Saturday, February 27, 2010

Picked-a-plate

I don't have much time to write this A.M. (the Cheddarlands are calling), but I didn't want to make you wait one.more.minute to learn I have ordered my personalized plates.

I'm not sure it's really a good idea to publicize what plates will be on my car, but what the hell--if any of you are stalking me, you're already stalking me...might as well make it easy for you to keep track of me.

I am sad (or happy) to report that I didn't go with any of the original ideas. (Thank you for voting, by the way.) I just wasn't satisfied with the choices....I like a plate with multiple meanings and the ones I had first considered really only had one meaning each. Not.good.enough.people!

I really wanted to go with something about chocolate, as (1) that is one "topic" that hasn't made it to a license plate; and, (2) I like chocolate almost as much as I like my dogs & wife. But, many of the chocolate themed plates were already taken, didn't fit, were single-minded or just didn't work. I even tried Spanish words and the history of cocoa (or cacao) for chocolate-plate inspiration.

I was sitting at my desk, doodling about chocolate words, when it hit me. I was going about this the wrong way. I was trying too hard, focusing on too specific of things with only single-purpose use. I threw out all the ideas we had come up with (you and me) and started over. Within minutes, I came up with this design. I was so tickled with the plate that I immediately ordered it. (I did have a tense moment after ordering it, as I started to doubt my Roman Numeral prowess.) In a matter of weeks, I'll be scooting around town with these puppies leading the way.

No, I am not going to explain it. I've given you plenty of help here. I may have to have a contest to see who can figure out the majority of meanings behind this plate (the wife and MJagger disqualified for prizes). There are even more meanings than illustrated here, but these give you an idea of some of the answers, so if you are bored today, have already done the sudoku puzzle in the paper and have already captured all the dust bunnies under your bed, go ahead and spend a minute or two of brain power on this diddy. I'll keep my open for a prize to bring back from the Cheddarlands......

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

"Good evening, Clarice"

If you read the previous blog and actually remember what it said (truly a feat for me and I wrote the damned thing) AND you have seen "Silence of the Lambs," you may indeed find that heading to be quite humorous.

If you did not read the blog and/or you have no idea who Hannibal Lecter is, you are wondering who the hell Clarice is and what does she have to do with anything. Let's just say she's having an old friend for dinner.

As I am writing a blog (proving that I am very much alive), you can be assured that the poker party was indeed a poker party and that there were no psycho mass murders in the mix. I thought about texting the wife with the "Good Evening, Clarise" reference (one of her all time favorite movies is "Silence of the Lambs," so she'd get the reference) but then decided to focus on losing chips during the Texas Hold 'Em free for all occurring right before my eyes. We weren't arrested, either, so the wife can now rest easy (and thus focus on the ongoing computer virus she continues to combat instead of worrying about me being served for dinner or having a new girlfriend named "Butch" in prison).

You know, it's kinda creepy weird that the wife so likes this movie.....and, it's creepy weird that "Slingblade" is probably her all time favorite movie. ("Some folks call it a sling blade, I call it a Kaiser blade.") Oh, hell--my favorite movies are no better--just different genre (movies like "Best in Show" tickle my tacky, sophomoric fancy).

Back to poker.

I didn't do too badly, considering I really had no idea what I was actually doing. I screwed around a lot, thus distracting (and irritating) the "real" poker players. When I won a few hands (and some hefty pots, I might add), it probably messed with their poker-filled minds. Here is a photo of me with my "poker blinders" on, inspired by the "little blind" and the "big blind" blinds of Texas Hold 'Em. I made blinders out of the cheat sheets they handed out at the door. I also put poker chips in my glasses, effectively giving myself two big, red poker-chip eyes. I called this my "poker face." (How I didn't get thrown out is beyond me. This was serious poker.)

I ended up leaving not because I ran out of money (or because I was being chased by Hannibal and/or the police) but rather because I had to get up early for church the next morning.

Can you even believe I just wrote that?

Me neither.

Yes, I left during one of the breaks. (Who knew that poker was so well organized, with scheduled breaks and everything?) It was an hour drive home, so it made sense to leave "early" and get home "early."

Besides, you gotta know when to fold 'em......

Friday, February 19, 2010

Friday Night's Alright for Fighting

Well, not really. I just needed a title for a blog entry written on a Friday night. It's a pot pouri of topics: no O phones, appliances, viruses and poker playing. Tough to get a title out of that. This Tattoo-bible thing has nothing to do with anything besides making me laugh. (It also makes me want to go and get another tattoo.) If you want to read the small print, just click on the photo. Rock on, Leviticus 19:28!

Note to self: I will not text or use my phone while in the car.
This effort was spawned by "The big O's" campaign to address this issue (see photo here). I didn't think this would be hard at all as I really didn't think I texted very much at all when driving. I recognize it's a really dumb thing to be texting while driving. I don't even like to talk on the phone while driving (actually, I don't like talking on the phone any time but that's a whole 'nother issue), thus I thought this would be a piece of cake.

....Well, okay--I admit---I text while at stop lights but I'm not moving so that really shouldn't count.

....Um, well, I guess I do read texts while driving, but I'm just reading.....

Geez....OKAY! OKAY! I can text without looking and I admit I have texted while driving.

Since O's show, I have stopped using my phone in the car. This is much, much harder than I ever thought it would be. I finally had to just turn off my phone OR put it in the trunk as I couldn't ignore the thing if it was chirping or ringing or singing. I am rather disgusted with myself for even having to think about doing this. I hope you will join me in this effort. How awful it would be if I had an accident--or, caused an accident--because I was being so foolishly distracted. I embrace my new phone-free car and will let you know how it goes.

I am sad to report that the wife's computer has a virus. A really nasty one from a fake link she clicked on while looking for appliances. I've done all I could to save it but it's too late. The bugs are crawling all around in there. I told her to stay far away from my computer and to change all her passwords. She can drown her virused sorrows while enjoying her new appliances....because.....

It's all the oven's fault. Earlier this week, we were trying to make TGIF poppers in the oven and the dang thing wouldn't light. It's an ignition thingy problem, not a pilot light problem. As the stove is 15 years old, it's really not worth dropping the money on having some guy come put in a new ignition thingy. I say live without an oven. (It is scary how easy it would be for me to do this.) I mean, we only use the oven to make frozen pizzas and a few frozen tidbits every once in awhile. It's not like we are cooking or baking anything real in there.

The wife, on the other hand, believes that a dead oven signals the need for new appliances. She assures me (as do many a friend) that appliances need to match. (My manbrain does not grasp this concept, but I have been so chastised by friends that I am going with it--appliances match.) You can't just buy an oven--you have to buy its friends: frig, dishwasher, oven, overhead microwave.


I'm thinking not having an oven is much cheaper. I'm a simple girl. I could live without an oven and without a dishwasher. Heck, I might even be able to live without a stove. Give me a microwave the George Forman grill and I'm good to go.

The wife has been pining for stainless steel so this is her moment of glory. I won't poop on it. I will smile and nod, smile and nod (thank you for the words of wisdom, Culver Gryffendor) and enjoy the process of getting new appliances (which have already been ordered and should be here before you know it). I might even have to take up baking in order to get my money's worth out of the new oven. I'll post photos when everything is in place.....

Tomorrow night, I am going to a poker party at some guy's house. A guy from high school, to be more specific. A guy I did not hang out with in high school, who now lives out of town in the middle of cornfields, who is my FB friend via the reunion efforts. I'm going because a few other high school friends will be there and I really want to see them. Maybe I'll win enough money to pay for the new appliances, although I am not "banking" on it (pun intended) because I am not exactly full of poker prowess. The wife isn't going as she believes he is probably a psycho mass murderer who is luring us to his nest and we are all going to be killed, Jeffrey Dahmer style. She is also concerned that we are going to be arrested and thrown in prison for engaging in illegal gambling activity.

I hope she is wrong on both accounts, because if she is right, she will get no money for the new appliances. And, if she is right it is so going to suck--because each and every one of you will be able to say, "she told you so!"

At least you know I won't text or call her from my car in order to get bail money or to get help as I am running away from the psycho mass murder......

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Would you like fries with those hormones?

Spending an entire day surrounded by teenagers illustrated for me how true it is that as we age, we women go through what we went through as teens: we start out normal as smiling little babies in little diapers, we surge with hormones as a teen, we stay relatively normal for the mid part of our lives, we surge with hormones as menopause approaches, we end up normal like smiling little babies (without teeth and in diapers, I might add).

We women live in a hormone sandwich. A cruel, sadistic sandwich filled with acne, changing body shapes, crying jags, irregular periods, mood swings, confused thoughts, outbursts of WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME and hormones on the go. Hormones with a life of their own. ....

....two slices of Wonder white bread pillowing around a hormonal hell understood only by women in the world.

During the event of which triggered my thinking (a bowling tournament where eldest niece was rocking the lanes with her outstanding bowling prowess-congrats again!), I was stunned by the similarities between becoming a teen and becoming ....everywhere I looked, a girl was crying. Some were sobbing. Others were standing in a dark corner, gently weeping. It might have been a bad bowling game, not making the cut, a boyfriend breaking up via a text message (can I just say that EVERYONE was texting through the entire tournament? I am surprised they didn't text while making their approach). Whatever the cause, some girl was always breaking out in tears.

Kinda like many of my friends.

I'm also sure (although I did not do a scientific study on this) that some teens had cramps, some had "surprise visitors" of the month, others were screaming at their parents for no apparent "real" reason. Substitute the word "partner" for parent and you've got a perimenopausal woman. It's a cruel, cruel world.

It's kind of like going through the drive through of life and you swear the worker asked, "do you want fries with those hormones?"

(I also assume that there are many a family with the "double whammy:" developing teens in the house and a perimenopausal mother. Dear god--hide the guns.)

I personally am enjoying my "return to youth" via acne, body shape change and bitchiness (as directly related to the changing body shape). I haven't burst out into tears lately but one never knows--it's early in the game and I have seen what happens to my friends. As with teens, my insides don't match my outside. Teens spend their time wondering what the hell is happening to them--things are sprouting everywhere, moods don't make any sense, they look like an adult but inside they feel like a kid. Peeps my age spend their time why things are sprouting all over (read: facial hair), why things are going "south," while they feel 30 but are really 20 years or more older. Personally, I spend my time thinking about my newly developing belly, perimenopausal-spreading hips and how my muscles ache when I do simple things like a Xena kick. I do get pissed off that inside I feel like I'm 30 but my outsides firmly remind me that I am 47.5. I hate that my insides don't match my outsides. Doing things like shoving myself into lockers and doing Xena kicks are rather dangerous now, whereas only a year or two ago, they would have been staples in my entertaining life.

And so, I continue through my second teenage-hood armed with a sense of humor and bag of dark chocolate, comforted by the same knowledge the teen has: this too shall pass. I am assured I will become wise with age, as the teen is assured that adulthood will bring smoothed emotions and a boyfriend who does not break up with your via a text. I can assure my six nieces that they will most likely survive the changes in their lives; my friends assure me the wife and I will survive the changes in our lives. Thankfully, most people I know are either just learning how to text or don't want to text....so, I know the wife won't break up with me via a text message.....

And that, my dearest blog reader, is comfort enough as I curse that new pimple developing on my face.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Oh my achin'.......

Only a few more days to vote for a license plate. Feel free to vote more than once--as long as you vote, it's all good.

Yesterday, while I was standing around at work, I noticed that my left hip was really hurting me and that I felt cock-eyed. It's the same leg with the knee that's been bothering me. I figured that my hip must be bothering me b/c I've been favoring my knee. The day went on as usual, only my hip became more pained. I tried to stretch, to sit, to stand, to bend over, to do anything to crack my hip back into place.

Nothing helped. I was crooked.

There was only one course of action: call my beloved lady chiropractor. I set up an appointment for the next day, secretly hoping that my hip would knock it off by the next day.

Well, today is the next day and the pain (if you can call it that) is much worse. Poo. As I'm getting ready to leave, I post my status on Book de la face, indicating I was on my way to see my beloved lady chiropractor, wondering why I was having this problem. Before I could get my coat on, the answer popped up from Cre8tive one, basically reminding me I had stuffed myself into a half-size high school band locker on Saturday night. (Why? you might ask. Why not? I answer.)

Here is the photo of me in the locker. You HAVE to admit it is funny. It was much easier than I thought it would be--I used the "reverse Scary Harry born-thru-the-window" technique and smooshed right in. I had room to spare (well, kinda-sorta). I was quite impressed and entertained by myself. And yes, this is truly a half-sized high school locker in the band room. (We were in the band room reminiscing. What wonderful memories!) It wasn't hard to get out, either--I basically put one foot out and went from there.

I'm not so entertained right now.

So, I hobble in to see MBLC and explain my hip issue. She pokes and prods and asks what I may have done. I tell her I've really been doing nothing--I haven't been walking, running, dancing, jumping, doing strange anything.....

Then, I have to admit that I had stuffed myself into a locker on Saturday night. I mean, how can I NOT admit to this? What if this is indeed the cause of my pain?

Understandably, she BURSTS out laughing.

I cannot prove or disprove that my behavior (antics?) led to my hip issue (which, by the way, has really made my knee issue that much more noticeable). I had an adjustment & some electric stimulation today and will be going back tomorrow. Back to back mornings with MBLC. There are worse ways to start your day. (Who can complain about having electrodes stuck to her butt? Not me.)

I'm thinking that I should send MBLC this photo of me in the locker, just so she can have an even bigger laugh....but, then she'd know I know how to find her on Book de la Face & I might expose the stalker status that I have earned......

In case you are wondering, I would do it again. It was great fun and it was impressive and it got a good laugh. Besides, how many 47 year olds do you know that can say they got hurt stuffing themselves in a locker?

Saturday, February 06, 2010

Pick a Plate

Wow, what a week. I feel like a cockroach who ended up on its back and can't flip over.

Instead of whining about how youth truly is wasted on the young, I've decided to focus on picking this year's license plate. Those of you who truly know me know that I waste money every year getting a new personalized plate. It's kind of a sport to me. I admit, it's getting harder because I've used some pretty good ideas in previous years. I've had plates about tattoos, my profession, my education, Xena (several times), my hobbies, my dogs, favorite words, etc. I pride myself on my license plate creativity. It's a pretty queer thing to waste money on but I like it and it makes me laugh and I have to look at it every day so I might as well have something to enjoy.

This year, I thought I'd involve my blog readers--you can vote for which license plate you like best. You are free to suggest your OWN ideas, so don't be limited by the samples provided here. I ask you use six letters and one number, as it's much cheaper than having seven letters and no number. (The number HAS to be the last digit on the plate. Illinois has rules, you know.) And, it has to be all about me. After all, it IS all about me.

If you look above, you'll see where to vote for your favorite plate. You may early and vote often. If you don't like any of the choices, feel free to make a comment.

As for these suggestions, see if you can figure them out. Most of them are pretty obvious; others, not so much. I think the wife could figure most of them out, but even she might have to really think about a few of them. (BTW, I won't be getting "the wife" one. I threw that in there to be a smarty pants.)

I will be ordering my plates next week, so don't delay. The ex-governors are awaiting my order. After all, they need something to do while in prison.......