybe she should look for work rather than walk on the beach."

Yes, employment is important, unless you have a parent or grandparent who will take you (and your dog), in rent-free, and let you spend your income which should go toward rent for a new car payment. Course, you might have wanted to shell out a few bucks for condoms, but that's another topic!

Dan's cousin's wife was asserting her philosophical position that law is a yes or no thing. I said, well, some aspects of law are like that. Maybe you can view criminal law that way since there's a guilty/non-guilty aspect (though that's not all it is). But the vast majority of law cannot be reduced that way.

Blonde Bulimic Bimbo: "Yes it is, blah, blah, blah".

Wait a minute, last time I checked I was the lawyer. You were the bimbo with large bozoombas whose claim to fame is that you drove the beer cart at a golf course and the drunk old men gave you stupid tips. And you ate a 7 pound burrito at some restaurant that entitles you to free food forever. (I wonder if you threw up since you are a size 0). Impressive! But what about that makes you think you know more about the law than a lawyer? Oh, you're in Dan's family; and I'm me. Well, there you go then.

5. DAN: "My mom said to tell you that you shouldn't drop off Brody and Tyler at their house without knowing if they are home or not. You dropped him off at their house after school and they MIGHT not have been there."

ME: "But they were there, weren't they?"

DAN: "Yes, but they might not have been."

ME: "But we went by yesterday so the kids could mow the lawn, but they said they couldn't since they had just fertilized, and they said to come by the next day after school, which is today."

DAN: "My mom said they might not have been there so you shouldn't leave them there without checking."

ME: "But they were home. What am I missing here?"

DAN: "It's irresponsible to leave kids somewhere when you don't know if the people are home."

ME: "I know. But they WERE home."

LESSON #4. I am an irresponsible parent to drop off kids at my in-laws house when they are home. (Apparently, at the age of 46, after being a parent of three kids for 16 years, I need to be told to not leave kids where there ARE grandparents, since they MIGHT not have been there even though they said they would.)

I could go on, trust me, but I think you get the point. And Dan doesn't understand why I don't want to spend yet another Mother's Day at their house tomorrow.

My Dog is a Murderer!

2010-04-16T17:30:00.000-07:00

I thought Sophie's worst problem was that she was an alcoholic (see earlier post).
Little did I know that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Yesterday was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining. The air warm. Flower buds beginning to break through the earth.

I had to go to the office for a will signing, so I left Sophie in the backyard to frolick in the nice weather.

I returned home and opened the door to let her in. She came bounding up the stairs wagging her tail and carrying one of her stuffed animals in her mouth.

But wait. The stuffed animal keeps moving.

"Holy mother of God, that's a half-dead squirrel in her mouth and she's trying to take her kill into my house!"

"Drop him, bitch!"

The injured squirrel staggers away and hides under the deck. But what do I do now? I don't want Sophie in the house now because she has squirrel-breath. But I don't want to let her outside because she'll finish off the cute little squirrel. I read the book, "All Creatures Great and Small" so I value ALL animals!

Course, the squirrel IS almost dead. And I REALLY don't have time right now to wash Sophie's mouth out with soap.

Ummm. Sorry, squirrel.

Eventually, I had to let Sophie back in the house. I opened the back door to call her in. And then I saw it.

Sure, it wasn't a horse's head like in the movie "The Godfather," but I got the message.

My pantry is fully-stocked now with real meat bones from the butcher. Every time she looks at me with that "Make My Day" look, out come the bones.

God forbid the day I run out of bones!

How To Annoy a Pro Baseball Player - Ask For an Autograph

2010-04-05T13:26:00.000-07:00

My boys are HUGE Rockies fans! Like many little boys, they admire and look up to professional athletes. (Brody wants to be one)!

All of our vacations are baseball-related. We drive to wherever Brody has a tournament where we watch tons of games in searing heat and humidity. (Most recently, our travels have brought us to exotic places such as Omaha and Kansas City.)

So when Dan suggested we travel to Tucson to attend a couple of Rockies spring training games, I figured, in the grand scheme of baseball vacations, we were improving. (The added benefit of the games being played by cute men, rather than cute boys, didn't hurt.)

After Matt Holliday left the team, I had to pick a new favorite player. It's this guy, Seth Smith. Tell me he's not cute!

The major draw of spring training, though, is the vastly increased likelihood of getting player autographs. In preparation, the kids bought Rockies baseballs.

Even I bought a hat (which I gave to Gunnar to get signatures since cute players don't sign middle-aged women's hats no matter how much cleavage they reveal - and I'm not saying that based on experience, it's just a guess).

They don't make it easy for the kids, either.

The fans start lining up in the designated area two hours before game time.
It's 90 degrees.

They wait. And they wait. And they sweat. And they wait.

Then it happens; a player has to walk from one building to the clubhouse. To do so, he must pass by this line of adoring fans who have traveled great distances for this one chance to get an autograph from the players they so admire.

CHILD:
"Hey (insert player's name, i.e Seth, Brad, Tulo ...). Can you please sign my (insert name of object, i.e. baseball, hat, program, shirt ...). Please. Please. Please."
PLAYER:

"Uh, sorry guys. (Insert lie, i.e., I'll be right back. I gotta get ready. I gotta eat....)

Eventually, a player goes by who remembers what it was like to be a little boy looking up at famous players and wanting to be just like them.

CHILD:
"Eric, Eric, Eric. Please sign this ball."

PLAYER: He stops, walks down the line, and signs as many autographs as he can.

Thanks, Eric Young, Jr. You're pretty cool!

That evening, we discovered Manny Corpus sitting in the pool area of our hotel. We sat with him and his family toasting marshmallows around the fire pit for an hour. Then he posed for pictures with each of my boys and each of their friends.

VERY cool!

Tucson - Day One - Planes

2010-04-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

Now that I peaked your interest about the planes, I feel I can't let you down.

This is the Air Force One that carried the recently-deceased JFK back to D.C. while Johnson was being sworn in to office.

Here are some more planes.

Uh, more planes.

Well, you get the idea!

2010-03-29T16:22:00.000-07:00

Sorry, Charmaine, that I haven't written another post.

I am in Tucson right now for the Colorado Rockies Spring Training, but I'll update you just as soon as I get home. I'm sure you can't wait to hear about the Air and Space Museum, which has a million old planes, including JFK's Air Force One.

Tomorrow we are going to a Rockies game. My goal is to get some players to autograph the hat that I bought today. Dan said to show a bunch of cleavage to increase the odds. Whatever it takes!

Aaaaagghh! I Am Being Stalked!

2010-03-04T15:40:00.000-08:00

Celebrities are stalked by obsessed fans. Some women are stalked by ex-boyfriends or secret admirerers.

Not me. My stalker is way scarier.

It's Skeletor!

I am like one of the three little piggies (ok, stop laughing) trying to keep the big bad scary wolf out of my house. A mission, I am finding, that is much more difficult than it sounds.

I was naive (stupid). I willingly gave the wolf (Skeletor) a key to my house (my brain). When I finally realized wolves cannot be housetrained, I took back the key.

But what the little piggies knew (and I didn't), was that the wolf (Skeletor) doesn't need a key!
Nor does she need to blow the house down to get in.

The Tool Box:

Answering Machine: "I know you're not answering because you know it's me (duh). I feel so sick. If you don't hear from me by 10, check on me because I might be dead."

Doorbell: Ring. Ring. Knock. Knock. Ring. Ring. Knock. (Turn off the tv. Beg Sophie to be quiet). Ring. Ring. Ring. Knock. Knock. Knock. Sound of door opening (Crap! I forgot to lock the back door!) Skeletor leaves a note on the table for me to find which describes how cruel I am.

Note to self - lock back door.

Driveway: The wolf knows that the little piggie arrives home after picking up the littlest piggies from school at 3:30. She arrives at 3:00 and waits. Then she follows the littlest piggies into the house, knowing the main little piggie can't kick the wolf out of the house in front of the littlest piggies since they already think the little piggy is mean to the wolf.

Relatives: "Briana, this is your Uncle Michael (your very intimidating Uncle Michael who loaned you money for your first year of law school despite the fact that your sister had borrowed oodles of money and never tried to pay it back and I only call you under very extraordinary circumstances and the only thing I hear about you is the bullshit that Skeletor tells me but I don't know any better).

Me: "Um. Hi."

Michael: "Your mother sent me a bill from a credit card bank about an $11,000 cash advance that your sister charged on her credit card 3 years ago. Aren't you a lawyer? Isn't that fraud or elder abuse? Can't you take care of this?"

Me: "Well, I did. And, no, it's not fraud since Skeletor put Erin as an authorized user. But I directed them to stop calling Skeletor and only contact me in writing as permitted by the Fair Debt Collections Practices Act 3 years ago.

Michael: "Well, your mother just sent this bill to me and John. We can't pay this. Can't you help her?"

Me: "I did, 3 years ago, when I stopped the harrassing phone calls. They are only contacting her now because she let Erin send a letter to them asking for proof it was a valid debt, which is weird since she knew it was a valid debt, so it opened the door for the company to start contacting Skeletor directly again."

Michael: "You need to help her."

Me: "I did help her. But she let Erin send this letter without letting me see it. Like when she co-signed on Erin refinancing her house to get $80,000, and when she stopped paying her mortgage, they started calling Skeletor, and I stopped that, and then Erin sent Skeletor papers to sign and told her specifically to not show them to me and she signed them anyway, thereby eliminating any leverage that I had in my attempt to save her ass again. Blah blah, blah..........)

Michael: "Blah, blah, blah, on Skeletor's side, blah, blah."

The gist - he helped me pay for law school, and I won't help Skeletor.

Swoosh. 2 points - Skeletor.

UPDATE

Two days later, Skeletor said to me: "I'm gonna talk to Michael and ask him what he said to you that made you not talk to me since then."

Several more days later:

Ring, Ring.

Me: "Hello"

Michael: "Briana, this is your uncle Michael." I received a letter from your mother. She said to stay out of her life because I said something to you and you won't talk to her. And she said she can't hear and is lonely and wants to die."

Me: "Uh. Really? I don't know what you're talking about. She stopped by here twice yesterday and everything was normal."

Michael: "Well, she said to get out of her life and that she wanted to die; which is what Michael (his son) said to me right before he killed himself." (which was just a month ago and Skeletor knows that). Ok, I'll call her now."

This was a 3-pointer. I don't help her and now I make her want to die. Actually, that was out of the park! I bow to the master.

The Only Man Who Ever Broke My Heart

2010-02-26T16:46:00.000-08:00

Richard L. Peterson

January 15, 1934 - October 6, 1981

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwCykGDEp7M

My Olympic Moment

2010-02-21T13:41:00.000-08:00

The ladies figure skating competition in the olympics is going to start soon. Are you as excited as I am?

When I was a child, I LOVED ice skating. Not just watching - actually skating. I begged for lessons. I didn't get them for the same reason I didn't get gymnastics lessons - Skeletor wasn't interested.

She was, however, interested in piano, ballet, and irish dancing. I wasn't very good at any of them. Charmaine was great at all of them (that bitch)!

Charmaine felt bad for me. She tried her hardest to convince Skeletor to let me have ice skating lessons, or even take me to a rink to just skate - to no avail.

She was undeterred. It was winter in Connecticut. She knew it was going to snow. She took the garden hose to the front yard next to the driveway and set about pouring water. By morning, the little puddle was frozen. She brushed off the snow. And there it was.

My own personal ice skating rink.

I strapped on my skates. The rink was no more than 7" long and 5" wide. Just enough to skate forward a bit and do a little twirl. If anyone drove by, I'd try to stop really fast. I knew I had to look like a freak. But it was worth it.

Like Frosty the Snowman, the rink would soon melt. Until the next storm when, without fail, Charmaine would be out in the front yard with the garden hose.

Thanks Charmaine.

Can Reality TV Help Me?

2010-02-14T10:13:00.000-08:00

There seems to be a consensus that I need the help of reality tv.

Not just one show - several.

My neighbor thinks I need to be on "Clean Sweep," which if you recall makes you get rid of all of the crap in your house. I agree with that assessment; but it's no longer on the air.

My sister, Charmaine, thinks I need "Super Nanny." I have to disagree with that. I don't think my kids are so bad. And what does she know? She doesn't have any kids (although those are usually the people who think they are experts)!

Brody thinks I need to be on "What Not to Wear." As much as I would like $5,000 to shop in New York, I won't, because they would make me get rid of my favorite violations - Uggs, torn up jeans, and turtlenecks in every color. Not gonna happen!

I appreciate all of their suggestions; but the only reality tv show I want to be on is "Wife Swap."
Doesn't this look like fun!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYNymvtbWw4

The Ties That Bind

2010-02-09T17:34:00.000-08:00

A little over a week ago, I flew to Chicago to attend the viewing for my 46-year old cousin, Michael. He committed suicide.

I hadn't seen Michael or his siblings for quite a while, though I chatted with Michael on Facebook recently and had received an email from him 5 days prior. I'm not going to say we were close, though over the years, there were times when we were.

Michael went to college in Denver. I remember the night that my mother and sisters arrived home from the hospital where my father had just died at the age of 47. I don't know why, but Michael was standing outside our door. The five of us went in the house and sat in shock at what had just happened.

Fast forward 29 years later, and I am in shock again. But this time, it's Michael.

In the midst of the trauma, there was something good.

I was able to reconnect with my other cousins and meet all of their children. I was a little uncomfortable at first, but it didn't take long to find my way back to the cousins that I had once known.

Enter Mark. The youngest of that batch.

Four years apart isn't much now; but when I was 16 and he was 12, it was huge. He was a brat. A fun brat, but a brat, nonetheless! He's not a brat anymore; but he's still very fun.

He happened to have an overnight in Denver a few days after I returned (he's a pilot), so he came over for a few hours. One by one, he enchanted each of my boys. They played guitar and drums for him. He played piano. He encouraged them to do their best.

And then, just when I thought he couldn't impress them anymore, he pushed the coffee table out of the way and started teaching them how to wrestle.

xxxxxxx

None of us could stop laughing.

xxxxxxx

xxxxxx

xxxxxxx

xxxxxx

Now Mark has taken up the cause of making my family healthy. We are all under strict orders to do at least 50 push-ups and 50 sit-ups every day.

xxxxxx

We have a chart.

xxxxxx

My arms are sore!

Skeletor Statistics

2010-01-21T13:34:00.000-08:00

68 - Number of times Skeletor has left a phone message in which she states she feels absolutely awful and instructs me to call her in the morning in case she's dead.

59 - Number of times that she has arrived at my house shortly after leaving one of the afore-mentioned messages with no apparent health problem.

675 - Number of times Skeletor has demanded that I say "thank you" for things like starting my dishwasher, bringing in my mail or newspaper, etc.

0 - Number of times she has thanked me for saving her ass in the NUMEROUS legal problems that she brought on by herself.

1 - Number of times Skeletor walked around to the back of my house and let herself in through the back door after finding the front door locked. (Once, because it only took once for me to learn to lock the back door when I leave).

1 - Number of times she has refused to leave my house when asked, and, instead, told me to call the police.

5 - Number of days before she visited following the birth of her first grandchild (Aidan).

50 - Number of minutes she stayed.

5 - Number of times she has called Aidan a "bastard" or"liar" to his face or accused him of doing drugs in her car.

0 - Number of significant life-events that she attended sober i.e., college graduation, law school graduation, wedding, etc.

969 - Number of times she has made negative comments about my or my family's weight.

46 - Number of times she has implied that I am jealous because I weigh more than her (103 lbs).

98 - Number of my kids' events, such as orchestra performances, choir performances, talent show, games, that she has been invited to.

14 - Number of my kids' events that she has attended.

14 - Number of my kids' events in which she criticized the students, talked through, or left early.

545 - Number of times since then that she has complained about not being invited to my kids' events.

My Dog is an Alcoholic

2010-01-10T18:12:00.000-08:00

I know you have never heard of a canine alcoholic. I am willing to admit that it is entirely possile that Sophia is the first.

Why, you ask, do I believe my adorable Goldendoodle to be an alcoholic? Let me explain.

Occasionally, I drink beer. And more occasionally, I drink beer while doing something on my computer, at which time, I place the beer on the floor (the fact I don't have a table nearby is another matter).

Every once in a while, Sophia would trample by and "accidentally" knock over my drink. Typically, at this point, I would utter a few swear words (especially if there was no more beer in the fridge).

Then I would run to the kitchen to get a towel to dry it up. But when I returned, Sophia would be licking up the beer left in the carpet. I thought this was funny, but then this sequence of events occurred more frequently.

You might assume that the frequency of this occurence was relative to the frequency of beer bottles being on the floor. That would make sense, wouldn't it? And yet, it's not.

My dog is an alcoholic.

Her first taste of beer following a spill may have been unintentional, but, clearly, that was all it took for her to be hooked. She's a smart dog. She immediately understood the sequence of events necessary to provide her with alcohol.

Sure, she puts on a good cover. She comes bounding over to me with her tail wagging. A naive person would believe she wanted to play. But I know the truth.

So now I put my beer on a table.

Conversations With Children

2010-01-08T19:22:00.000-08:00

1. On the way to basketball practice:

BRODY: "McKenna and I think that when someone dies, they come back as someone else."

ME: "That could be true. I don't know."

BRODY: "I think I lived in Japan and my name was Takito."

2. After Charmaine put hair extensions in my hair producing the illusion of great length and volume:

BRODY: "That looks good, mom."

ME: "I know. Do I look younger?"

BRODY: "Your hair looks younger."

3. After I finally realized that Gunnar was trying to get in the house since he forgot his key and it was fricking freezing outside and he had been out for a while (he didn't ring the doorbell, so it's not completely my fault):

ME: "Gunnar, what are you doing?"

GUNNAR: "Trying to get in a window. Thank's alot mom." (spoken in a very sarcastic tone)."

ME: "Where's your key?"

GUNNAR: "In my room." "And on top of that I just found out that that an 8th grader killed himself over Christmas break and I knew him."

ME: Very huge gasp with hands over my face. "Oh my God. What happened?"

GUNNAR: "His parents were fighting and he went and got one of his father's guns and shot himself."

ME: Another very huge gasp. "Oh my God."

How to Corrupt a Minor

2009-12-31T22:06:00.000-08:00

Charmaine arrived in Denver on New Year's Eve.

Very disappointed in her younger sister's lack of coolness, (as evidenced by having no plans for the most celebrated night of the year), she immediately asked for directions (and a ride) to Party City.

A party - ok. Guest list: Dan, me, our 3 boys, our 14-year old niece, Chandler, and 11-year old nephew, Burke, and, of course, Charmaine.

Party supplies: party hats, tiaras, blowy things, silly string, balloons, and maybe a little alcohol.

Sounds good, right? A little family-friendly gathering to usher in the new decade. What could possibly go wrong?

Balloons - helium balloons. In innocent hands, the biggest consequence of balloons is a popping sound when it escapes and hits the popcorn ceiling or when a child sits on it.

That was before Charmaine showed the kids how to inhale helium. See for yourself.

Vegas - Where Old Stars Go to Die, or Live, Depending on the Situation

2009-12-09T13:09:00.000-08:00

You gotta love Vegas! I don't, but clearly, someone does.

Michael Jackson informed me that my $1 "tip" for having my photo taken with him was inadequate. He needed at least $2.

I'm not sure what he would've done if I didn't give him another dollar. Maybe throw his red lipstick at me!

Elvis was much cooler!

Ok, so I didn't get a photo with the young Elvis. Or the old Elvis. Or the old, fat Elvis.

I DID, however, get a picture with the dwarf Elvis. (Bet you didn't even know there was one)!

mmm

Of course, I bitched to my friends about the horror of the clear exploitation of this man, but they told me to shut up and smile. (photos to follow)

But, the highlight absolutely had to be Donny and Marie!

mmm

I was 10-years old again. And my bitch of a sister had a Donny poster on her wall, ergo, I couldn't. I had to settle for a poster of David Cassidy. It was so wrong!

mmm

On a different topic, I want to know how it is that I go to sin city and end up giving free legal advice on divorce to the stranger who danced with my friends?

mmm

Seriously? He didn't even buy me a beer!

Sophie's Choice

2009-11-20T15:43:00.000-08:00

I'm not a psychologist or anything - but I'm thinking that Sophie's choice of chew toys is a symbolic backlash against our male-dominated society that subjugates and sexualizes females (apparently of all species).

(This is an athletic cup, in case you didn't know.)

"Run, Brody, Run"

2009-11-19T09:49:00.000-08:00

BRODY: "Mom, can we go to church today?"

ME: "No."

BRODY: "Why not?"

ME: "We just don't do that kind of thing, honey."

BRODY: "But mom, all of my friends do it."

ME: "If all of your friends jumped off a bridge, would you? Now stop whining and go play some more video games, or you're grounded."

Our Christian neighbor offered to take Brody with them to church last Sunday in an attempt to save one of the Lord's lost lambs. Great, I thought. One experiment with organized religion would definitely break him of this nonsense.

I waited for him to come home.

ME: "How was church, Brody?"

BRODY: "Good."

ME: "What did they talk about? The Bible? Sinners? Reverand Sun Yun Moon? Taking
the Lord's name in vain?"

BRODY: "No." (Whew!) Just stuff about encouragement."

ME: "Those bastards!"

If I didn't know better, I'd think they were trying to brainwash our children like that damn Obama did when he spoke to the schools. They must be stopped!

Does anyone know a good cult deprogrammer?

I Dreamed a Dream

2009-11-18T18:24:00.000-08:00

I dreamed a dream that everyone who has now been introduced to Les Miserable through Susan Boyle could see the song being sung by a professional.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pScod6sfNpw

How To Make a Rapper

2009-11-10T21:13:00.000-08:00

Luckily for Charmaine, my son knows how to beat-box!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHwjL-tgPf8

Poop vs. Vomit - That is the Question

2009-11-05T20:09:00.000-08:00

My sister and I believe we possess superior intellect. Our brains have a constant need for challenge which is not satiated by conversations with normal people.

And since our friends and family are mostly "normal" (and I use that term loosely), we find we must save discussions of the most intellectually-challenging imponderables between us.

For example: Why did our father marry our mother?

Why are there Republicans?

Why don't any of my kids look related even though I know, for a fact, they
all have the same father (despite a few suggestions to the contrary
from the in-laws)?

Is there any man hotter than Keith Urban?
(Ok, so we don't discuss that. I just happen to think it's true.)

Today's topic, (drumroll please), What is a better indicator of love - poop or vomit? (We can thank OneMoreMom's blog for inspiring this topic today.)

The argument for poop:

From the day you have babies, and every day thereafter for many years, you are cleaning up poop. Sometimes it's green. Sometimes it looks like marbles. Sometimes it's never-ending diarrhea blowing out of a diaper in every direction all over you, clothes, carpet, etc. But you clean it and their bottom's up, because you love them. A lot!

The argument for vomit:

From the day you have babies, and almost every day thereafter(although decreasing in frequency), you are cleaning up vomit. At first it's mainly spit-up (which is really funny when someone offers to hold the baby after you fed him and they don't first get a towel). Then, when associated with a stomach bug or the flu, it becomes a projectile known to fly many more feet than one would think. And they vomit on you, your bed, your carpet, etc. Vomit has been known to produce the gag reflex more often than poop, but you clean it up, because you love them. A lot!

We're pretty much equal at this point.

The argument against poop:

From the day you meet your significant other, and every day thereafter, you are totally disgusted with their poop, as well as, the odor that lingers in the bathroom. You find yourself screaming at your significant other every time they pass gas outside of the bathroom, particularly when confined in a moving vehicle, and you find yourself wondering how you can jump across the car, open the door, and throw them out.

The argument against vomit:

From the day you meet your significant other, and every day thereafter, you are totally disgusted when you overhear them vomiting in the bathroom. Although you are a little more sympathetic. I mean, they are sick. You still find yourself (silently, of course) wishing they would close the freaking bathroom door.

In conclusion, when it comes to kids, you love them despite their proclivity to poop and vomit. When it comes to spouses, you hate both, but you're a little less judgmental about the vomit, and if you didn't love them, you'd bail.

So, I conclude that vomit is a better indicator of love. What do you think?

Tomorrow's Topic: Why won't Charmaine look for a job?

My Best Friend is a Bitch!

2009-11-05T16:47:00.000-08:00

This is Sophia.

Ok, Sophie.

I wanted to name her Maggie, but apparently she was attached to the name that she had been given at birth and the year that followed thereafter (that bitch)!

She's a Goldendoodle (golden retriever/poodle mix). We got her from the Golden Retriever Rescue Shelter. Apparently, the owner was being treated for lung cancer and couldn't take care of her anymore. The Rescue people said they could hear the owner's 10-year old son crying in the background as they took Sophie away.

Bummer for him!

Baseball Slideshow Hell

2009-11-05T09:55:00.000-08:00

I spent every fricking one of Brody's baseball games taking pictures on the sidelines, in the dugout, through the fence, etc. I was even hit in the ribs by a baseball that the 1st baseman failed to catch. That hurts!

My thinking was that since none of the other parents had a good camera like mine, they all might appreciate photos of their kids. Better yet, how about a slideshow dvd for all of the kids?

So day after day, game after game, I took pictures. Literally, thousands of pictures. Then I painstakingly categorized pictures by child, by action shot or candid, by batting, sliding, etc. (you get the point) then compiled the best of the best accompanied by appropriate music with certain photos matching up with certain lyrics.

In other words, I have been obsessed!

Just as I am coming to an end of this excruciating process, I learn that the team is dissolving (that's a story in and of itself).

But here's a very small clip of the DVD that almost sent me to my grave.

Vocabullyishness (Re-post)

2009-11-05T08:28:00.000-08:00

Don't feel bad if you don't know the meaning of vocabullyishness. I'd tell you to look it up, but you won't find it there. Why not? Because I coined it.

Ya see, I'm sitting at work catching up on Maureen Dowd's columns in the New York Times, when to my great vexation, I stumbled upon an unfamiliar item in the lexicon - solipsism. I moved on to her next column, and there it was again, solipsism.

What is the meaning of this curious word, I pondered, that it would be felicitous in two sequential columns? Extreme egocentrism. No, I'm not talking about my mother right now. It's the definition.

Do you ever discern that some writers take pleasure in bestowing words they cognize no one will comprehend? To the ambit of being loquacious? Me too. I deem this praxis to be an impudent essay to cause us sycophants to feel middling.

In other words - vocabullyishness.

"Santa Isn't Black"!

2009-11-05T07:48:00.000-08:00

(This is a re-post. I have writer's block!)

When's the last time you heard THAT at a Christmas party?

I heard it last night. Uttered by a 7-year old girl, embroiled in an argument with, you guessed it, a black Santa. Santa tried, in vain, to explain to her (over the raucous laughter) that there were, in fact, black Santas. "Just go out to East Denver".

She wasn't buying it.

I can't really say I blame her. I had to convince black Santa himself (as I was delivering my Santa suit a few days earlier) that there ARE black Santas. As proof, I showed him my Christmas ornament of a black Santa sitting at a piano.

He didn't buy it either.

Of course, until recently, no one thought that there would be a black President in the near future either. Which would lead one to think that times are changing, right? But change is slow, and racists never change their spots. (They just blot on a little concealer). But every woman knows that concealer doesn't work for very long.

I discovered a heavily "made-up" man at Friday night's Christmas party (which had no black Santas). We were having an interesting conversation about the First Amendment. Some of you might think that those are mutually-exclusive terms, but they're really not. (Previous readers will remember that I took a class in First Amendment Law taught by Archibald Cox).

Anyhoo, there was a small hullabaloo a while ago when a kid wore a t-shirt to school that said something about Obama being friends with terrorists. The school decided that the t-shirt was disruptive. They gave the kid the option to turn the shirt inside out, change, or be suspended. He chose to be suspended.

His father immediately alleged this was a violation of the First Amendment. So this guy at the party brings this up with a very strong belief that the First Amendment was, indeed, violated.

As someone who took First Amendment Law from the man who argued more First Amendment cases before the US Supreme Court than anyone else, and who had the most impact on how the First Amendment continues to be interpreted to this day, I explained to this man that kids in school do not enjoy the same First Amendment rights that the rest of us do.

This man was so annoyed that I felt I had to explain that this wasn't my idea. It's just the law. For a moment, I thought I had a real card-carrying member of the ACLU in my midst. But later, as he dismissed the notion of respecting others' religions, I realized that he was just another bigot.

I bet he would be surprised to know that Santa is black. (And God is a woman! )

The Backyard - Before and After

2009-10-29T15:59:00.000-07:00

I HATE winter!

Seriously!

Crocodiles Beware - Mom's In Town

2009-10-22T19:29:00.000-07:00

Following my failed attempt to leave my mother in Ireland (see previous post), my sister and I were discussing where else we could send her. Maybe Florida. Lots of old people live in Florida. There's a beach. There's no snow.

More importantly, there's no me!

There are, however, TONS of crocodiles in Florida!

Do you know what creature is higher in the food chain than a crocodile? What makes a crocodile swim away shivering in his boots? There's only one creature that inspire fear in the cold heart of a crocodile

Skeletor.

Charmaine and I agreed that we could potentially be paid a great deal of money to send Skeletor to Florida. She could single-handedly stop the ploriferation of crocodiles in Florida without using any traditional weapons.

After minimal exposure to Skeletor, the crocs will lose all of their self-esteem. They will believe that they are too fat and will become anorexic (which is good for the 2-year old unsupervised children playing around the swamps).

It's a win/win!

Does anyone have Florida's phone number?

My Bucket List

2009-10-18T20:42:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday. I am now 46. I am on technically on the downhill slide into 50.

My mother came by today to deliver my birthday present - two pounds of bacon. She also sent me a card that said that she loved me in spite of myself and that I didn't treat her like a mother, but she wished I did. (Happy fricking birthday to you, too!)

Last month, while drinking a couple (maybe more) pints in a pub in Ireland appropriately named "Bar Undertaker", my uncle John (the psychiatrist) asked me and my cousins if we were to die tomorrow, would we be satisfied with what we had done in our lives.

Tom said "Yes." Deirdre said "Yes." I said "No."

They looked at me, mouths agape, and asked, "Why not?"

Because I haven't changed the world yet. Duh! They responded uncomfortably that I better get going. So it got me thinking. What DO I want to do?

1. Hold an elective office.

2. Go to Paris.

3. Go to Russia.

4. Relearn French and Russian.

5. Grow a couple inches.

6. Write a book.

7. Take my kids to Ireland and show them the jail my grandfather broke into, thereby getting shot, the hospital next door where my grandmother helped him escape saving him from execution and everything else there.

8. Get paid for taking photos.

9. Live where there's no snow and where there is an ocean.

You may have sensed that I haven't put a lot of thought into this. Anyway, how about you? What do you still want to accomplish?

October 6

2009-10-06T20:40:00.000-07:00

My father died 28 years ago today. Weird, huh! I was just shy of 17 then. Today, I am just shyof 46. I remember the year that I was alive longer without him than with him. It's strange.

It's been a long time.

The last time that I saw him, I was a very different person. And his absence in my life has probably shaped me as much as, if not more, than his presence.

But I miss him. At least the him that I expect he would be right now.

He would be so thrilled to have grandsons. Not because they were boys. But because they were mine.

Digital cameras. You have no idea how much my father would have loved those!

And I wonder what he would think of me now. With everything that I've done right, and everything that I've done wrong. Of course, he would love me - but what would he THINK of me?

It's strange to seek the approval of a person who doesn't exist.

The photo is my dad and sisters in Ireland around 42 years ago. Charmaine and Erin are wearing wigs. Apparently I refused to wear one. I guess I have always been stubborn :)

The Great Escape

2009-09-28T14:15:00.000-07:00

I begged my cousin to keep driving.

No, I pleaded.

I didn't really want to leave my uncle in Ireland, but sometimes collateral damage is necessary for the common good.

He stopped. Damn it! He must not love me!

Tom should've been with me about this. In the middle of our 8 hour drive across the country to pick up Charmaine in Dublin, (don't get me started on that), Tom pulled over and said he had to go to the bathroom. He hightailed it across the street into a pub.

Given the opportunity to pee, I ran after him. He was not, in fact, in the bathroom. He was sitting at the counter ordering a beer. He told the bartender that he had to get away from "the two old farts" who were driving us nuts in the car. Understanding his frustration, I joined him.

Eventually the 2 old farts found us and we got back in the car.

I think my Skeletor and I need to take a trip to Africa!

You might wonder why I would want to leave Skeletor in Ireland. That is, if you haven't met her.

The Gormleys Are Vicious!

2009-09-23T14:58:00.000-07:00

I know they look like a sweet pair of 86-year olds in Ireland. That's their cover.

When I was a helpless 2-year old in Ireland, I attempted to escape the insanity that is my family. In the cover of night, in my jammies, I surrepticiously walked 2 doors down to the Gormleys house.

I quietly knocked on the door just as they were headed to bed. They let me in. I was saved.

My grandmother discovered that I was missing and headed to the first place she thought I would go - the Gormleys. (Damn, I knew I should have hidden in the bushes!) She attempted to retrieve me from my safe haven, but I refused to go with her. Even at 2, I had a keen sense of self-preservation. Defeated, my grandmother went home alone.

Yippee! I had a new family :) !

For the next few days, my grandmother came back to abduct me. But, I wasn't born yesterday. I was born 724 days earlier. So, just like Anne Frank, I hid in the attic. (I hadn't read that book yet, but great minds think alike.)

Eventually, the Gormleys made me go back with my grandmother. I'm pretty sure there had to have been a threat of violence. My grandparents were well-known in Ireland for their involvement with the IRA.

Still, the Gormleys abandoned me. I never saw them again - until last month.

I had been waiting for 43 years to tell them how much they screwed up my life by making me go back. But I couldn't do it.

They had to be the sweetest old couple that I've ever met. They gave us tea and "Digestives" (which are fabulous cookies with chocolate on one side). So I forgave them.

I mean chocolate - who could ask for more!

Why I Hate Vegetables

2009-09-16T18:54:00.000-07:00

Very few people know how to make a proper vegetable tray. Many have tried - but most fail.

Seriously!

I know what you're thinking. How hard is it to throw some veggies on a plate with some ranch dressing? Or for the less motivated, grab a plastic tray at the grocery store.

That's where you would be wrong.

After my father died, my mother tried to start a catering business. My sisters and I were required to help. We each found our particular niche. Charmaine is artistic, so she was able to carve apples and other food items into things like swans and people.

I'm not sure what Erin did. I think she just walked around with trays of hor's doevres looking pretty.

For some reason, I had a HUGE problem with serving people (It could be that "false pride" Charmaine keeps saying I am cursed with). But that's neither here nor there.

I discovered that my particular talent was repeatedly plunging my hands into ice cold water until my hands were blue in order to grab elegantly carved crudites that had spent the night in ice water and then placing them in an aesthetically-pleasing (some might say anal) fashion on a tray covered with leaf lettuce and then completed by clumps of parsley separating each type of vegetable. My veggie tray is a beautiful thing. Seriously. I sooo wish I had a picture!

You might think that the tray pictured above is a nice veggie tray. You would be wrong. Look at the carrots and celery - they're not even stacked straight with the same side down. There is no reason why one should be able to see the stalks of broccoli. Each flower should be placed in such a way as to hide the stalks of the previously placed flowers. I'm too distressed to even address the problems with the cucumbers!

The problem now is that I cannot look at a vegetable tray without mourning the beauty that it could be. And, God forbid, I am MAKING a veggie tray. The process of cutting the veggies in such a manner that they will flair in a particular manner following a period of time submerged in ice water, followed by the meticulous placement of each carrot and broccoli flowerand others, followed by parsley separating each type of veggie, around the outside of the tray, and between the veggies and the dip, takes AT LEAST three hours which consist entirely of me screaming profanities at the fricking radishes that didn't turn into roses.

I know that sounds insane to most of you. (It actually sounds insane to me, too.) My husband picks up on my stress (God knows how), and asks why I can't just put veggies on a fricking tray like a normal person. (You would think he would know by now that I am not normal).

I keep doing this, even when mere mortals have no idea the time and effort required to produce such a thing of beauty, and, therefore, do not lavish me with appropriate compliments. I understand. They haven't done it. But at the end of the night, if the veggie tray remains mostly intact, I have been known to slip into clinical depression.

I'm not a perfectionist. In fact, I put very little effort into cooking (as my husband would attest). But a veggie tray? That's when the gloves come off.

Grocery produce guy - be afraid! I have a party coming up.

A New Generation of the IRA

2009-09-12T17:41:00.000-07:00

You may have thought that the fighting between the IRA and the Brits was over. I'm here to tell you, Ireland is growing a whole new set of terrorists.

Look at these rebels. I was just walking down the street in Tralee, (during the Rose of Tralee Festival), when I was accosted by these heavily-armed rebels demanding euros in exchange for a picture.

But I knew how to handle these terrorists. Afterall, my grandfather was in the IRA. So I outsmarted them. I enticed them with quarters, which they accepted under the naive belief that American money is worth more than euros.

It was about then that their leader (ok, their mother) came out of a store and summoned them to their tank (umm, her car).

As they say, "One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter."

Are You Feckin' Gorgeous?

2009-09-06T14:40:00.000-07:00

I ask this, because, according to the men in Ireland, I am.

Ok, so it's just Irish men over age 70.

Well, I guess it was just ONE man over 70.

Ok, so he was drunk, in a dark pub, and he had one eye, but still, he said I was "feckin' gorgeous" and that's good enough for me!

No, it wasn't this guy! Jeez!

I have heard it suggested that the Irish spend a little too much time in the pubs.

I don't know what they are talking about!

Two Messed Up Moms

2009-08-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

The other day, Skeletor, a.k.a., my mother, made one of her daily surprise visits to my house. From my living room, I can see her drive around the corner. Typically I jump up, grab my keys and run out the door muttering that I was just running out to go to (insert fictitious location here).

But I wasn't dressed yet, so I knew that I would have to suck it up and stay there. (From now on I am going to sleep in jeans and a t-shirt to make sure I am always ready)!

When my mother walks in the door, all conversation, activity, tv show, meals, etc. must immediately stop so that we can pay full attention to whatever she has to say.

Her favorite topics are as follows:

1. "My dog wouldn't poop this morning. Or my dog went right
out and pooped."

2. "Do you think it's going to be hot/cold/rain/snow?
Or alternatively, "Weathermen lie."

3. "Dan, check the oil in my car" (which he just checked a week ago).

4. "I am getting so fat. I weigh 110 lbs. How much do you weigh, Briana?

5. "Have you talked to Charmaine? She never calls me. Is she looking
for a job?"

The rest of her statements comprise of a plethora of veiled (or unveiled) insults and attempts to invoke guilt that I have ruined her life or that she is going to die soon.

On this particular occasion, Gunnar was sitting across the table from me. In the middle of one of her diatribes, he looked at me and very seriously said, "Mom, I am so sorry that you had to endure this as a child. I understand why you are so messed up."

I'm not kidding. He really said that.

I burst out laughing. Gunnar was laughing. Skeletor can't hear anything other than herself so she had no clue. It was funny. And sad. But mostly funny!

This is Gunnar playing his guitar at Red Rocks Ampitheater. He's going to be famous one day. Trust me!

http://mythreesons-briana.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-son-rock-star.html

My French Connection

2009-07-31T11:21:00.000-07:00

Aidan came home from school one day with a brochure about a foreign exchange program, whereby teens from France come stay with a host family in America for 3 weeks. The object of the program is to help the kids practice English and also to show them the "real America" not seen on TV.

I already have 3 boys, 4 if you count the 7-year old from across the street who practically lives here. What's one more?

So I said, "where do we sign?"

Two months later, we were at the airport picking up Etienne - a 14-year old from outside of Lyon.

He was shy and my boys were a little shy. The first thing they did was play fooseball. Aidan was on one side and Etienne teamed up with Gunnar. He very quickly determined that his fooseball skills were greater than theirs, so I heard him ask in his heavily-accented voice, "I play against you two?" I had to chuckle.

My husband apparently felt that the louder he spoke to Etienne, the more likely he would understand him, while Brit, the 7-year old neighbor, spoke to Etienne like he should understand everything he was saying.

The next day, they all went to the park to play football (American football which French people don't do). Upon their return, Gunnar said, "He schooled us!" And so it went, Etienne played Aidan's bass guitar, piano, video games, etc.

My kids soon discovered that Etienne was just like them - just from another country.

We took him to a Rockies game where Brody got one of the players to throw him a baseball. Etienne was thrilled when Brody gave the ball to him. We went to a water park, an outdoor concert in the mountains, golfing (which was funny since no one knew how to golf), bowling, a drag racing track. My husband's co-worker has a dragster so he let Etienne sit in it.

His first specific request was to go to Abercrombie & Fitch. There Brody discovered a fondness for expensive clothes. He bought a shirt which was on sale for $28 with his own money, which he wore continuously for the next 3 days.

We introduced him to the American tradition of eating plates and plates of nachos for lunch and watching tv.

The two requests he made were to eat at Burger King, and to buy peanut butter to bring home to his mum.

Speaking of gifts, he brought us all gifts from France. Most importantly, a bottle of Chanel #5 for me and a small vial of Prada perfume. The Prada is FABULOUS! I have now forced at least 10 people to smell my arm.

Anyway, it turned out to be a great experience for my family and for Etienne. As we left the airport, Brody said that he already missed Etienne and could we go to France to see him.

Etienne invited us to visit him in France. (He has a grandmother that lives on the French Riviera, so I'm thinking that's a pretty good idea!)

My Sister's Knees

2009-07-31T10:40:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be just like my big sister. She was much better pianist than me. A much better ballerina. A much better artist. A much better gymnast. Much more sociable and funny.

Not much has changed about any of that; however, I have one more characteristic to add - flair for drama.

For example, her latest escapade entailed a dramatic "rescue" from a rock by a helicopter, boat and hunky lifeguard. The medical trauma which resulted was a few bruises on her knees. (For photos and a complete story, see her blog).

I hurt my knees, too!

I was taking a walk around my neighborhood to get a little exercise. As I attempted to cross the street, I stepped on the curb, which slopes to the street - not straight up and down like a normal curb.

My foot slipped resulting, not only in my diet pepsi becoming airborne and landing several feet in front of me, but me crashing to the pavement.

My first thought was that I was going to break my arm since I am getting old and my bones aren't as strong as they used to be. My second thought was that my afore-mentioned weak arms wouldn't be strong enough to prevent my face from crashing into the pavement (which, given my vanity, would have been worse).

Luckily, neither happened.

Instead, just like my big sister, I bruised my knees. And if you ask me, they're a lot worse than Charmaine's knees. But I don't have the fabulous story she has. I just went for a walk.

It's so unfair!

A Dog's Life

2009-06-23T17:27:00.000-07:00

I grew up with dogs. (No, I am not referring to my sisters). Hee, hee.

First there was a brief encounter with some kind of dog that my father brought home which my mother wouldn't let us keep. Then there was some kind of little dog that kept running away.

Eventually, we settled in on a German Shepard puppy named Karla. Every day, without fail, my dad worked on training her to heel, walk, sit, stay, etc. Most impressive was her adherence to the rule of not setting one paw off of our property (no matter what she was chasing).

But, at 6 years old, I didn't care much about that. I cared about being able to pet her, lie on her, talk to her, kiss her, and have her grab my hand in her mouth to lead me somewhere. She was my best friend.

Then just before 6th grade, we moved to South Carolina. I don't know if it was the heat or humidity or both or neither, but Karla developed hip problems (which I know are common in German Shepards). Nonetheless, it became harder for her to get up and she spent much of her time resting in the backyard.

Then my parents sent us to Chicago to visit our uncles for a few weeks.

When we returned, Karla was gone. Not just gone from the yard, or gone from the house - just gone.

With no warning, my parents had put Karla to sleep. No conversation with us, either before or after.

Emotion is only acceptable when displayed alone.

Skip to 30-ish years later. I have married a man who is allergic to dogs. (The marital contract should have a contingency whereby a dog allergy is grounds for termination of the contract). So, I have wanted a dog for the last 18 years.

As luck would have it, I went in to a liquor store a while ago (that's not the lucky part) and there was a big, cute, light-colored, curly-haired dog. I asked the owner what was the breed of the dog and they said a golden retriever/poodle mix (hereinafter referred to as a goldendoodle). She told me that she was allergic to dogs, but not this dog (due to the poodle part).

Time passed and the next time that I was in the liquor store (ok, several times later), I asked the guy in the store if he knew where that woman got the dog. The gist of the conversation was that the dog, "Winston," has a sibling who belongs to some people who didn't realize that the dog would be more than 40-50 pounds and there was a distinct possibility that they might want to find it a more suitable home.

I excitedly wrote down my name and spent the next few days waiting for my dog connection to call. My grand plan was to surprise my husband on Father's Day with a dog, despite the fact that he doesn't want one. (This is what happens when you've been married for fricking decades.)

Father's Day came and went.

Last night, Aidan asked me if I would take him driving. I said, "sure," and promptly directed him to the aforementioned liquor store.

I explained my dog dilemma to the man at the counter (while purchasing my beer). He said that he knew the dog of which I was speaking and that my connection would be in on wednesday, and that I should await further communications.

Tomorrow is wednesday.

Woes of a Parent With a New Teenage Driver

2009-06-17T22:32:00.000-07:00

My 15-year old son got his permit today. I'm scared! I've been dreading this day since he was born.

He asked if he could drive home from the DMV. Oh sure - it's a light blue bug (my husband won't even drive it during the day) - it's a manual - and we would have to drive on the highway. I DON'T THINK SO!

So we negotiated a deal whereby I would take him to Subway for lunch and he'd stop asking to drive. (You all know what a great lawyer I am, and, I am sure that his acquiesence to such a deal had nothing to do with the fact that he knows he can't drive a stick).

That being said - do I not have an adorable car?

Viewers are sucked in by the seemingly girly, sweet, Barbie car (really, it is the Barbie car), and then they see it - evidence of my undeniable obnoxiousness.

I can't help it. I have now reached an age where I don't care if I annoy people. And, frankly, I find it fun!

I guess the apple really DOESN'T fall far from the tree (see previous posts about my mother on both my and my sister, Charmaine's, blogs). It just took a while for my apples to become ripe!

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

"Mom, I can be your designated driver". Uttered by Aidan in an attempt to provide incentive for me to teach him how to drive sooner, rather than later.

White Boy on a Black Radio Show

2009-06-02T19:42:00.000-07:00

This is a test. I somehow was able to load the videos from the video camera onto my computer. I saw sections that I wanted to post. And now I can't find them. I'm confused.

Jesus is Letting Me Down (Business Card Update)

2009-05-19T19:26:00.000-07:00

No, not THAT Jesus - the Jesus who is purportedly designing my business cards.

I'm thinking the other Jesus may, indeed, have a problem with my lack of participation in organized religion. As a result, he is impeding the ability of Office Depot Jesus to complete the design of my card, as well as, my ability to contact him (and by "him," I mean Office Depot Jesus).

Jesus takes a lot of days off.

Which Jesus am I talking about? You decide.

Jesus is Designing My Business Cards

2009-05-09T17:27:00.000-07:00

No. Not THAT Jesus. It's the Jesus at Office Depot. The real Jesus doesn't communicate directly with me like he does with George Bush. Although I think that Jesus is working through the other Jesus to provide me with a fabulous business card.

I don't think Jesus minds that I don't go to church and don't believe in God, do you? Jesus clearly cares about the downtrodden which makes him a Democrat. And Democrats don't discriminate against others on the basis of religious beliefs.

So, he wants the economy to rebound since it's the downtrodden that were all screwed by the rich assholes on Wall Street and the banking system.

For the economy to recover, unemployed people(like me) need to find jobs and make money which they can then inject into the economy by buying shoes. (At least that's what the "experts" say, and who am I to argue with them!)

My theoretical law firm is going to do bankruptcy and tax resolution. I know what you're thinking. Technically, I can't make money unless other downtrodden people are in dire financial straits. Cause if the economy recovers and there are no more downtrodden people, who is going to hire me to file for bankruptcy or argue with the IRS?

Does this mean that Jesus and I DON'T want the economy to recover? Noooooooo! Of course not! Jesus wants to help the downtrodden so they can buy shoes. Ergo, I need downtrodden clients.

Ok, Now I'm confused. But answer me this, why else would Jesus be designing my business cards?

Dolly Cannot Compete With Gunnar

2009-05-09T17:05:00.000-07:00

Gunnar has been performing the character, Rudolph, in the junior high musical "Hello Dollly" for the last three nights. This is his version of heaven.

Not one to gush about my kids, I have to admit that Gunnar has an amazing stage presence and charisma. Only he could take a relatively minor role and make it unforgettable.

Don't forget his name. He's gonna be famous some day!

Leprechauns and Mysteries

2009-04-25T16:33:00.000-07:00

In a brief lapse in my parental judgement (ok, stop laughing), I taught my son how to "Ding and Ditch" on St. Patrick's Day. He was a little reluctant at first, but then he caught on pretty quickly. (The apple doesn't fall far from the tree)!

I know what you're thinking, but, no, we didn't leave bags of flaming dog doo doo on my neighbors' front porches.

We left packages of homemade Irish Soda Bread with homemade raspberry jam with an anonymous note quoting an old Irish proverb. (We had to deliver the bread in this manner, because, as we all know, leprechauns never allow themselves to be seen).

To accomplish this feat, I spent two days in the kitchen baking bread. At one point, I left 4 little loaves cooling on the counter while I ran to pick up a child. When I returned, 2 of the aforementioned loaves were missing and there was a pile of bread crumbs on the living room floor.

Who would attempt to sabotage my secret leprechaun efforts? Was this the work of the British?

Damn them!

I knew they'd never gotten over my grandfather's participation in the Irish Republican Army and the resultant loss of control over some of Ireland!

But wait. Who is the only person (or mammal) to be able to surreptitiously single-handedly (or single-pawedly) get into my house without any human assistance?

Sprocket. That bitch!

Readers of previous posts will remember Sprocket. http://mythreesons-briana.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-have-been-adopted.html

At least I know she appreciates high quality authentic Irish bread! And now I know not to leave food on the counter even though I don't own a dog.

The Colorado Mountain Men

2009-04-24T10:24:00.000-07:00

Aren't these the cutest little mountain men you've ever seen! This is from Brody's 4th grade musical which was about the early days of Colorado. (Brody is on the left). These 3 are also little baseball rockstars (are those terms mutually exclusive?)

That's my baby on first base. I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing he got the guy out.

Brrrr! I Thought You Said This Was California!

2009-04-24T10:21:00.000-07:00

Just when you thought you were ready for summer!

Business 101 and virginity

2009-04-02T22:22:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I never got around to writing an actual post about the radio performance. For information about it, go to my sister's blog. http://charmaine-greymatters.blogspot.com/ She's a better writer anyway.

I've been busy trying to start a law practice. It's supposed to be for bankrupty and tax representation. I feel kind of bad that the only reason that I am doing this is because the economy is so bad that there is a rising demand for this kind of thing. I really don't like taking advantage of other people's desparation. But I have bills to pay, too. And I did work really hard and incur alot of debt to get through law school. I'm so conflicted!

Starting a business is much harder than I thought it would be. Apparently, lenders want me to put up my own money and be personally liable for a loan. I don't like that idea. And, other than Wells Fargo, no bank seems to anxious to loan me money. (It couldn't be due to the collapse of the economy and the amount of "toxic assets" that banks have, right?)

I don't think I'm toxic. I usually refer to my mother and other sister that way. (Again, see Charmaine's blog or one of my previous posts a while back). When my mother came over today (again), I tried to hide under the covers of my bed. My oldest son, Aidan, told her that I had gone to the store. But, alas, she found me. Crap!

She then somehow launched into a diatribe about how she and her brothers were virgins when they got married. Did I mention that Aidan is 14? I tried to stop her, but, no, she doesn't listen to me. I'm still not sure how that started. (Did I also mention that she never, ever, ever, discussed anything about sex to me or my sisters.)

This is my baby. He's a sweetheart! But now he knows more about my mother's sex life than any kid should know.

Radio Stars

2009-02-24T10:14:00.000-08:00

This is a just a teaser until I have a chance to write a post. It's 2 of my sons and my sister, Charmaine, recording at a hip hop radio station (which aired later that night). Very fun!

Am I Interesting?

2009-02-19T13:17:00.000-08:00

Ok, Charmaine, I'll do it. I'll come up with a list of 10 interesting things about myself. (Charmaine is my older sister - I have to do whatever she says!) Of course, it all depends on your definition of "interesting."

1. In college, I majored in Soviet Studies. I don't know why.

(Although I used to be able to read this.)

2. I'm a lawyer. I don't know why.

3. When I was about 9, my sisters and I took Irish Dancing lessons and participated in a few competetions. Once I was doing a 2-handed soft jig (that means 2 people and shoes that don't make tapping sound) with my sister, Erin. All of the other competitors had done a hard jig which required different music, so we were the only pair on the stage.

We were very cute in our little dresses and long hair in pigtails. Early in the dance, I turned to go on the next step before I was supposed to. There was an audible "aaaaaahhhhhh" in the audience in recognition that we were now going to lose. We did lose. Not even third place! 35 years later, I still feel horrible for making my sister lose. I once told this story to her with the expression of my guilt, and she didn't even remember it.

4. I love to sing. I'm not good so I only sing in front of my kids. Brody says I should be on American Idol. Isn't that sweet? Did I mention that he's deaf:-)!!

5. I want to go into politics. It's the only profession less respected than law, so I don't have far to fall! My problem is that I'm not good at politics. Oh sure, I know the issues and I know how to best help the world. It's the public speaking, schmoozing, and being nice to morons that I can't do. I also hate rejection.

6. My hero is Anita Hill. She held her ground with the stupid male U.S. Senate with dignity and intelligence. She is singularly responsible for identifying, giving a name and advancing methods of recourse for the epidemic of sexual harassment that has affected millions of women. She rocks!
http://www.netglimse.com/celebs/pages/anita_hill/index.shtml

7. I almost had a panic attack when I realized that I was doing one of the same damaging things to my kids that my mother had done to me. I can't tell you what. It's damaging to their self-esteem, and therefore, damaging to my future "Memoirs of A Great Mother" book.

8. Which reminds me thatI am fanatical about correcting my kids when they use the word "good" when it should be " well." I'm sure it's annoying, but I really do think that people who say, for example, "You play baseball good" sound stupid. The problem is that the reason for my fanaticism is that growing up, my sister, Erin, used to harass me about this. "You do good things and you do them well." It's not only etched in my brain from her, it is now etched in my kids' brains. (Although, I still don't think that is such a bad thing.)

9. My first job was at Shakey's Pizza when I was in high school. We had to wear light yellow t-shirts. The problem was that I was short (and still am), so when I leaned over the pizza to get the required toppings, my bosom would land in the pizza sauce, thereby leaving red spots on my shirt, much to the amusement of my male co-workers.

10. I truly believe that Bon Jovi owes their success to me. Ok, maybe I exaggerate. In the mid-80's my best friend, her sisters and I bought tickets to see them in concert. That may not sound very remarkable, but keep in mind that Bon Jovi was the opening act. They were not quite famous then.

In hopes of gettng the best damn general admission seats that we could, we decided to sit outside the stadium for the entire day. There were people in line passing their time smoking pot and drinking. Not one to miss a good idea, I walked over to a liquor store, bought a 12-pack of beer, and carried it back to our group. Within minutes, a group of security guards came and confiscated the beer. We said we would take it to our car, but, noooooo. (I guess they were planning a fun night, too.) That was a lot of money to me back then. I was pissed.

So, we waited and waited and waited without beer. When it was close to opening time, we began discretely moving closer to the front of the line. When the doors opened, we made a mad dash to the floor and ended up in the 3rd row. Very cool considering how far back we started. (All's fair in love and Bon Jovi)!

I will never forget Jon, Richie and the other guy with their long flowing locks, walking in a line together, playing their guitars, crouched over, across the stage, singing Livin on a Prayer. (It looked way cooler than it sounds).

This brings me back!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GccfzxHIXaY

After they left, we had to listen to Ratt. They suck.

I Like 'Em Chunky

2009-02-15T20:29:00.000-08:00

When I first saw this title, I thought it was referring to either peanut butter or cookies. (or better yet, peanut butter cookies).

It doesn't.

It's a song from Madagascar 2 in which the male hippo asserts his preference for "chunky" females. I am concerned about the message that this sends to the females of other species. What are female giraffes supposed to think? No matter how much they try, they won't be able to gain enough weight to compete with a female hippo.

Hippos are naturally big. Giraffes aren't. They can't find fried mozzarella sticks on the savanna in Africa. Zookeepers don'tcooperate. They blatantly ignore the pressure on giraffes to become obese by their insistence on serving them leaves.

Look at this poor giraffe begging zookeepers for a Big Mac and fries. I feel her pain! Not a day goes by that I don't wish for the same meal.

This hippo just turns his back on the giraffe. He won't even talk to her. He's an ass!

Question for Computer Saavy People

2009-02-10T19:04:00.000-08:00

I have a dvd of my son's talent show. I want to post just his performance, but I haven't got a clue how to do it. Can anyone help?

My future rock star thanks you!

My Brush With Fame (ok - Tom Jones)

2009-02-06T09:57:00.000-08:00

I've been asked to recount for all three of my faithful readers my meeting international music sensation, Tom Jones.

Remember him? "She's a Lady (woh, woh, woh.") "What's Up Pussycat." "Delilah."

It's 1982 - well past Tom's prime. Someone hears that Tom will be performing in a small theater in Denver. For some unknown reason, my mother, her friend, my sisters and I decide to go even though this will mean that we have to drive from Boulder to Denver (which for us was a big deal).

We arrive at the theater to learn that the show has been cancelled. The reason given was that Tom was sick. Ok. Now what. We're in Denver - we have to do something. Someone suggests the bar at the Fairmont Hotel (I'm 19 years old, but what the hell do I care).

We enter the lobby and head for the bar. Imagine our surprise when we see Tom with a small entourage walk right by us and into the restaurant. WTF! Not only did we drive from Boulder, but we didn't get our money back for the tickets.

So we go in the bar and have a couple drinks. My mother's friend, Trish, and I take a short walk to, um, powder our noses, me still bitching because Tom wasn't fricking sick. She comes up with an idea whereby we go into the restaurant and ask him why he cancelled the show. I say ok. Then she says, "You go first. You're younger."

The entrance to the restaurant is guarded by what appears to be tuxedo-wearing Gestapo. My thinking is that if you behave like you belong somewhere, people will often let you go there. I was nervous, but I stood up straight, looked straight past the Gestapo, and walked through the entrance quickly scanning for Tom's table. Score!

Curved booth on the right. Tom directly in the middle facing the aisle. Two people on each side. We stopped at the table. I looked directly at Tom and they all looked at me. I said, "I was just wondering why you cancelled your show tonight?" I knew he was expecting me to ask for his autograph, but I was waaaay to cool for that. I just wanted a fricking answer.

He said something about the theater cancelling it due to not enough ticket sales (boy, I wonder how that happened). I told him that we had driven all the way from Boulder and never got our money back. He said that they were going on to Texas and we should go there. I said, "Yeah, I don't think so."

He may have apologized. I don't really remember. So we walk out of the restaurant and my mother's pathological liar friend tells me that when we tell this story to our group, we need to add that Tom asked us to sit down for a glass of champagne. I personally thought that the story was good enough as it was, but I went along with her story. (Remember, she didn't say squat during this whole thing and now she not only wants to share the glory, but the glory isn't even good enough).

That's my brush with fame. (I never said it was impressive)!

In a wacky twist, we met a few "Argentine political leaders" who were in the US for something. My mother invited them to our house. They came. I don't know why. It was a weird night!

I can only dream that I saw this in person! Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sI5LWwC-cE8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvmyTZEqlo8&feature=related

Whatever Happened To Remington Steele?

2009-01-17T21:05:00.000-08:00

I just watched the movie "Mamma Mia." I have one question for the casting director.

Were you on crack? Acid? I'm really trying to understand why you would cast actors who can't sing. Were you aware that this is a musical?

And to you actors - hasn't anyone told you that being a famous actor doesn't necessarily mean that you can sing? I was the most upset about Pierce Brosnan. He is a very bad singer.

During college, I had a huge crush on Pierce Brosnan. He's soooo handsome and suave. I always watched Remington Steele. I even lost a boyfriend to him once. (Bear with me. This is gonna take a while.)

It was 1985. I was in my last year of college. One night my friends and I went to Denver to go to a bar (we were in Boulder so that's quite a trip - 36 miles). We took a quick tour through the bar to just to see, umm, the scenery. Upon seeing a VERY cute guy, we looked at each other with the silent "he's cute" look.

While on our second tour (we just wanted to be thorough), the Cute Guy asked me to dance. I said no. Not because he wasn't cute. We've already established that he was VERY cute . But it was rock music. I can't dance to rock music. I can only do R&B and I didn't want to humiliate myself no matter how cute he was.

My friends would not take no for an answer. So I finally gave in and danced with this ridiculously cute guy that every girl in the bar wanted to dance with (Woe is me!)

Cute Guy asked for my number. I gave it to him. He called. And we set up a time for a date. Exciting, huh? (This is where it gets fun.)

It's 6 a.m. on the day of the aforementioned date. I get a call from my uncle in Chicago that my sister (not Charmaine - but the sister we don't speak of) had tried to commit suicide. She was in the hospital in Boulder and I needed to go get her. Since I didn't have a car, one of my roommates dropped me off at the hospital. I was instructed in no uncertain terms to take her home, clean up the blood so that she wouldn't see it, and never leave her alone.

(Did anyone there know that I was 20 years old - and I had classes to go to - and that my mother was in Chicago - and that my sister had physically attacked me the night before in my apartment tearing my robe into shreds and scaring the crap out of my roomates - and more importantly, I had a first date planned with Cute Guy?

Apparently not.

We get in the house and the first thing she does is make a bee-line to the bathroom - the scene of the attempt. Crap. I screwed up the first instruction. I tried to remain calm, but I was pretty sure my failure was going to result in her death. I set about to clean the bathroom as quickly as possible. There was a lot of blood. I don't like blood.

My mother, under the sage advice of her two psychiatrist brothers, decided not to come home early. Didn't she know that I didn't want to be responsible for my sister's life (especially since I didn't like her) and I had Cute Guy coming over our first date? And he was coming from Denver? And I didn't have his number?

My cousin came over so I wouldn't have to stand-up Cute Guy. He arrives. (Did I mention that he was VERY cute?) The first thing I had to say to him was that I couldn't stay out long, because my sister tried to kill herself and I had to get back so she wouldn't do it again.

He was unfazed so we headed out to the Pearl Street Mall, but, first, he had to stop at an ATM. He pulls into the entrance to the bank, but there is a car in front of us that is stopped. Then that car starts backing up and backs right into Cute Guy's car. A very large man gets out of the car (I forgot to mention that Cute Guy is on the short side.)

The man leaves the scene of the accident.

Again, unfazed, we continue on to a bar, where we had one drink. But duty calls. He drives me to my mother's house to supervise my sanity-challenged sister. He and I continue our first date in the kitchen.

My mother returns (from her planned flight). She walks in the door saying loudly, "Whose piece of shit car is in my driveway?" Cute Guy answers that it's his. I was a little embarrassed.

I expected my mother to immediately go upstairs and see my sister.

She didn't.

She was too concerned that this "piece of shit" car would leak oil on her driveway.

It didn't.

Cute Guy and I head back to my apartment. He walks me to my door (Did I mention that my apartment was two houses away from an adult book store?) He sweetly kisses me goodbye and walks.

I'm thinking I am never going to see this guy again. He called. No, I'm not kidding. Clearly he didn't pick up on the blatant insanity of my life.

He works full-time in Denver. I'm in school full-time and working 2 jobs in Boulder. So we talk on the phone a lot. (Here it comes.)

It was time for finals. I told him ahead of time that I get very stessed during finals and get a bit weird. Then, one night when he called, I told him I couldn't talk because I was watching Remington Steele.

I never heard from Cute Guy again.

One night my friends went back to that bar (I had to work). Cute Guy was there. He told my friend that he was mad that I wanted to watch Remington Steele rather than talk to him. I don't get it. He stuck around after that absurd first date, but he couldn't take that?

Thanks a lot Pierce. And now to add injury to insult, I find out you aren't anything like Remington Steele!

Resolution Check Up

2009-01-04T20:44:00.000-08:00

It's January 4. Let's see how those resolutions are doing.

#1. I resolve to close my free legal service business and re-open as an elite law firm with no paying clients.

FAIL: On January 2nd, as I was walking out the door to go to dinner with friends, the phone rang. It was my former neighbor (at least 10 years ago). He is buying some property for his daughter and there is a little question regarding the property lines (survey here - fence there - you get the idea).

My husband is using sign language to, umm, politely request that I hang up the phone, but it's a pressing legal matter that is being presented to my free legal services business for Christ's sake. (Did I mention that my free legal services business is available 24/7? ) Old habits die hard!

#2. I resolve to tell my mother she is being a bitch when she is being a bitch (like when she asks me if I have gained weight).

Undetermined. She changes this up every once in a while. My husband was walking around without a shirt (he looks a bit like Buddha). She asks him "Have you lost weight?" Some might think that was a compliment. But, nooo. You don't know my mother. Any question about weight is an insult. There's either "Have you gained weight?" which means you look fat. Or "Have you lost weight?" which means you clearly haven't lost weight and you need to. It's no wonder I never know how to respond to these things.

#3. I resolve to stop yelling at my kids when they poke my increasingly flabby belly.

Hmmm. They don't poke anymore. Now my son pushes on my belly and says that it feels like a "waterbed." Kids. Gotta love em!

#4. I resolve to stop gloating about the election to my Republican friends (ok, this one might be hard to keep).

FAIL. I never really meant that anyway. I'm still planning to surreptitiously break into my Republican friend's house and plant my collection of liberal-minded books and see how long it takes him to discover them. (It's gonna be so fun)!

#5. I resolve to relearn Russian since I just found a bunch of my college books in the basement and I can't believe that I used to understand it (it's a Flowers for Algernon kind of thing).

Come on. It's still early in the year! Gimme a break!

#6. I resolve to limit my alcohol consumption to champagne.
FAIL. Upon arrival at the restaurant for the aforementioned dinner date, I asked the bartender if they had champagne by the glass. She said no, but that she had a split. Only $22. Uh. Really? The hell with that resolution - I'll have a Coor's Light. (Jeez. I'm unemployed. What do you want from me?)

#7. Though not mentioned in my earlier resolution post, my secret resolution was to exercise. Yawn. Yawn. So I bought a beginners Pilates DVD and a beginners Yoga DVD. First up - Pilates. 10 minutes in, my thighs are burning so much I have to stop. Next day, owwwwwww.

Ok, let's try yoga. 25 minutes in - stop. Now I can't turn my neck to the right. This exercise thing is really not working for me! I'll just chalk this one up as a FAIL.

This isn't going well!

Have You Ever Seen A Fox Copulate?

2009-01-03T18:44:00.000-08:00

I have been lamenting the fact that my life is so boring and pathetic that I have had nothing to write about. Sure, there was the baklava disaster. Yeah, there was me at 11:30 p.m on Christmas Eve realizing that Santa had brought presents for the kids, but I had not.

Then, when you least expect it, material presents itself.

This morning, I strode into the living room in my half-awake disheveled sort of way to find my husband and 3 sons looking out the window. What could be so interesting? 2 foxes in the neighbor's driveway. Oh, ok. Woo hoo. Where's my diet coke?

Then my husband hands me my camera with the zoom lens on and says, "look what they are doing."

Oh.

Are you kidding me?

My kids are looking at this!

My 14 and 12-year olds cannot seem to squelch their laughter. Meanwhile, my 10-year old is innocently exclaiming, "Look, mom, their butts are stuck together."

2009. Things are looking up!

"Santa Isn't Black!"

2008-12-21T16:56:00.000-08:00

When's the last time you heard THAT at a Christmas party?

I heard it last night. Uttered by a 7-year old girl, embroiled in an argument with, you guessed it, a black Santa. Santa tried, in vain, to explain to her (over the raucous laughter) that there were, in fact, black Santas. "Just go out to East Denver".

She wasn't buying it.

I can't really say I blame her. I had to convince black Santa himself (as I was delivering my Santa suit a few days earlier) that there ARE black Santas. As proof, I showed him my Christmas ornament of a black Santa sitting at a piano.

He didn't buy it either.

Of course, until recently, no one thought that there would be a black President in the near future either. Which would lead one to think that times are changing, right? But change is slow, and racists never change their spots. (They just blot on a little concealer). But every woman knows that concealer doesn't work for very long.

I discovered a heavily "made-up" man at Friday night's Christmas party (which had no black Santas). We were having an interesting conversation about the First Amendment. Some of you might think that those are mutually-exclusive terms, but they're really not. (Previous readers will remember that I took a class in First Amendment Law taught by Archibald Cox).

Anyhoo, there was a small hullabaloo a while ago when a kid wore a t-shirt to school that said something about Obama being friends with terrorists. The school decided that the t-shirt was disruptive. They gave the kid the option to turn the shirt inside out, change, or be suspended. He chose to be suspended. His father immediately alleged this was a violation of the First Amendment.

So this guy at the party brings this up with a very strong belief that the First Amendment was, indeed, violated. As someone who took First Amendment Law from the man who argued more First Amendment cases before the US Supreme Court than anyone else, and who had the most impact on how the First Amendment continues to be interpreted to this day, I explained to this man that kids in school do not enjoy the same First Amendment rights that the rest of us do.

This man was so annoyed that I felt I had to explain that this wasn't my idea. It's just the law. For a moment, I thought I had a real card-carrying member of the ACLU in my midst. But later, as he dismissed the notion of respecting others' religions, I realized that he was just another bigot.

I bet he would be surprised to know that Santa is black. (And God is a woman!

How To Drop A Baby

2008-12-19T09:11:00.000-08:00

(I apologize if any of you were referred to this post and it was not here. In a moment of maternal guilt and panic, I deleted it. Then I figured what the hell.)

I gave birth to the most adorable child in the world. Now I know you are thinking that I am biased, but, seriously, he was the most adorable child ever born. That is, until I scarred him for life.

It wasn't entirely my fault. My mother was in town and she had me in a complete tizzy. At the very same time, Brody did something (I don't remember what) that warranted a time-out. I dragged him back to his bedroom. For some reason, he requested that he be put on the top bunk, rather then his bottom bunk. Not seeing any significance in this request, I agreed. The problem, though, was in the execution.

I am 5'2". Bunk beds are taller. Apparently, I didn't take the time to fully analyze the physics involved in lifting a 3 year old onto a bunk bed that was higher than myself combined with the relative weakness of my biceps.

Holding him, I took somewhat of a running start and stepped on the bottom bunk. My forward force suddenly stopped and we fell backwards. (This is the part I hate to admit). In a sort of innate self-preservation, on the way down, I dropped him. I didn't mean to drop him. I just did.

The cry was horrific. Worse since I knew it was my fault. He was lying face down over a plastic bin from Target. My first thought was "please don't let it be his eye, please don't let it be his eye." I picked him up and to my great relief, it wasn't his eye. There was, however, a huge gash on his cheek. Deep and wide.

Mommy emergency mode kicks in. Aidan (7) gets me a dish towel to hold over the gash. He also calls 911 and then hangs up, but that's a different matter. The police call me back and I explain that my son fell (no details) and has a cut and I am trying to decide whether I need an ambulance, but I think I can make it, so I'll drive to the hospital.

So I tell my mom to please hold Brody in the car with the towel over his face. She says, "Aidan can go with you. I'll stay here with Gunnar." With no time discuss the matter, we run out to the van. Aidan (remember he is 7) sits with Brody in the passenger seat (no one is buckled in) trying to hold the towel on his cheek. But he's a screaming, writhing, very annoyed little boy, so it didn't work out very well.

We get to the hospital. I try to explain what happened. They immediately take Aidan because, unlike my mother, they know that I can't deal with a 7-year old when I have an injured 3-year old. Person after person come in and ask me what happened. Each time, I have to say, outloud, that I dropped my child. Bad mom. Bad mom. Bad mom. They didn't say it. But I could hear it.

Eventually, someone came in and injected my poor child's face with what seemed like a ridiculous number of shots, and stitched him up. Crisis over, I started to feel light-headed and about to faint. The nurse gets me to lie down on the bed, puts a washcloth on my forehead, and takes Brody somewhere.

She calls my husband and tells him of my condition. We all wait for him to arrive. But. What? He doesn't. Finally, after their persistent calls, he shows up. Apparently, he didn't believe that I needed his help. I am a stud, but there are times when I really do need a little help.

So, every day since then (7 years), I look at Brody and see his scar. And every day, I think about the scars, both physical and emotional, that a mother leaves on a child. With any luck, the worst scar Brody will have will be the one on his face.

(I will provide a picture, I think, when I can scan one in. No promises, since the visual reminder is painful).

As an aside, Brody doesn't remember this incident. He has asked about the scar and his brothers have reported exactly what happened. So, I hear about it, all the time, especially around Christmas!

I Have Been Adopted

2008-12-13T18:19:00.000-08:00

Ok, I'll admit it. There have been times when I wish I had a daughter. It's only natural since I have all boys. And I'll have to admit that the thought of adopting a girl (my eggs are old) has crossed my mind.

Instead, I have been adopted. By my neighbor's dog. (It's a girl).

My screen door doesn't shut completely without a little effort. So Sprocket comes over and nudges her nose into the opening until she gets in. If the main door is closed, she pushes on the screen door repeatedly until we let her in. She comes to the living room searching out fallen crumbs (of which there are many) and then takes a nap somewhere. Today she crawled up onto the couch with a snowman.

She's lonely. Her family is busy and she is left alone frequently. Apparently she has decided that she just wants someone to keep her company. And that's ok with me.

I have also been adopted by her 7-year old master, Brit. He has a 16 year old brother and 2 working parents. Brit learned long ago that he had a lot more in common with my 3 boys, than with his older brother. So he comes over alot to play (at least he knocks on the door). He is a sweet little boy and blends in well here. What's one more boy when you already have three!

I love that Brit and Sprocket feel as comfortable in my house as in their own. They add something to my life and I enjoy both of them - together or separately.

My Son the Rock Star

2008-12-13T17:08:00.000-08:00

Last week, my son and his friend, Kyle, performed in the junior high talent show. (My son is the short one). They played Good Riddance by Greenday. In the middle of the song, Gunnar jumped off the stage with his guitar and ran through the auditorium, much to the delight of the audience.

Gunnar is never happier than when he is on stage. He can barely contain his excitement. I'm pretty sure that he inherited his musical talent from me, but where on earth did this confidence to perform in front of people come from? I'm almost more proud of him for that than his ability to play guitar.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that my 14-year old, Aidan, plays bass in the high school orchestra, and my 10-year old, Brody, is learning piano. I have a photo of Aidan and me before a concert, but I can't post it since it isn't very flattering of me. Sorry, I'm vain.

Brody wants to learn drums, but I'm not a total glutton for punishment! (Although it's only a certain amount of time before I cave).

Maybe someday they'll create a wildly successful brother band (like The Jonas Brothers or Naked Brothers Band) and buy their mom a big house and Mercedes. Probably not, since they can't be in the same room without beating each other up. I guess I need a job!

New Year's Resolutions

2008-12-09T19:11:00.001-08:00

1. I resolve to close my free legal service business and re-open as an elite law firm with no paying clients.

2. I resolve to tell my mother she is being a bitch when she is being a bitch (like when she asks me if I have gained weight).

3. I resolve to stop yelling at my kids when they poke my increasingly flabby belly.

4. I resolve to stop gloating about the election to my Republican friends (ok, this one might be hard to keep).

5. I resolve to relearn Russian since I just found a bunch of my college books in the basement and I can't believe that I used to understand it (it's a Flowers for Algernon kind of thing).

6. I resolve to limit my alcohol consumption to champagne.

Why I Need to Change My Locks

2008-12-01T15:14:00.000-08:00

I left my house twice today - once to go to the eye doctor (who gave me the brilliant diagnosis that I am far-sighted which would explain the ten pairs of reading glasses that lie around my house) and to pick up my aspiring actor son, Gunnar, from school where he auditioned for the school musical. I called Aidan on the way home from the Dr. to see if he wanted a slurpee at 7-11. He said "yes." Then he told lme that Granny had come over and proceeded to whine to him about how upset she was that we didn't call her Sunday and that she was so bored and lonely that she cried. My son is not a licensed psychologist, which makes we wonder why she thinks this is an appropriate thing to say to a 14 year old. He is not responsible for her boredom. And if she was so bored and lonely, then she wouldn't have then left soon thereafter. (Although that was better for Aidan).

As I was waiting outside the school for Gunnar, Aidan sends me the following text:
"Granny tried to lock out Brody (from the house) and when I didn't let her, she told Brody I was a fuddy duddy in the kitchen where she thought I couldn't hear her." So now she's back to insulting Aidan (previous readers will remember the time she called him a "bastard."

I know one can't expect a pit bull to change it's colors. But my naive self thought that a grandmother pit bull just might. She has definitely aimed her arrows at Aidan, so far. My thinking is that she knows inherently that he is the one who is the most sensitive to this kind fo thing. Of course, this is not a conscious thought. It's just disturbing that my mother is now extending her damage on to the next generation. At least I can help him understand that she's whacked.

A Christmas Wish

2008-11-30T17:14:00.000-08:00

I have a personality defect that I am pretty sure I inherited from my mother. Obnoxiousness. I don't actually TRY to be obnoxious; I just sometimes end up that way. That being said, it is time for my annual X-mas card. Stop moaning! I don't write about how intelligent, successful, and athletic my children are (not that they aren't those things). I just put in some of the real stuff, which I have been told communicates what my kids are really like. I also tend to put in a teeny weeny smidge of my liberal nature. I don't mean to piss off the Republicans in this family (that is just an added bonus). Actually, by now they have come to expect this from me.

Anyway, given the result of this year's election - the complete repudiation of Bush and his cronies from even the most Republican of states - Democrats regaining significant control of the House and Senate - even the stock market reacting to the promise of intelligence in power. I'm feeling a little validated. I like that. So how much gloating is acceptable under these circumstances? You have to keep in mind that I have listened ad nauseum to certain members of this family airing racist statements, complete and utter ignorance, and yet feeling quite comfortable deriding me for my opinions.

I am not going to gloat as much as I would like to. I do think that it would be funny, though, to re-write the poem "Twas the Night Before Christmas" in a funny (ok, gloating) fashion. This is what I have so far. I am open to revisions.

Twas the night before the election, when all through the White House

Not a creature was stirring, not even the louse.

The ballots were cast by the voters with care

In hopes a new President soon would be there.

The Dems were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of Obama danced in their heads.

Ma with her valium and me with my rum,

Had just accepted the notion of global recession

When on CNN there arose such a clatter

I sprang from my stupor to see what was the matter.

When what to my pessimistic eyes should appear

But a map of blue states, a few red, there and here.

A black man in the White House, could it be true?

You mean someday a woman could be President, too?

The crowds cheered as they called them by name

Now Bush, now Cheney, now Rove and Condi,

On Rumsfeld, on Ashcroft, on Gonzalez and Libby.

Get out of the West Wing, get out of the hall.

Dash away, dash away, dash away all.

He walked off the stage and gave Palin a wink.

History was made, making all of us think.

But I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight

Yes we can - Yes we did - Republicans, good night!

My bad?

The Fine Art of Preventative Medical Malpractice

2008-11-27T22:34:00.000-08:00

It's 11:30 p.m. and despite my dire need for sleep combined with the consumption of a fair bit of alcohol, I am not sleeping. Why am I not sleeping and why am I drinking caffeinated diet coke? I'm glad you asked. As I stated in my last post, my 14-year old had a tonsillectomy two days ago. He is sleeping upright in a recliner (to minimize swelling) and it is my turn to sleep on the couch. He fell asleep about an hour ago, and I noticed that he seems to breath in about two deep breaths and then no breaths for 10 seconds (I counted with the tick of the clock, so I am not exaggerating). I find this rather scary. I told my husband. I told my husband, who like many men, think moms are over-protective.
Not to be dissuaded, I decided to call the doctor. I don't care if I wake them up. It's their job and that's why they get paid the big bucks! I explained what was going on to the on-call doctor. He said to ease up on the Percoset, because that can cause breathing irregularities. I said "so I shouldn't be freaking out?" He said " no, but if you have any concerns, take him to the ER." So I asked what kind of sign should I look for that would send me to the ER. In a tone that suggested I am an idiot, he said, "if you are concerned. I'm not there so I can't make an assessment." I felt like saying I wouldn't be calling if I wasn't concerned, and you're the medically-trained professional, and I don't really know when it becomes a dangerous situation since I didn't go to med school and you don't have to be here because I accurately explained what was going on. But I didn't. I said thank you, hung up, and immediately said to my husband, "these guys sooooo cover their ass."
In the evening of the procedure, my son kept complaining that he couldn't breath well and that it felt like there was a glob of blood in his throat that he couldn't get up or down. So, I called the doctor and described the symptoms. (The doctor that did the procedure was on call that night.) He said that Aidan's uvula was swollen and he should not be lying down. (This would have been useful information to have when they sent us home after the surgery). And, strangely, he added the comment that he wasn't here, so he couldn't make an assessment. That was the first time that I hung up the phone and said that they were sooooo covering their asses.
I get that doctors face malpractice suits and that their insurance rates go up. While everyone would like to blame this on the lawyer, I blame it on the malpractice. If they didn't commit malpractice, no one would sue them. Most people understand that medicine is not an exact science and outcomes will not always be the same. Malpractice occurs when a doctor does someting, or does not do something, that is an accepted thing under the particular circumstances (this is not the legal definition, but I don't do malpractice law and it's 1 a.m.)
So I would assume that the Pediatric Ear, Nose, and Throat office would have done so many tonsillectomies that they would recognize common results and would know when something was serious enough to go to the ER. By turning over the medical judgement to me, they are absolving themselves of responsibility. So when Aidan begins to have slower breathing or this pattern goes on for one hour, or two hours, or three hours, I won't know if he needs to go in and since they said they can't make an assessment, they are clear. Fuckers!
So, in my non-medically trained way, I woke Aidan up so that he would breath regularly, turned on House (which, ironically, is his favorite show), and gave him a big glass of 7-Up. He's not very happy with me right now, but, too bad. The doctors opted out of this situation, so I have to take over. And I don't know squat except that as long as he is awake, he is breathing and I don't have to be in a constant state of panic.

What Are You Thankful For?

2008-11-27T16:57:00.000-08:00

I spent about 2 hours today at my in-laws for Thanksgiving (enough time for me to eat, drink and be a little bit merry) before my 14 year old son, Aidan (I don't want to hear any crap from you Jim - it's a common Irish name) called and asked me to come home. He had his tonsils and adenoids removed on Tuesday and he has been in an acute state of misery since then. Although he had said that he didn't mind if we left him home today, that was before my mother showed up shortly before we were to leave. She announced that she would not be going to my in-laws today and would stay with Aidan. So I told Aidan that he could either come with us or stay home with Granny. He had to think about those options for a while, but, in the end, decided to stay home. Luckily for him, Granny only stayed for 2 hours.

This brought back the fond memory of when my 4 impacted wisdom teeth were removed. It was spring break during my 2nd year of college (everyone else went to Mexico). I remember walking out into the waiting room feeling more than a little loopy to find my sister, Charmaine, holding a large bouquet of red balloons each of which had drawings of blood drippings She's quite the comedian!

She redeemed herself by providing me with a constant supply of hot tea with lemon and honey as I suffered in bed. Eventually, though, even her caretaking abilities could not make up for the even more painful presence of my mother, and I had to retreat to my empty dorm (which provides no food service or anything else during spring break). Sadly, it was better to be alone in the dorm than in the house with my mother.

So I am thankful that my son finds my presence to be helpful, comforting, and sympathetic during this difficult time. God knows I didn't learn this skill from my mother!

NOTE:

The photo is Aidan and Charmaine during Charmaine's last visit.

TIP OF THE DAY:

When stating what you are thankful for at your very Republican in-laws' house, don't say "A Democratic President, Senate and House of Representatives."

Music That Used to Be About Music

2008-11-23T19:35:00.000-08:00

Am I wrong to think that a musician nominated for something on the American Music Awards should show up in some kind of outfit that doesn't suggest they just rolled out of bed and picked up the clothes that were on the floor? I mean, are you trying to say that you are so cool, and this is so routine, that you treat it as though it is no more special than going to the grocery store? That pisses me off.
I mean, I'm pretty sure my kids nominated me for Mother of the Year. When it comes time for the ceremony, I'll put on a suit, maybe even a dress (if I really have a chance of winning). More importantly, I will bring on stage with me a posse of scantily clad women dancing around me in a type of sexual worship. Oh. Ooops. I'm not a man. Nevermind.

The Case of the Missing Scallops

2008-11-07T18:52:00.000-08:00

While some might assert that any attempt of mine to make dinner is somewhat of a mystery in and of itself, today it reached a new and unprecedented level. My scallops vanished. Did you ever see the movie "The Vanishing"? (The original foreigh version is waaaay better than the US remake). It was terrifying. And I am very concerned that my scallops have been buried alive somewhere just like that woman. But I have gotten ahead of myself. It all started with my grand plan to make dinner tonight (damn the Food Network and that bitch, Rachael Ray)!

In these economically-challenged times, I attempted to make dinner from what I had on hand. A few days ago, my mother brought over a package of frozen shrimp and a package of frozen scallops (a.k.a., the deceased). My eldest son LOVES seafood, and given his mom's equal (if not more) dislike of seafood, he never gets it. So, I thought, ok, I need to figure something out for this. I scoured through my many unopened cookbooks and found a recipe that actually called for shrimp and scallops. And, hallelujah, I had everything else that the recipe called for.

But then, it happened. I put the shrimp in the fridge to defrost. Then went to get the scallops, but they weren't there. Ok. Did I already put them in the fridge? Umm. No. Ok, let's go through the freezer again. Umm. No. Ok. I threw out some freezer-burned stuff in the freezer. Did I accidentally throw them away. This will require that I dig through the trash. This is my fricking dinner, so ok, I'm a trooper. Damn it. They're not there!

Pantry? Cabinet? Under the sink? In the oven? Downstairs fridge or freezer? Downstairs trash? No. Take a "What Not to Wear" break. Start over. Empty freezer - again. Downstairs fridge and freezer. Cabinet. Trash (yes, I did that again). No luck. I had to accept the fact that the scallops were gone.

Yes. Dinner went on. It was pretty good. But there was an empty feeling in my stomach. There were no scallops. And the question remains - whare are the fricking scallops? Seriously.

Yes We Can - And Yes We Did!

2008-11-06T15:56:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3QS_-KSuyJE

This isn't the election night speech. This is the "Yes We Can" speech after New Hampshire. The end of this speech was incapsulated into a greeting card thing that I received months ago from the Obama campaign. With a little help from my eldest son, I recorded it and saved it as my ringtone. Then I sent it to every Republican that I know. I don't know about them, but I thought it was funny!

One More Sleepless Night

2008-11-03T00:16:00.000-08:00

It's 1:15 a.m. and I am not asleep. I stopped trying after 1 1/2 hours. Nothing on tv, which surprises me given all of the channels (although I'll have to say there are some fabulous special offers on products that end back pain, a steam cleaner that cleans and disinfects everything from cabinets, toilets, sneakers and even a colon cleanser). So I opened up a diet pepsi (yes, caffeinated) and raided my kids' halloween candy.

My brain can't stop thinking about the upcoming election. I am still stunned that the race is this close given the debacle of the last 8 years. So I am not comforted by the Sunday morning pundits all predicting an Obama win. The percentages reported in the polls for the battleground states are small. Small enough for the underlying, and often, unexpressed racism that still exists to tweak those percentages in the other direction. So I can't sleep.

And I can't sleep because I am so sad that Tim Russert died before seeing the conclusion of what he considered the most fascinating and historic presidential election of all time. I know that I keep coming back to him, and everyone thinks I am nuts since I didn't know him, but I can't help it. If I apply my Psych 101 training, I might conclude that Tim's death brings me back to my father's sudden death when I was 17. But it's not. At least not completely. I'm gonna go with my original reason as stated above.

Anyway, if Obama doesn't win, my 9 year old, who took a lot of crap from my in-law family, will be bummed.

Whatever Happened to Woodward and Bernstein?

2008-10-04T16:31:00.000-07:00

I almost changed the world today, but then I decided to sleep in. I was signed up to canvass with Forward Colorado, an organization that promotes the democrats running for federal office. I volunteered last weekend to canvass in an attempt to remind supporters to vote and to convince the undecided of the error of their ways. Three hours later, after knocking on God knows how many doors, and talking to four people (two of which said they don't care), I decided I didn't really like canvassing. But all of the campaign experts say that grassroots politics, e.g. canvassing, is critical, particularly in tight races. Personally, I found it depressing. So, although I had agreed to canvas today for the dems, I bailed. I know - Obama's impending defeat rests firmly on my shoulders. I'm in one of the 6 toss-up states for Christ's sake! Our country's fate depends on people like me, and I failed.

I know. I don't have as much influence as the moderators of vice-presidential debates who let candidates avoid answering questions in order to spew their well-rehearsed sound-bites tthereby turning a "debate" into a commercial. Nor can I have as much impact as the temporary host of Meet the Press (Brokaw - God love him) who let Bob Schaeffer(R), a.k.a, Moron from Hell, Candidate for U.S. Senate in Colorado, take over what was supposed to be a debate - by refusing to stop talking and by continually interrupting Mark Udall.

So, really, it's not my fault. It's Tim Russert's fault. He had the audacity to die just when the American people (ergo, the world) needed him the most. He was the ONLY person in the media who was willing and/or able to call politicians to task, no matter what their party affiliation. They could not avoid answering questions or give sound-bite answers. He wouldn't let them get away with that. He understood that there was too much at stake. And he had the balls (sorry Gwen) to demand real answers. Does anyone else miss him as much as I do?

The Power of Parenting and Archibald Cox

2008-09-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

I believe that it is very important to begin brainwashing one's children as soon as they are expelled from the womb. This morning I happily realized that I have been quite successful at this. My 9-year old excitedly called me downstairs to show me the players he created for a video football game. There were 2 running backs. One was named Barack Obama, and the other John McCain. Obama ran with the ball, gaining about 50 yards. McCain - well, let's just say he didn't do so well.

Of course, I am not the only parent that brainwashes their children. Many do. I saw a story on the news today about an 12-year old child who was suspended for wearing a homemade t-shirt to school that said something to the effect that Obama is friends with terrorists. He was told by the principal that he could either change his shirt, turn it inside-out, or be suspended. He chose to be suspended. The child's father believes this to be a violation of his First Amendment rights and is threatening to sue.

Luckily for me, I took a class in law school entitled "First Amendment Law" which was taught by a visiting professor from Harvard. You may have heard of him - Archibald Cox. (If you don't know who that is, look it up). The University of Colorado School of Law is highly-regarded and very selective in their admissions process (which would explain why they didn't accept me when I first applied). After transferring there, I was worried that my intellect may not match that of the other students.

Professor Cox was tough - very tough. He had clearly spent many years using the "Socratic Method" to torture Harvard law students (it's worse than waterboarding). To my surprise, as the students began to recognize that Cox was far more challenging than other professors, they began to skip class. And I don't mean a class here or there. I mean every day. How could they skip? This was Archibald Cox! He's a First Amendment Law legend! He wrote the fricking text book! This was a once in a lifetime opportunity! What a bunch of wimps!

The problem for me was that with the resulting small size of the class, Professor Cox had fewer students to call on. And for some unknown reason, he liked to call on me a lot. (I'd like to think it was my due to my extraordinary wit and intelligence - but it wasn't). He was very old at this time and wore huge hearing aids. I was very shy back then and terrified that I would expose my ignorance every time I spoke. As a result, when called on, my voice would get very, very quiet. Professor Cox didn't seem to recognize my fear, so he would say "What ?" while fumbling to turn up his hearing aids. But the fear and humiliation were worth every second of the torture. He told us stories of his time as the Watergate Special Prosecutor (fired by Nixon) and the many times that he appeared before the US Supreme Court (more than any other attorney). It was fabulous. He was fabulous.

One day we had a visitor in class - famed photographer Annie Liebowitz. She came to watch him in preparation for her photo shoot of him for a cover of Vanity Fair. She saw me being humiliated. But I digress. I brought this up only to get to the matter at hand, which is that the Supreme Court has routinely decided that students do not enjoy the same degree of First Amendment rights as the rest of us. Bummer for this kid's dad. He thought he'd get rich being an ignoramous (oops, I mean Republican).

For more on Archibald cox, read the following article.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A1755-2004May29.html?referrer=emailarticle

QUOTE OF THE DAY: "I think it would be really cool to have a tail that you could use like a monkey." Uttered by Gunnar while watching an episode of What Not to Wear in which a weird woman walked around with a fake tail attached to her buttocks.

Two Lesbians and a Baby (Repost)

2008-09-22T15:03:00.000-07:00

I went to a baby shower that was being held in celebration of the birth of an adorable little baby girl to a lesbian couple (in vitro). It wasn't much different than any other baby shower that I have attended (other than the joke about the immaculate conception). Personally, I have no problem with gay people having children. Especially gay women. I know that fathers allegedly bring something to the parenting table (other than DNA). But who's to say that a lesbian woman can't bring comparable benefits? In my house, my husband and I have completely different parenting styles (his consisting mainly of yelling). But theoretically it's a team effort. Sometimes my approach works. And sometimes my husband's approach works. But I don't think that his penis makes any real difference.

Two women still make a team. Now I don't know if this couple is married (in a non-legal way), but I don't really care either way. Is there something about a marriage certificate that qualifies any of us to be parents? Lots of people are having kids without the "benefit" of marriage and no one seems to care. Of course, the big question, is whether gay people should be allowed to marry at all. Some argue that gay marriage threatens the institution of marriage. I really don't get how ANYONE'S marriage, or non marriage, impacts MY marriage. Does a marriage between a man and woman strengthen my marriage? I don't think so. Gay marriage isn't legal, yet the majority of marriages break up . So, what's the problem? Religion.

Some religions consider homosexuality to be a sin. I'm not sure how the inability to legally marry, and, thereby, gain the numerous legal benefits of marriage, reduces homosexuality, but I haven't been to church lately.

I'm not a card-carrying lesbian. I am not trying to marry a lesbian. I am just annoyed that so many people believe it's ok to impose their religious beliefs on others. It's the same with abortion. Whether or not I personally would have an abortion, doesn't mean that I (or the government) can make that decision for other women. It's personal. Honestly, I believe that men should not be allowed to say anything about this issue at all. I've been pregnant, and given birth. It's no picnic.

And now, the elephant (or presidential candidate) in the room. First, Republicans are in my bedroom deciding who I can sleep with. Then they allow insurance companies to pay for Viagra so some old man can get it up, but don't allow insurance to pay for birth control, despite the fact that the birth control would prevent the very pregnancy that might result from the Viagra and that might require an abortion. I consider myself to be an intelligent person, and I don't get this.

The next President will most likely enjoy the HUGE privilege, and resulting impact, of selecting several Supreme Court justices. Women fought for many years to gain the right, first to birth control, and then for safe abortions. Many people don't realize that this very access to choice will be up for review in the Supreme Court. Anyone judge who says that they are obligated to honor the previous decisions (such as Roe v. Wade) of the Supreme Court (Chief Justice Roberts) is full of shit. The Supreme Court can do whatever the hell they want. Thanks to Bush, the Court already has 5 Catholics. The next President can seal the deal for generations. I'm scared. Are you scared?

I'll add something to this in light of the recent passage of the health care reform bill. Right now I'm in Tucson for the Rockies spring training and we are leaving to golf (I don't golf. I'm there for moral support).

The Velvet Coffin and John McCain (and this is not a reference to his advanced age)

2008-09-17T19:09:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm flipping through the October issue of Oprah and I see this article about career stalls. The signs: 1. You're not being included in meetings the way you used to - CHECK; 2. You begin to sense that your boss and teammates aren't talking to you as often. - CHECK; 3. Pay raises and promotions are passing you by. - CHECK. Whoa nelly!

The article goes on to cite the 3 most common reasons that careers might stall: 1. Boredom - CHECK; 2. Underperformance - I'm not sure I'm willing to check this one; and 3. Embedded reputation from past errors - uh, they got me there. Bad email fiasco. Enough said.

So, last month, in my final act of what Charmaine refers to as false pride (which I consider real pride), I quit. As the article says, people in this situation always wonder why they didn't leave sooner. As one staller put it, "I see that time now as if I were in a velvet coffin. I was so comfortable, I didn't realize I was dead." Now that's depressing. I don't think that I was "dead." I was just extraordinarily pissed off.

But did you know that John McCain voted against equal pay for equal work? He said that women just needed more education and training. Yeah, he graduated in the bottom 1% of his class (which is basically one question shy of failing). And he could be president. After my first year of law school, I was 3rd in my class. (It went down from there, but that's a long story). And yet, despite having achieved a doctoral level degree (the highest in my company), I was paid less than everyone except the office manager. What's up with that? Maybe John McCain can advise me what further education I need. Check him out below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKrqzyKw0gk

My Republican Cell Phone

2008-09-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

My new cell phone is a republican. I tried to download a ringtone and wallpaper from Barack Obama's website, but my phone said this device was not compatible with this download. Say wha? I think this confirms what Hillary once said about the vast right-wing conspiracy. Think of all of the young people (ok, stop laughing, I don't mean me), trying to download the ringtone so that every time their phone rings, everyone in the vicinity hears the voice of change (and sanity). Of course, Verizon doesn't want this because then they won't continue to get tax subsidies when they outsource jobs to India. But, before I get on my soapbox (which is a clear and present danger), you have to watch this video of Barack on the Ellen Degeneres show. It's been a long time since we had a president who could move this well!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsWpvkLCvu4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmNCALGHOC4

15 Minutes? I Just Need 30 Seconds

2008-09-09T18:35:00.000-07:00

I have now arrived. I was on tv last night. Ok, I was just attending a city council meeting and it was televised on the government access channel (people skip by it on the way to NBC). And yet, I feel a little famous. Especially when the music teacher at my son's elementary school told me she saw me on tv ( while she was switching channels). For about 30 seconds, I was the central focus on channel 8 as I made my public comment regarding my support for building a baseball field (read previous posts for context). While I would like to characterize my television debut as an overwhelming success, I will have to admit to a momentary inability to find the proper word (any word). At least I know that I will never be a news anchor! This picture is the stadium in Omaha where the College World Series is played. The team in the dugout is Fresno State which won the series this year. Go Fresno!

Why Can't Women Be Football Coaches?

2008-09-07T17:07:00.000-07:00

Did you notice the number of men coaching women's sports in the Olympics? (A bunch). Did you notice the number of women coaching men's sports? (Zero). What's up with that?

I want to coach my son's football team, but I'm pretty sure they won't let me. The youth football league here is whacked, much like the youth football league everywhere else. And I'm not sure why moms put up with it.

My son is the one tackling the quarterback and causing a fumble (#12). Cool, huh! (Feel free to praise the unbelievably skilled amateur photographer who was able to capture this fraction of a second)! Anyway, what is it about a vagina that precludes a person from coaching football? Look, I'm not asking why a woman can't be elected president (I'll address that in another post). I'm just asking why a woman can't teach a bunch of children how to hit each other. I mean, moms, especially stay-at-home moms, have seen more tackling amongst their children than the most voracious armchair quarterback man. Sure, we are usually trying to stop the tackling, but it can't be that hard to switch it around. It's a simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, and you hit the ball. (Oh wait, that's baseball.)

But something is seriously wrong when a stupid volunteer coach argues with, and then yells at, a parent who fails to understand that "conditioning" is more important than trying to prevent an asthma attack. Or when a coach gets annoyed when a parent removes their child from a practice that is completely surrounded by lightening. (Colorado has the highest number of lightening-related deaths in the country). I could be wrong, but I doubt that women would endanger children as much as men. Oh I forgot, it's a man's world. More evolved men even admit that as witnessed by the following video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCIyzNISw1Q

The Trouble With Birthdays and Husbands

2008-09-07T15:28:00.000-07:00

I have been advised that in the interest of my neighborhood friendships, I need to remove this post. If you have already read this, please try to erase it from your memory banks. Thanks.

Four Indians and a Computer

2008-09-07T14:38:00.000-07:00

I am truly sorry to all of you faithful readers for the delay in my posts. I am having HUGE problems with my computer. It just took me about 20 minutes to get on the internet and every minute or so I get pop-ups trying to sell me anti-virus software. I attempted to address this problem by downloading the most recent version of Norton. I paid $80 and it failed to download. So I started a "chat" with Norton. After about an hour working with Deelip, he/she (I can't tell if it's a boy or girl) came up with the ingenious solution that my computer has a virus. Hmmm. I wanted to say that that was I bought the "anti-virus" software, but I was concerned that my sarcasm would not be understood given both the email format and the language barrier.

Deelip couldn't help me so he/she transferred me to Dilip (I'm not making up these names). He/she then decided that I needed to purchase their virus removal service ($100) so that the initial software could load. So he/she transferred me to Kishore. Kishore gained remote access. Then after a while, the chat disconnected. When it became apparent that the virus removal hadn't worked, I started another chat. After another long wait, I was transferred to Rakesh. But since this entire process took 4 hours and I still had no Rakesh, I bailed. So now I'm out $180 and still have viruses and no anti-virus software.

Since then, I have been emailing Norton (I refuse to start another chat) demanding a full refund. Apparently no one actually reads my emails or the history of the matter, so they explain how to download the anti-virus software (which is impossible due to the virus). Woe is me!

Vocabullyishness R

2008-08-14T11:37:00.001-07:00

Don't feel bad if you don't know the meaning of vocabullyishness. I'd tell you to look it up, but you won't find it there. Why not? Because I coined it.

Ya see, I'm sitting at work catching up on Maureen Dowd's columns in the New York Times, when to my great vexation, I stumbled upon an unfamiliar item in the lexicon - solipsism. I moved on to her next column, and there it was again, solipsism. What is the meaning of this curious word, I pondered, that it would be felicitous in two sequential columns? Extreme egocentrism. No, I'm not talking about my mother right now. It's the definition.

Do you ever discern that some writers take pleasure in bestowing words they cognize no one will comprehend? To the ambit of being loquacious? Me too. I deem this praxis to be an impudent essay to cause us sycophants to feel middling.

In other words - vocabullyishness.

My Little Rockies Players

2008-08-14T09:20:00.000-07:00

Every spring, the temperature begins to rise, snow gives way to rain, and tulips begin to emerge from the thawing earth. With it come the sounds of spring (and I don't mean the birds). It's the yelling at children to get their cleats and water bottles and bat bags. It's the calls from parents asking if practice is cancelled due to weather (a secret hope of all parents). It's the whining of kids that their coach isn't putting them at first base, pitcher, catcher, or whatever position it is that they want. It's my mother bitching that she thinks my husband is forcing the kids to play. It's more yelling at the kids to finish their homework before practice. Yes. It's baseball season. And as you may have guessed from my tone, it is the bane of my existence (that and my mother).

But in this day and age of video games, they are being active you say. I know. It teaches teamwork and camaraderie. Yeah. Sportsmanship. Blah, blah, blah. What's important here is that I have to get three kids to three different places at the same time practically every day. Sure I have a spouse, but the kids still outnumber us. My mother solved this problem by not letting my sisters and I participate in sports. There are selfish moments, like when Everybody Loves Raymond is on tv, that I consider just that. But I am reminded that I have Tivo. I don't want to be a martyr, but, hey, if the shoe fits!

Really, it's not all bad. I get to fancy myself a photographer, take thousands of pictures of the team and at the end of the season, spend hundreds of hours figuring out how to make a slide show for them.

Below is my first creation. I can't figure out how to get the music to play here, so you'll have to take my word that it has it (Centerfield by John Fogerty and Time of Your Life by Greenday)

And now - football season...