Retrokitten's Rants

Happy 4th, Public Enemies and a New Music Selections!

2009-07-03T14:21:00.005-05:00

Happy Independence Day, readers! I hope you're all having a wonderful, relaxing weekend. I started my day off seeing "Public Enemies." It's pretty good, two paws up. But let's face it, they could dress Johnny Depp and Christian Bale up in 1930's garb to read the phone book for two hours and I would still pay $10 to go see it. Then cry that they were robbed of Oscars. The movie looks fabulous. The clothes, the cars, the iron and marble banks all look fabulous. Guys will like it because many things get blown up with tommy guns. Women will like it because, hey, Johnny Depp and Christian Bale.

It's been a while since I've made a music recommendation, so I thought I'd let you in on my last two downloads. First up are The Black Keys, "Attack and Release." Sort of reminds me of The Black Crowes, a little White Stripes, and some Lynard Skynard tossed in a blender. Trippy southern rock. "I Got Mine" is a bluesy rock song similar to "Ball and a Biscut" off of The White Stripes "Elephant" (which is possibly my favorite rock album of all time). "Things Ain't Like They Used To Be" is really a song about breaking up, but I can just imagine it playing during a boozy slow dance, ten minutes after last call when you really don't want to go home and no one else is left in the bar. Something about that song is so sexy.

Next up is Left Lane Cruiser, "Bring Yo' Ass to the Table." If it were possible to wear out MP3's I would have done it by now because I've listened to nothing since. I'm really at a loss at how to describe them. They are a little blues, a little punk, a little bluegrass, a little rockabilly, and a little heavy metal. "Mountain Top" (off their first album "Gettin' Down On It") even has a little rap sort thing going on in the middle of it. I seriously can't get enough of them. It's a toss up for my favorite song, but I think I have to go with "Big Momma." How can you not love a song with lyrics like, "Big butt all up and down my mashed potatoes"? Honestly, I don't even know what the means, but it's funny. There are plenty of growling vocals, jangly steel guitars, and driving drums to keep everyone happy. This is one of those bands that I can't figure out why they aren't more popular. It's really only two guys which just blows me away. Straight to the point- those two guys make a really large sound. I can't get enough of them and hope they put out more stuff soon.

Woo-hoo!!

2009-06-29T14:13:00.002-05:00

Dontcha just love when you go get the mail and a check is unexpectedly waiting for you?? Remember my little adventure with the popcorn kernel and the dentist? I guess insurance decided to pay for it after all. So waiting in my mail was a refund from the dentist! Granted it's only $47, but it's $47 I didn't have a few minutes ago.

On another note, went to the zoo with my niece and nephew yesterday. I got a ton of cute pictures. I will not mention that I forgot to put sunblock on my chest (wore a v-neck t-shirt) and my chest is now super red. I'll also not mention that I wore my camera bag across me and at some point switched from wearing it left to right to right to left and now have a big "X" across my chest.

A Serious Note For a Change...

2009-06-26T15:29:00.002-05:00

A few months ago, I posted a few of my favorite quotes and thoughts. One was, “Sometimes good people make bad decisions.” Someone in my life has made a series of incredibly bad decisions lately. I know that eventually he will Google each of us to see if we are talking about him or thinking of him or just what we are up to. So, I want to address this post to this person. It probably won’t make sense to anyone else.

You taught me how to play Tetris (I still f-ing kick ass, BTW), introduced me to U2, bent all the spoons with me when we had the flu, took me to concerts, and let me feel grown up by letting me hang out with you and your friends. I was proud of you on your wedding day and told you so. I was so joyful for your family the day your kids were born.

I have never and could never hate you. I am deeply, deeply saddened and troubled at what has gone on in the last few months. You have absolutely no idea of the devastation your actions have caused to ripple throughout our entire family. Despite your rationale that had you spoken to us first, you could have swayed us to your point of view- that is absolutely untrue. There is nothing you could have possibly said to make any of us see that your actions were justified. THERE IS NO EXCUSE. Period.

You are a good person with a good heart, who has made some incredibly bad decisions. It happens. I pray that you find the peace that you are so desperately seeking. Don’t get me wrong, I am angry with you, but mainly I am just overwhelmingly sad and confused. This is a time when you will need your family, trust me, I know. But you have further pushed everyone away. It doesn’t make any sense.

I know that reading this will probably just make you angrier and think I am trying to be better then you or passive aggressive. But I swear it is the truth. I wish you no ill-will and I hope your gains will be greater then your losses.

Love,
Me

It's Back to Twizzlers and Raisianettes For Me!

2009-06-05T17:42:00.003-05:00

Who's ready for another installment of Retro's Dumb Injuries? Well, too bad. I'm going to tell you anyway.

Last Thursday I started to feel a little pain in my jaw. Nothing major just a little soreness. Friday it was much worse. So much worse that I had to take some Advil to get to sleep. When I finally did get to sleep, it was fitful at best. When I would brush my teeth, the area would bleed and the whole right side of my face was hurting. I couldn't make it through Monday without taking Advil.

Because I was avoiding the inevitable news that I have some kind of exceptionally rare disease that is going to cause massive disfiguration, I avoided the dentist. Meanwhile, I'm making out my will (I have a nice TV) and spend all my time telling my face how much I've enjoyed our time together.

Wednesday I was up until 3 AM because the pain wouldn't let me sleep. That voice telling me about the super rare disfiguring disease eating my face off didn't help much either. After a whole 2 1/2 hours sleep, I decided that I had to face the dentist. So I called into work and I made an appointment at the dentists office.

I described to the hygienist how my jaw was hurting from my ear to my temple and everywhere in between. She sort of made a "Hmmm...." sound. It wasn't a good sound. It sounded like, "Hmm....that is really messed up! We're going to have to write an article for Diseases That Eat Your Face Off Monthly about this one!" But she went and got the dentist.

He tilted my chair back and took a look with that big pointy sickle thing they jab at your gums. He started digging and digging and digging....and I'm trying not to cry, because it hurt like a mofo. After what felt like six or seven years of this, he says, "Have you been having popcorn?" 'Oh hell no,' I thought. Yes, that was it. A popcorn kernal had slipped so far down between my gums and tooth that it couldn't come out on its own. That stupid little thing made me think I was going to lose my mugg!

Well, I just felt too stupid. The dentist said, "Don't worry about it. We see this a couple of times a week." That actually did make me feel slightly better. But the thought of taking a whole day off of work because of a peice of popcorn stuck in my gum still makes me feel like a tool. The kicker is that the deductible on my dental insurance is $50. The charge for being stabbing in the gum for 15 minutes? $47. Of course.

Things Only Your Dad Can Ask You

2009-05-29T17:41:00.004-05:00

This is a conversation that I could only have with my dad. Anyone else who called me up and asked me this, would hear a rape whistle and and ear-piercing, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed in to the phone.

I can't tell if, as I get older, my parents are getting weirder or I'm just now realizing they are weird.

*Ring! Ring!*

Me: "Hello?"

My dad: "Hi, it's your dad."

"Hi. What's up?"

"Do you like salami?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I've got some salami if you want it."

"Um no. Thanks, though."

"Okay. What about Mr. RK?" (*sidenote: remember Mr. RK and I are separated and he lives someplace else)

"No, he doesn't eat salami. What's with the salami questions?"

"Oh, I bought a salami and I thought we could all share it."

"Thanks, but I think we'lll pass."

"Okay, see ya."*Click*

Knowing my dad like I do, I am sure he bought a salami had two slices, brought it home and my mom proceeded to yell at him in a very Estelle Costanza sort of way, "What am I supposed to do with an entire salami?!?!" Quick thinking Retrodad said, "It's for everyone!" Guaranteed he was on the phone with my brother asking if my 2 1/2 year old niece and nephew like salami.

I think my parents need some hobbies that don't include meat.

RetroKitten's Favorite Things!

2009-04-24T19:32:00.006-05:00

It's time for another installment of RetroKitten's Favorite Things!!

Oh, I guess she is new and thinks this is like the other favorite thing's show where they actually give you the junk. That talk show host is rich, I'm not. But I do buy a ton of stuff, weed out the crap, and occasionally blog about it.

The first item up is Dermadoctor's KP Duty lotion. I have been searching my whole life for the perfect lotion and I believe I have found it. This lotion is specifically formulated for a condition called keratosis pilaris or "chicken skin" characterized by small red bumps and dry patches. I didn't know that when I bought it. I just thought, "Hey, new lotion." I put it on my legs and feet and within two days they were noticeably smoother. Yes, two days! I was blown away. It exfoliates the dead skin away leaving the skin soft and smooth. It's tough on really dry areas like feet, knees and elbows, but gentle enough for your whole body. It has no smell, so men shouldn't be afraid they'll be walking around smelling like a flower garden. Although the pink bottle with a cartoon doctor on it might put them off. Maybe just lie and say your lady left it. At $35 a tube it's pricey, but definitely worth the money. Because of the acids, make sure you use some sun block. Any time you use something with fruit acids your skin will be a little sensitive to the light.

Next is the Joy of Cooking. There is definitely a reason it's been in print for 75 years, because it's the best. I sort of hate cooking (love to bake), but I've never made a bad recipe out of this book. It's fitting for all levels of kitchen expertise. There are recipes to impress, like the stuffed butterflied leg of lamb, and recipes for those of you who just landed here from Jupiter, like grilled cheese. Just this past Easter I made a Mississippi Mud Cake. It's a variation of the Texas sheet cake smothered in pecans and marshmallows, then covered in a frosting that is pretty much a brownie recipe without the flour or eggs. It was so good it should be criminal.

Last, but not least, Alive! Multi-vitmains. I won't lie, these bad boys are gigantic and you have to take 3 of them to get a full dose, but they are the best multi-vitamin I've found. If you don't take vitamins, you should. Doctors will you that you get all the nutrition you need from food, but did you know that the Recommended Daily Allowance tables we are all familiar with were created during WWII to keep away nutritional deficiancy symptoms? They are slightly above the minimum amounts our body requires to function. For example, the RDA for Vitamin D is 400 IUs. Recent research says we need closer to 2000 IUs to ward off disease. Of course, there are some you shouldn't mess with like, Vitamin A and Iron. Too much of either of those can become toxic. Alive! is available with or without iron added. It also contains all the good stuff from green vegetables, amino acids, digestive enzymes, bioflavinoids (if you don't know about bioflavinoids, look them up, they are wonderful things!), omega fatty acids, and a whole host of other great things your body is hungry for.

All the older people I know who have taken vitamins their whole life are still very healthy. For example, both my parents have taken vitamins their whole adult lives and are now in their 60's. Even though they both could stand to lose some weight, my mom takes no medication and my dad takes a low dose high blood pressure pill and that's it. Contrast that with a guy I know who is 38 and takes TWELVE medications. Yes, TWELVE. Or my 40 year old idiot brother in-law who refuses to take any sort of vitamin and takes eight medications. Purely anecdotal, I know, but I'd rather pay $40 every couple of months for the big bottle of Alive! then whatever the cost of even a few of those medications.

There you have it, a few of my favorite things. If you look under your seat, they are all there!

Okay, they're not. But if I ever get my own show, I'll make sure to pass out some favors. Don't get your hopes up. It will probably be a Jolly Rancher.

The Sounds of Love or Bad Sushi?

2009-04-19T11:34:00.006-05:00

There is a little game I like to play called, "Wouldn't it be funny if...?" It's basically me thinking up goofy scenes and cracking up like an idiot. One thing that always makes me laugh is, "Wouldn't it be funny if the neighbors were walking past my door and overheard this?" Things like: "Her husband totally does look like Shrek!" "That's because she's bat-shit crazy." "She'd be better off suited to dating an inmate, because then everyone involved would know there was no chance of them getting together."

I know what I would do if I heard those things- intentionally drop my keys and linger outside the door so I could hear more. Especially that one about the inmate! But I am abnormally nosy, so I don't think my reaction is typical. Last night I think the universe got a little revenge on my nosiness and played its own game of "Wouldn't it be funny if...?"

A few posts ago I mentioned my downstairs neighbor who is engaged in all sorts of loud freaky freakiness with her very milquetoast looking boyfriend. I will tell you one thing, I will never look at plain guys the same way again! Anyway, I was laying in bed watching TV and could hear music from downstairs coming through the floor. I didn't even realize I had started to drift off until I woke up to a sort of pained yelping. "Oh boy. The love machines are at it again," I thought. Then there was the noise again. Since I was now awake I could tell that this wasn't the regular sounds of passion that I normally hear on Saturday nights. I muted the TV and heard the sound again.

The only way to describe it is, the noise someone would make after having eaten a whole tray of month old sushi, some bad quacamole, washed it down with a quart of milk 6 weeks past it's experation date and it had all been left in the sun on a 104 degree day. It sounded like the worst case of food poisoning that has ever graced this earth. There was no, "Oh, hurt so good!" in these sounds. It was more like, "Oh, dear God not aga---BLEEEEAAAAAAAACCCCCH!!!!!" If these were the sounds of them getting down, they were engaged in some crazy crap that they found on the internet. People, if the interet tells you to do something, it's probably going to result in the neighbors hearing the sounds of your violent illness over their TVs and waking them from a semi-sound sleep. Just something to consider.

The good news is that the ultra-violent vomitting/sex sounds soon died down and I was able to drift off to dreamland. The bad news is that my other neighbor, the one who watches all the Bollywood pay-per-view movies, had a little party. So at 4:07 AM, I was greeted to the sounds of 5 drunk guys yelling things in Hindi and laughing hysterically. The one guy saw a goose and started honking at it and pretending to flap wings. I've never prayed so hard for a bird to attack a human. Because forget about Susan Boyle, the newest You Tube sensation would be 5 drunk Indian guys getting attacked by a Canadian goose.

A New Post!

2009-04-02T09:52:00.002-05:00

My life has been pretty quiet lately. While that's a good thing, it makes for boring blog posts. There is one thing that is new, but I'm almost embarrassed to post it. You can probably guess it if you've been paying attention.

Hanging my head in shame....yes, it's another new diet. So embarrassing.

I had cut out sugar and flour right after New Year's and wasn't losing anything. This frustrated me beyond words, because cutting those things is hard. I go through weird things, that I guess are withdrawals, for the first couple of days. Thoughts pop into my head like, "I want cherry pie." I don't even remember the last time I had cherry pie, but take me off sugar and my brain craves it. I realized that I was doing something wrong. Cutting simple carbs like sugar and flour should make anyone lose weight.

I looked into NutriSystem, but the reviews were horrible. If you are bored, check out the reviews at qvc.com. They are a riot!

"I've been on the program for about 3 weeks now. O.K. I honestly gave it a good try....but I just can't do it anymore. I read the reviews like other people and thought it can't be that bad....but oh it is."

"I knew going in that dieting is not fun. I really really tried to like this food and convinced myself that but I could do this for several months but after literally gagging on the Chicken and Dumplings meal tonight I had to admit defeat. "

"I thought I would give it a try. I have about 40 pounds to lose. I was all excited! OMG!!! This stuff I wouldn't feed to my enemies. I can not choke down another meal. I am very disappointed and I'm sending the remainder back!"

So, I scratched NutriSystem off my options list. I looked into Jenny Craig. One of my coworkers said the food is good. Really good. So good that she gained 8 pounds while on it.

Stratch Jenny Craig.

The final option on my list was a local company, Seattle Sutton's Healthy Eating. It's the same concept as NutriSystem and Jenny Craig, but the food is fresh, no preservatives or additives to extend shelf life. I called them up and placed my order. I fully expected the food to be nasty based on what I had heard about the similar programs. It's low salt, low sugar, low fat; in my chunky brain, those things equal massive suckage.

My first meal was dinner, a garden burger on a whole wheat bun along with baked potato soup and baked beans. The portions were a little small, but not too bad. Probably what normal human portions are supposed to look like and not the gargantuan restaurant sized portions we are used to. The garden burger was surprisingly good and baked beans have never been my favorite, but they were alright. BUT, it was a good thing the baked potato soup was in a little container, because I would have had the whole pot! It was so yummy!! Readers, I was so pleasantly surprised by the whole meal. It wasn't yucky at all.

It had to be a fluke, right?

Breakfast the next day was french toast slices with cinnamon apples and sausage. My hopes were not high. Again, I was really surprised! Everything was yummy!

Every meal went this way- me thinking it was going to blow, then being surprised how good it was. Plus, I'm having all this food I would normally not try or cook for myself. One of the meals had jicama. I saw it sitting there and didn't even know what it was. It kind of reminded me of a big water chestnut. I had brussel sprouts and gnocchi for the first time, too. I realized I still don't like zucchini most of the time and don't like beets at all.

The weird thing is that since the food is low salt and low sugar, if I eat something that has a typical amount of salt in it, it feels like I am eating salt lick. Before this, I loved really salty food! It took a little while to get used to the portion size, but it's amazing how quickly we can adjust to things like that. Saturday I went out with a friend and couldn't finish my burger. It seemed ginormous! Maybe I'll turn into one of those, "Oh, I couldn't possibly finish the whole thing!" girls.

Hey- why are you laughing? It could happen.

Yeah, it probably won't.

But I have lost seven pounds this month, so that's something.

My Latest Love..

2009-03-04T13:01:00.001-06:00

This, dear readers, is a picture of my latest love. I love, love, love punching the heavy bag! After two and a half weeks of punching this thing, I've figured out how to save the country millions on anti-depressants! Honestly, I haven't even been capable of getting truly angry at anything. Annoyed? Yes. Stressed? Of course. But real anger hasn't even been a blip on my radar.

In addition to working out my rage, there have been some other unexpected things. Having never been in a fight in my life and never punching anything before, I didn't realize there is a right way to punch so you don't break your hand. I was just finishing up and was giving the bag a good last pummeling, when I came in with a right hook. Readers, I am afraid that I do not know enough words to adequately describe the feeling that went from my knuckles up my arm. Curse words came out of me that I didn't even know I knew. I took off my gloves and handwraps and went right to the sink to run some cold water over my hand. There was a tingle that went from my knuckles to my wrist that didn't mean anything good. I sat the whole rest of the night with an ice pack on my hand. But on the plus side, I noticed that my waist looks narrower and my arms are toning up. Well, the smaller waist is a blessing and a curse, because it makes my ass look that much bigger.

The best part, though, is that I found something that is physical activity that I really enjoy. "Sports", "physical activity", and "exercise" are almost dirty words in my house. I've done it in the past just because I had to, okay, I thought about doing it, but rarely made that journey from the couch to the treadmill. But this is something fun that I like to do. I think I will stick to hitting the heavy bag, though, and not progress to sparring. Because I'm not really a fan of people trying to hit me.

The Great Santa's Village Cover-Up

2009-02-06T12:49:00.004-06:00

Every so often I'll tell someone what I think of as an innocent childhood memory, only to have them say in disbelief, "Your parents did what??" Such is the case with the tale of Santa's Village.

Santa's Village was, as you can probably guess, a Christmas-themed amusement park in East Dundee, IL. They would advertise every 63 seconds during Saturday morning and after school cartoons. Of course I wanted to go! There was Santa and rides! All year long! What's not to love?? Well, you should ask my parents that, because apparently there was A LOT not to love.

Every single time I would ask, "Can we go to Santa's Village?" My mom would say, "There is no Santa's Village."

"Um...yeah there is. It was on TV," a cute little five year-old RK would reply in a manner only her mother could resist.

"Not everything on TV is real."

I knew Strawberry Shortcake was not real. I knew Smurfs were not real. I thought the Scrubbing Bubbles commercial was a cartoon show I kept missing, but I knew it wasn't real. I was pretty sure Santa's Village was real.

I asked my friends what they knew about this allegedly fictional place. "We went there last weekend. They have reindeer!"

Now I knew something was up. Someone was lying. I went back to my mom.

"Nora's parents took her to Santa's Village last weekend. They have reindeer."

With a completely straight face, she said, "I think her parents lied to her. Santa's Village isn't real. They probably went to the zoo and just told her it was Santa's Village." I was still not convinced Santa's Village was purely imagination. So every few months this exact scenario would play itself out.

Even til this very day I can't figure out what the big deal was with Santa's Village. There was another kids amusement park where Oak Brook Center Mall now stands, called Kiddie Kingdom. We went there constantly. We went to Great America at least twice every summer. My mom's favorite holiday is Christmas. But Santa's Village was like this amusement park pariah. On Lake Street in Addison was an abandoned lot where, for some unknown reason, there was a Tilt A-Whirl car, a ticket booth, and a couple carousel animals beyond repair were stored. My parents told me that USED TO BE Santa's Village.

One day when I was seven years old, we were driving to a place I have since forgotten. Up ahead I saw it like a gleaming beacon of Heaven on Earth....the Santa's Village sign!! It WAS real! TV wasn't lying! From the backseat I started freaking out, pointing and shouting. "SANTA'S VILLAGE!!! IT'S REAL!!! THERE IT IS!!" I still remember the, "Oh shit" look on my dad's face. Maybe it was because I was screaming in his ear.

Cool as a cucumber my mom said, "That's not it." My eyes were about to burst of out of my head! Was she serious?? It was RIGHT THERE! "Mom! It's there! LOOK!!!" Oh, she was looking, all right. But I guess she figured since she had taken her charade this far, that she might as well commit 100%.

"No, that's not Santa's Village."

"But the sign says Santa's Village!!!"

"It closed down."

"There are cars going in! The rides are on!!"

"No, it's closed."

"But people are ON THE RIDES!!"

"Those are workers."

By now we had turned on to a different road and I just gave up.

Every so often it will come up in conversation- The Great Santa's Village Cover-Up. Does my mom explain herself? Of course not! She just laughs a hearty, "Yeah, that was a good one!" laugh.

Explains a lot about me, doesn't it?

An Open Letter to My Neighbors

2009-01-31T18:11:00.003-06:00

A few months ago I was feeling down and perked myself up by buying a new TV for my bedroom. I went with the 22" Vizio and it's great! Since it's just in my bedroom, I didn't want to spring for another cable box and hooked the cable directly to the TV. Suddenly a whole new world was opened to me! The world of High Def TV! Because I didn't have the box filtering it out, I was able to receive the local HD channels. But that wasn't the only cool thing.

I noticed that occasionally on channel 87-7, and a few others that usually are inactive, there would be movies or TV shows. I figured out that since the entire apartment building shares a cable connection, that I was getting your On Demand programming! That's right, every time you watch something, I get to watch it, too.

Now that that you know, I thought maybe we could work together to create the best viewing experience. First, to my downstairs neighbor, you dirty, dirty girl! I used to call you Churchy LaFemme until I accidentally stumbled on your late night viewing habits. To say I was startled when that came floating across my TV, is an understatement. How did I know it was you? Well, I guess I don't really know with complete certainty. But judging from the, ahem, sounds of love coming from your apartment a short time later, I thought it was a pretty safe assumption. I guess I'm just asking you to keep it down. Oh and if you have any suggestions for a new nickname, let me know. Because even though you were yelling, "Oh God!" Churchy Le Femme just doesn't seem to fit anymore.

Next, to the person who keeps watching Bollywood movies. Stop fast-forwarding through them! I was completely engrossed in that one where the guy marries two women, the kids figure it out and are going to turn him in to their moms and just then you hit fast-forward!! I still don't know how that one ends. Then last night, you were watching some mob movie, staring quite possibly the hottest man on Earth, and again just when I got into it, you hit fast forward! But I do have to say thanks for not fast-forwarding through the part where he was running while taking his shirt off. My downstairs neighbor might also appreciate that scene.

To the documentary lover. I love a good documentary, too. But don't they make any light ones? Don't get me wrong, the one about the women of the Congo was incredibly moving. Maybe next time, we could watch one about the history of ice cream or kittens. It's just an idea.

That's it for now. I'll try and watch some of your favorite On Demand shows, too...if your favorite shows are Intervention and Ghost Hunters.

Dear God, I've Said Too Much!

2009-01-18T09:41:00.002-06:00

The squirrels are pissed.

Within 10 minutes of getting up this morning I heard a "thud" and saw the cats run to look out the patio doors. A squirrel had launched itself from the tree on to the balcony. Oh, was cute and fuzzy, all right. But he kept staring menacingly into the windows.

See Exhibit A, below:

Repeated pleas of "Shoo! Shoo!" went ignored. Clearly this squirrel meant business. He went to the railing to regroup.

Exhibit B:

He again ran at the patio doors!

Exhibit C:

I finally stumbled on the squirrels nemesis, the broom. One look at that thing and he launched himself back into the tree. But then he started making angry squirrel sounds! I didn't even know squirrels made sounds.

Now he's lurking in the tree outside my patio.

Lurk all you want, squirrel, but who has the broom?

Natural Beauty, Healing, and Cleaning

2009-01-17T16:08:00.005-06:00

Lately I've been on this natural kick. I've always been interested in vitamins, nutrition (ironic considering the weight-management issues), and natural healing. But recently I've been interested in natural cleaning and beauty treatments, as well, and I thought I would share my discoveries with my lovely readers.

I don't know if anything excites me more then finding great, old-timey cleaning products. I have no idea why, because I'm not a germ-aphobe or a clean freak. But the day I found out that vinegar can clean and disinfect my entire bathroom, kitchen and cat literbox was probably the happiest day of my life. Diluted white vinegar got rid of this gunk that was stuck around the edge of my sink. It also got all the build up off my shower curtain liner. Baking soda can scrub your bathtub, your teeth, and brighten your laundry. Plus, it's cheap! A box of Arm and Hammer is $0.57 at Wal-Mart!

More great uses for vinegar and baking soda! (Sorry, I somehow made this link to Pogo and, while I love Pogo, they probably won't help with uses for vinegar and baking soda)

My favorite natural healing site by far is Earthclinic.com. There are pages and pages of reader testimonials about all sorts of different natural remedies. It was here that I learned about apple cider vinegar for my hair. Diluted apple cider vinegar hair rinse gets your scalp super clean and removes the build up of styling products. It leaves your hair shiny and bouncy. They also recommend coconut oil and that one is next on deck for me to try.

Earth Clinic.com

For nutrition, I go to World's Healthiest Foods.com. Any time I have any question about a vitamin or supplement, this is the place I go. They have great nutritional, information, recipes, vitamin information, and pretty much everything you can think of regarding healthy eating. If you want to know how to get the most nutrition out of your food, they will definitely be able to help.

World's Healthiest Foods.Com

Why You Shouldn't Feed The Squirrels

2009-01-07T19:29:00.003-06:00

Happy New Year, readers! I'm finally feeling better so I thought I'd warn you all against feeding wildlife, specifically squirrels. Oh sure, they look all cute and friendly. The one on the left is even drinking a beer. But let me tell you about the mutant giganto squirrels my dad was creating in Chicago's quiet northwestern suburbs several years ago.

My dad is shooter and goes to gun shows. Apparently, they have more then just guns at these things. He always comes back with all kinds of crap that is not gun related, like the time about 9 or 10 years ago when he came home with a big sack of dried ears of corn. My mom and I looked at him like he was nuts and asked him what the hell he was going to do with it. "I'm going to feed the birds in the backyard." I wanted to imagine this would bring beautiful birds from 'round the world- snow owls, blue jays, pileated woodpeckers, flamingos- to our backyard. But I knew it would just be more pigeons, doves, and Canadian geese, a.k.a. the rats of the bird world.

It didn't seem like the corn was attracting any more birds to the yard, but I did notice more squirrels. Fat squirrels. Huge friggin squirrels. They didn't even run at the site of people anymore. They would watch us as we walked the twenty feet down the sidewalk to the garage, hoping that we had corn for them.

Then one day I as I was leaving for work, the biggest squirrel ever ran and stood between me and the garage door. I stopped in my tracks and stared at him. He stared back. I took a step forward. He took a step forward. I honestly had no idea what to do. True, the creature that was blocking my way was only about six pounds (hey-that's big for a squirrel!), but it's also got claws, fleas, and maybe rabies. I came up with what I thought was a brilliant plan- go back in the house.

Okay, it seemed at least moderately brilliant at the time. Standing just inside the door, I briefly considered calling in sick. I'm a crappy liar, so when I'm not really sick and I call into work I find it hard to keep the glee out of my voice. They'd know I wasn't sick and, "There is a squirrel on the sidewalk" isn't usually an acceptable excuse to use a sick day. I took a deep breath and, this time, came up with an actual workable plan.

I peaked my head out the door and the squirrel was gone. So I sprinted down the sidewalk towards the garage. The squirrel must have been looking out for me, because he sprinted for the door, too. We were back to staring each other down. I made my left hand into a fist and held it up so he could see it. Then I flung my fist out like I was throwing something. He ran off after the invisible corn and I dashed into the garage and slammed the door shut. I drove off really fast, because I know I get cranky when people promise me food and don't deliver. I really didn't want to know what the angry, fat, possibly rabid squirrel would do when he realized that there was no dried ear of corn.

When I got home that night, I told my mom about it. She said, "That same squirrel did the same thing to Frank (our elderly neighbor) when he was going to his garage!" I asked if he faked throwing corn, too. My mom said, "No, it's a squirrel. He just pushed it out of the way and went in the garage."

Madeline and Chris

2008-12-27T19:34:00.006-06:00

I've got a sinus infection and feel like poop. So, I thought I would do something a little different. Different meaning easy. My heroes have always been funny people. I've told you of my love of Dave Barry, but I don't think I've mentioned my love Madeline Kahn and Chris Farley, both taken from us too soon. Madeline Kahn was the rare comedienne who was as beautiful and feminine as she was funny. For some reason too many funny women think they have to ugly themselves up and act masculine. Below is classic Madeline from Young Frankenstien.

Next is Chris Farley. Chris had his demons for sure and always a little undercurrent of sadness in his performances. That said, he always made me laugh. Here is doing his Newt Gingrich in a skit called, "How Congress Works."

The Clown's Prayer

As I stumble through this life,
help me to create more laughter than tears,
dispense more cheer than gloom,
spread more cheer than despair.

Never let me become so indifferent,
that I will fail to see the wonders in the eyes of a child,
or the twinkle in the eyes of the aged.

Never let me forget that my total effort is to cheer people,
make them happy, and forget momentarily,
all the unpleasantness in their lives.

And in my final moment,
may I hear You whisper:
"When you made My people smile,
you made Me smile."

-Anonymous-

Cookies!!!

2008-12-22T19:03:00.003-06:00

Just so you don't think I'm foolin' when I say I love to bake, I bring you photographic evidence!

Ginger molasses spice cookies with fancy white decorator sugar. They are thin and crisp and go great with ice cream.

These I renamed Heaven Bars, because they are the closest thing to Heaven on Earth. They are so simple, too. A layer of yellow cake mix mixed with white chocolate, semi-sweet chocolate and a chopped up Heath Bar. Over that is a layer of caramels melted with a stick of butter and a can of sweetened condensed milk, topped with more of the cake mixture.

I had to taste them and make sure they are fit for human consumption. They are. Now they won't stop calling my name from the fridge.

Merry Christmas and Some Weird Encounters (not with my in-laws)

2008-12-19T19:21:00.003-06:00

Well, we are almost to Christmas! I'm going to be a busy girl baking, wrapping gifts, and baking some more, so I most likely won't be around much the next week. I thought I would leave you with these two strange (and hilarious) encounters I've had. I've wanted to share them for a while, but they are so goofy, that I've never had an opening to work them in. So consider it my wacky Christmas gift to you. Yeah, it's crappy and cheap, but it's either that or nothing. So enjoy these stories about GNC and Costco pharmacy.

A few weeks ago, my friend calls me up and begs me to go to GNC with him to buy protein powder. I didn't have anything else to do, so I went. When we walked in, there of course was no one else in the store (I don't know howGNC stays in business, there is never anyone in there) and the sales guy comes out from the backroom. He looks like Willy Ames from "Charles in Charge"- shaggy, curly blonde hair, short, but muscular build. My friend said he was looking for a protein powder that didn't taste like sawdust. GNC guys face lit up and he said, "Alright. Awesome!" It looked like he was sitting in the backroom thinking, "Dude, it's so dead. I just wish someone would come in and ask aboutprotein powder. That would be friggin' awesome."

He pointed out some of the different powders to my friend and told us his personal experiences with each one in great detail. I've never heard someone use the word 'dude' so much. "They are all pretty good, dude, except this one. Dude, it tasted like motor oil and I was on the toilet like 6 times a day. Dude, it was not cool. I don't even know why we still sell it, dude." Between his saying "dude" every three seconds and telling us extremely detailed stories about every single thing in the store, I kept having to look away, because I wanted to laugh. My friend and I couldn't look at each other, because we knew if we caught eyes we would crack up.

He rang up my friend and while we were standing at the register I noticed a display of Five Hour Energy. I said, "One of the guys at my work had that and had to go the hospital with heart palpitations." Since GNC Dude seemed to use everything in the store, my friend asked him if he had ever had Five Hour Energy. The Dude scoffed and said, "Oh no. I don't mess with that stuff," in a very "my body is a temple" sort of tone. Picking up a can of Rockstar energy drink, he finished, "I just do three or four of these a day and caffeine pills." He gave me a big satisfied grin while nodding his head and opening his eyes wide. "Keeps me buzzed." My friend was caught so off guard that he fumbled his credit card to the floor. I smiled and managed to say, "Oh. That works, too, I guess." My friend finally got his credit card put away and I practically ran out of the store, because if I didn't start laughing soon I was going to break a rib trying to keep it in!

At Costco pharmacy, I always seem to get in line behind people picking up exotic medications with extremely complicated dosing instructions and who want to pay in pennies. So about a year and a half ago, I'm standing there waiting for the guy at the counter to pick up his Sleeping Sickness medication, while at the other end of the pharmacy a man is dropping of his prescription. He starts getting loud. Not angry loud, more like enthusiastic loud. "All right! Sounds good!" He was about 5'9"ish, dressed in black cotton shorts, a white golf shirt, and a whistle around his neck. He walked away from the drop-off counter and started clapping. If this wasn't weird enough, he then yelled, "Come on!! Let's go! Let's hustle!! LET'S DO THIS THING!!!" All this while looking at the pharmacist and assistants- who were doing their best to avoid eye contact with this loon. Normally I'm against people cutting in line, but I was willing to let him go ahead of me. Clearly he had missed the last dose of whatever he was supposed to be taking.

I looked at my husband to see if he was seeing this, too, because it was so mental that I wanted to make sure that I wasn't imagining it. I don't know if others were freaked out or just didn't care or what, but no one else was reacting to this man yelling, "LET'S DO THIS THING!!!" to the people getting his medication. Mr. RK looked over at me and I quietly said, "Do you see this nut?" He said, "Yeah, be cool. He's a little wound up." Ya think? Finally Sleeping Sickness man counted out all the nickles he was paying with, I picked up my prescription and we were able to go. If we had more time, I would have stuck around just to see how he reacted to picking up his prescription. I imagine he kissed it and held it over his head while walking around the pharmacy like hockey players do with the Stanley Cup.

Hardrock, Coco, and Joe

2008-12-14T09:50:00.000-06:00

You can keep your Rudolph, your Frosty and your Heat Miser. Give me Hardrock, Coco, and Joe! Just try not to make eye contact with Santa. His teeth look like they could take a chunk out of your thigh.

Super Easy and Super Yummy Cake!!

2008-12-10T12:15:00.003-06:00

My grocery store had all Coke products buy two get three free, so I've got a lot of energy, hence the second post in two days.

If you are like I used to be, you volunteer to bring a bag of ice to every Christmas party, so you don't have to cook something. But wouldn't it be cool to surprise the crap out of people this year by bringing something homemade? I have got the perfect cake recipe for people who don't regularly cook or bake. It's a yummy oranges and cream cake that is so moist and sweet that people will wonder how little ol' you, whose oven is purely ornamental, were able to make this delicious creation. The glaze is extremely sweet!! The first time I made it, I thought people would hate it because it was so sweet. But sugar junkies loved it. Go figure. Best part, you can swap out the orange soda to root beer and make a root beer float cake!

Dreamcicle Cake

1 box yellow cake mix with pudding (I use Pillsbury)
1 box (5.1 oz size) vanilla instant pudding
1 1/4 cup orange soda
1/2 cup vegetable oil
4 large eggs

Heat the oven to 350. Grease and flour a 10 inch fluted cake pan (the one that looks like a bundt cake pan for you non-bakers). In a large bowl combine cake mix, pudding (at this point, I like to go through the cake mix and pudding mix with a fork to get rid of any large chunks), orange soda, oil and eggs. Beat on medium speed until smooth. Spoon batter into pan. Bake for 45 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean (remember that your cake will continue to bake until it reaches room temprature, so a teeny amount of crumbs sticking to the toothpick is okay). Let cool in pan for 10 minutes. Remove from pan and cool completely on wire rack. Spoon glaze over cooled cake.

Glaze

2 cups confectioners sugar
3 tablespoons soda

Combine sugar and soda until smooth. You may need a little more soda to thin the glaze. If it's getting clumpy and not spreading nicely, boil some water and pour it into a bowl that your glaze bowl will fit into, making like a little water bath for the glaze. This will loosen your glaze up so that it will pour nicely over the cake. Trust me, even if it looks ugly, people will eat it. It's so good you will want to name your first born retrokitten. But don't. Please.

My Helpful Christmas Advice. No Really, It Is!

2008-12-09T07:21:00.008-06:00

I've got to confess something. I love self-help books. Nine out of ten are crap, but every so often I find one that is actually helpful. My absolute favorite is Steve Chandler. There's no touchy-feely "Hug your inner-child" junk in his books, just practical advice with a mega-dose of humor. One of his ideas is to keep a running list of quotes that inspire or motivate you. Now that Christmas is almost upon us, along with all the stress it can bring, I thought I'd share part of my list with my readers. Maybe they will inspire you or make you giggle or reinforce your idea that I am nuts. Most are things I read elsewhere (and forgot to jot down the authors name), but one is an original.

-When feeling low, do one thing you are afraid of.

-You don't drown by falling down. You drown by not getting up.

-There is a light that shines in all of us. It is our connection to the Divine. It's not important that we see it in ourselves as much as we just know it's there. Let it drive you. It is faith.

-Treat people like they are hurtng, bceause chances are pretty good that they are.

-Everyone loves something, even if it's just tortillas.

-Good people can make rotten decisions.

-Don't take things personally. Ninety percent of the time people are too busy thinking of themselves to be concerned with you. The other ten percent is spent wondering what you think of them.

-Paula Deen didn't start her business until she was 41.

-There is so much about you that can't be measured in pounds.

-Everything happens for a reason.

-The depth of your struggle will determine the height of your success.

-How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?

-Our stories are not written in stone. Every day is a new opportunity to be what you might have been!

-Those who were dancing were thought to be insane by those who couldn't hear the music.

-Anger is a result of a percieved insult to our self-esteem.

-Never let anyone be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option.

-We forge the chains we wear in life. -Charles Dickens

-Your enemy is your best teacher.

-What worries you, masters you.

-On your death bed, you will not wish you had been more comfortable, or that you had found an even easier, softer pleasure zone to hide out in. You will wish you had ventured out more. That you had spoken out more. Tried some things. Reinvented yourself one more time. -Steve Chandler

-Every act of conscious learning requires the willingness to suffer an injury to one's self-esteem. That's why young children, before they are aware of their own self-importance, learn so easily and why older people, especially if vain or self-important, cannot learn at all.

Favorite New Album

2008-12-02T10:51:00.002-06:00

When I'm bored I download music off of Amazon. My new love is the new album by Raphael Saadiq, The Way I See It. It sounds like it was made at the height of 60's Motown, but it's brand new. Love, love, love it! If you like classic soul or are looking for something new and different, check it out!! I have been listening to it nonstop since I downloaded it. Okay, I listened to Harper Valley PTA once, but the whole rest of the time it's been The Way I See It.

Connecting the Green Dots

2008-11-29T11:56:00.005-06:00

Most of the time, I am slow to connect life's dots. Last night I found out that I come by it honestly, because my mother is even slower to connect the dots then I am.

She called me up and said, "I'm not sure how to tell you this." It was very much the same tone of, "I'm divorcing your dad and you're adopted." Knowing my mom's flair for the dramatic, I figured it wasn't nearly as serious as she was letting on. So I told her to just spill it.

"We're Irish."

That is what was so hard to tell me? Did she think the Greek part of me was going to start smashing plates?

She asked her dad if my cousin's daughter, who does Irish dancing, was Irish on her father's side. My grandpa said, "No, you're mom was Irish!"

"Irish? I thought we were Swedish!"

I could not make this up. For some reason my mom thought that her redheaded mother, whose maiden name was Keller, was Swedish.

See what I mean? Sometimes those dots don't always come together like they should for us newly-Irish lassies.

It certainly does explain the year 'round pasty white goodness of my skin, love of Bailey's, and hot temper. I'm Greek, Irish, and German. So, I get drunk, break things and invade the neighbors- and that's just on a Saturday night.

It's a Prozac Christmas!

2008-11-22T09:49:00.004-06:00

Sshhhh.....listen.

Do you hear that?

It's the holidays sneaking up on us. I tried to hide from them, but they know all my tricks and found me in the corner of my closet under a blanket. I used to love the holidays...when I was eight. Don't get me wrong, I love my family. But we all have those relatives. You know the ones I mean. The ones you don't want to see, but can't not invite either. For me, it's my cousin's family. Well, mostly just his nasty wife, who will henceforth be known as Jerkarella. When my brother and sister in-law were having fertility issues, she cornered him and said that God told her to tell him that some people aren't meant to have children and they should stop trying. Nice, huh? Guess it's not as bad as when they got engaged and Jerkarella called him up and told him why he shouldn't marry her (different religion then her, but my brother is an atheist). When my sister in-law finally did get pregnant, Jerkarella tried to start a fight with her at her baby shower. But we can't not invite them, because Jerkarella's husband's mother is my dad's sister and she comes to everything. They rotate the holidays between here and Jerarella's home town (the seventh circle of Hell, I think). This is their Christmas to be here. I'm looking forward to it like I look forward to a tumor.

In our family we do gifts for kid's only. So mid November, my mom called Jerkarella asking her what to get the kids (girl 10, boy 5) for Christmas. She kept being very vague. She actually said, "Well, in my family we just buy things and if the person doesn't like it they can return it." (This is an important detail for later!!!) My mom said she'd rather get them something they like. Finally, Jerkarella agreed to send her the kids Christmas lists.

The Christmas lists came....in mid January. Written on the bottom of the girl's list was, "Please don't buy me make up again. My mom is still mad at you." Was this the same woman who said, "Well, in my family we just buy things and if the person doesn't like it they can return it"? I won't lie, my feelings were hurt and I was kind of mad. I try really hard to get the kids in my life things they will like. So not only did I fail that, but they were telling my mom on me!

The Christmas before I had bought the girl (who was 9) and my husband's neice (who was 8) each a hair brush, hair clips, rubberbands, a mirror, glittery peel-off nail polish, a clear lip gloss key chain, and a pencil case to hold it all in. These were all things geared towards girls their age from Sephora. Nothing had any color to it and I wasn't trying to make them look like 8 and 9 year old tramps. When I was that age we had those Bonne Bell Dr. Pepper and Crush flavored lip balms that we treated like gloss. It's an in-between age where you want to feel a little more grown up.

I guess it was just a matter of time before Jerkarella swooped her mighty jerk wrath, that she usually reserved for my brother, on me. Now I'm sort of perplexed on how to handle this situation. I don't want to blame her kids for their mom being a jerk. I found out later, that the girl is not a typical tweener who worships the Jonas Brothers, High School Musical and Hannah Montana. She's now 11 and still colors and generally prefers things for younger kids. I want to just get them gift cards, but that would be pretty crappy to open a gift card when the other kids are getting toys and clothes. The evil part of me wants to give her a really skanky leopard print outfit, but that part is quickly shouted down by the nice part. I'll probably find something on mega-sale at Kohl's.

Weight Watchers Part IV: A New Hope

2008-11-17T13:30:00.003-06:00

It's true. I restarted WW again. There is something so hopeful and joyous about the first day of a new diet. I always think of all these awesome things that are going to happen when I lose weight. All my ex's will realize how horribly misguided they were to let me go. Money will rain down on me from Heaven. I will be awarded a $5 million dollar publishing contract, with movie options, a Pulitzer Prize and probably the Nobel Prize for fabulousity. My own personal E! True Hollywood Story. Plus, "RetroKitten: The Musical" will sweep the Tony Awards.

What always eludes me is the realization that my goal weight is a weight I've been before and none of these things happened back then either (maybe there was a "RetroKitten: The Musical", but there was booze involved and my cats were the audience. I'm going to make sure that's left out of my True Hollywood Story). When I lose weight, little changes. My pants size changes, maybe I get a little more male attention, but my ex's still think I'm crazy, money still flees from me, no one wants to pay me to write, there is no Nobel Prize for fabulousity (but if there was, I bet someone from the University of Chicago would win it anyway) , and my E! True Hollywood Story would involve a lot of shots of me on the couch playing Everybody Wins Bingo at Pogo.com.

Really I know these things. So, why do I do it? Because I want to be healthy. Because I want to be one of those beautiful vibrant old people in the calcium supplement commerical. Because I DON'T want to be one of those ladies in the scooters at Costco. Because I want my ex's to say, "Wow. She looks great. Crazy as hell still, but cute."

This time I'm doing it on my own, no meetings. For a while I was going on Saturday mornings and the leader was horrible. First off, she was FAT! She was probably 40ish pounds overweight. I don't now how she was able to be a leader, because it is my understanding that the leaders have to stay within 2-5 pounds of their goal weight. Second, she never introduced herself. At the start of each meeting, WW leaders are supposed to give their name and how much they lost. I called her Diane for 4 weeks. Turns out her name is Kathy. Well, she apparently answers to Diane, too, because she never corrected me. How much she lost is a great mystery to everyone.

Half the meeting she would talk about her week. Like the time she told us about her vacation where she slipped on a wet bathroom floor after drinking an entire pitcher of margaritas and got a black eye. If she had other good leader qualities I would probably be willing to overlook those things, but this one drove me insane. She lets members talk during the meetings. I don't mean like audience participation talking. I mean full on conversations. They aren't even talking about weight related things. The one time they were talking about high school prom! Trust me, these ladies had thier proms loooooooooong ago.

Then I went back to Wednesday nights. This leader did all the good leader things like telling us her name (Kelly) and how much she lost (75 pounds), shushed people and kept the meeting on topic. You know how first year teachers have so much enthusiasm, ideas, and energy, but you get the feeling they are terrified of their class? That's Kelly. If someone didn't answer her questions right away, you could see this look of panic behind her eyes.

So, I decided to go it alone this time. Really the meetings are good for fellowship, but it's always been me doing it alone all along. When I get skinny, all my readers can be my entourage to the MTV awards.

Small Update...

2008-11-12T14:10:00.002-06:00

If you've followed this blog from the beginning, you're probably my mom. But the rest of you might not know that in addition to ragging on my in-laws, photography is my favorite hobby. With so much going on in my personal life, I've sort of been away from it. I recently started a Flickr page and have been so inspired by the other photographers. I wish I had some time to run out and take a ton of pictures.

There's a link to my Flickr page directly left, but just in case you are like me and too lazy to move the mouse three inches to the left, here's the link: My Flickr page!

Another Greatest Hit!

2008-11-11T20:17:00.001-06:00

I'm having another "Woe is me" day, so I thought I'd update with another greatest hit. For new readers, it will introduce you to my super goofy in-laws who I haven't had any encounters with in a while (thank God for small miracles!). So enjoy this greatest hit from January 03, 2007.

Christmas With The In-Laws
Good afternoon, readers! I trust you all had magical and lovely Christmas and New Year celebrations.

No? Well, neither did I. On to Christmas Day we gather at my mother in-law, Demonica's, condo. My sister in-law, Marge* and her husband, Larry and their kids, Mabel and Melvin were already there, as was my brother in-law, Jim Bob*. We are always the last ones there and the first ones to leave.

Normally, Larry doesn't talk to anyone unless it's to make a nasty dig (see the previous entries "Thank You, Jackass Brother In-Law!" and then one about not wanting to take a cruise that I am too lazy to look up the title to). I was putting the gifts under the tree and he YELLS- "Hi Kitten!!" It caught me so off guard that I looked at him like he was going to steal my wallet and managed to get out a timid, "Hi." When he does this, it usually means he's going to boast about his latest exploit, but there was no follow-up. Could the midlife crisis fog have lifted and had he returned to the land of the living?

It was time to sit down to dinner. I originally picked a seat facing the kitchen, but staring up at me was this life-sized portrait of the Virgin Mary. Demonica had half of the table covered in Virgin Mary items. She had enough to open her own Virgin Mary store. Nothing against Mary, but I don't need that kind of pressure. I just imagined her saying, "Are you really going to eat that? You have had a lot of cookies the last few days." I switched seats.

I wish there was a way for me to take samples of Demonica's cooking and share it with you. Although, you would probably never read my blog again and start referring to me as, "That horrible woman who made me eat her mother in-law's cooking." I never thought of myself as much of a cook until I ate Demonica's cooking. Compared to her, I'm Rachel Ray. I always thought beef roasts were supposed to be a bit pink on the inside and juicy. Demoncia's roasts laugh in the face of juicy!! Juicy pink beef is for the weak! Demonica's beef is brown. Damn brown. So dry you can floss your teeth with it...and that would probably be a better idea then actually eating it. One of the roasts was completely square like a Wendy's hamburger. It had this sort of sheen to it, like a rainbow trout. That's not a good look for beef. The other was, well, let's just say I had to drink a lot of water to get it down.

Larry actually made conversation. He didn't brag about working 70,000 hours overtime or about how much money he makes or how his kids are so smart or... anything. Maybe it was because he was busy eating Wendy's Roast like it was his last meal and even cracked open the tray of Christmas cookies he and Marge had brought and started shoveling them in. Still, I braced for his next attack. He's like a cat when they smack around a mouse for a while. Then the cat pretends to be not interested, only for the mouse to relax and make it easier for the cat to pounce.

After dinner we headed into the living room. Then it hit me. The Smell. It deserves capitalization, because it truly was a living, breathing entity. I thought it was me. "I must have forgotten deodorant. I'll do a big stretch and do a quick pit sniff to verify." It wasn't me. There was not one culprit, but THREE! Yes, Larry, Melvin, and Jim Bob all STANK. Larry smelled like his deodorant quit on him the day before. Melvin did not seem to have been introduced to the magic that is daily showering and deodorant. But the worst of all was Jim Bob. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in at least a week. I mean really, if Christmas isn't a good enough reason to bathe then what is??? Apparently, my husband was the only male in attendance who had showered that day.

Oh boy. Time for gifts. Mr. RK and I do not buy Christmas gifts for adults in our families. Marge and Demonica absolutely insist on buying us gifts regardless. I know what you are thinking, "That's so nice!" It's really not. They buy us the most useless crap ever. "It's the thought that counts!" But there is no thought. Marge bought us each a Christmas ornament. We don't put up a Christmas tree. This is not a secret. Of all people, Demonica pipes up and says, "Marge, they don't have a tree. Why did you get them ornaments?"

But they weren't our only gifts. Marge also gave me a package of three photo holders that look like brightly colored daisies with springs for stems. I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted that they think I have the same tastes as a thirteen year old girl. Mr. RK got a gift card to Baker's Square. A fine restaurant, I am sure, but we have been there exactly one time and it was on our first date more then ten years ago. I was going to sell it to this weird girl at my office, but then I heard her say that she got one from her in-laws! There has got to be some kind of school for in-laws that teaches them this junk. “Giving Your Son and Daughter In-Law the Most Useless Crap Ever 101.”

The best gifts were from Demonica. I got a set of lotions that French whores would say, "Zees smell tres trashee!" Mr. RK got socks. He's a t-shirt, jeans and gym shoes man. He wears white sweat socks exclusively. Demonica gives him socks that can only be described as old man socks. Thick, long, and in khaki, navy, and pale blue. They would go perfectly with a pair of Bermuda shorts, sandals, and a golf hat. Let's not forget that he wears a size 9 shoe and she got size 10-13. So even if he were to wear them, the heal would be up at his ankle and so long that they would go over his knee. The only thing she could have given him that would be less useful is a dress.

Jim Bob gave Mabel the "Full House" dvd collection. Mabel could have cared less, but Marge went crazy for it. "FULL HOUSE!!! I love that show!! Kitten, did you watch this show???" Um yeah, when I was 12. The Olsen Twins creeped me out (still do) and Uncle Joey ceased to be funny after exactly 14 seconds. Marge is 10 years older then me. I was 12 when that show started, meaning she was 22. I can’t imagine any 22 year old sitting through an episode unless they were too drunk to move. Maybe she was hot for John Stamos, but, geez, watch "ER"; he's at least ditched the mullet.

After opening gifts, Mr. RK said to Larry, "Hey, Kitten baked a ton of stuff and everything is really good." Larry perked up and said, "Yeah, I know. Her stuff is always really good." Okay, who was this guy?? Granted he stank, but I was willing to overlook that because he was acting human for a change. Now he compliments my baking?? Clearly, he had been abducted by aliens and replaced with a pod person. It was the only rational explanation.

Marge and I put our cookies out. Marge looked at my spread and said, "Oh. I didn't make anything fancy." She snarled the "fancy", like it was a slur. Let me tell you my philosophy on baking: if it's got more then 5 steps and/or involves rolling the dough, I don't make it. That philosophy eliminates about 99% of fancy recipes. Trust me; I made nothing abnormal or snooty. Demonica and Jim Bob were the only people to even try my cookies. Demonica couldn't resist throwing in a little dig, though. She took one of each type of my cookies and cut them in half, whining that they were all just toooo big for her to eat a whole one.

The aliens must have restored Larry’s jackass personality. Marge asks him, "Aren't you going to have any cookies?" Larry yells, "No, I'm on a diet." Marge looks so confused (more then normal) and says, "Since when?" They go a few rounds and he insists that he is on a diet and can't possibly have any cookies. Was this another crack about my weight loss? I have no idea what he was getting at, but everyone looked at him like he just was an idiot. So, I guess it backfired.

I know this is already long, but I wanted to add an incident that didn’t directly involve me. At one point my husband was in the kitchen talking to his sister, Marge. I heard them whispering and on the way home asked him what that was all about. He said, “Crystal stories.” Crystal is Larry’s sister. I could have an entire blog with nothing but Crystal stories, but they are so completely bizarre that no one would believe them. He said that Marge told him, “She has gained so much weight. She was never thin, but now she’s just HUGE!”

Did she momentarily forget that I have gained a ton of weight in the ten years my husband –her brother- and I have been together? Did they ever bother to find out that I was on medication that made me gain the weight very quickly? I know I am mean. And I bitch. A lot. And I make fun of people. A lot. But people always know where they stand with me. I don’t hide behind this façade of a sweet kindergarten teacher like Marge. I didn’t go into another room and make fun of her hideous Christmas vest. Really, besides lesbians and jugglers who wears a vest?

It wouldn’t bother me as much if this was the first time she had made nasty comments about someone’s weight, but it’s not. My husband said something to her about it last time and she replied, “I wasn’t talking about Kitten.” That makes it okay then! I’ll make fun of idiotic kindergarten teachers who wear fugly Christmas vests and get confused by bread machines. Oh, but I’m not talking about Marge, so its okay! I may be mean, but I know that for every American woman that weight is an issue and draw the line (except for my husband’s flaming bitch on wheels cousin who called me a fatass to my face and I wish her nothing but fatness; she used to be fat, too, and now thinks she has to heal all the fat people of the world).

It just goes to show that when I think the in-laws can't shock me anymore, they always, too.

*Not thier real names, except for Larry, because he's a total jag.

The Return of Homey the Clown!

2008-10-19T13:41:00.006-05:00

Ahh....1991. Nirvana was on the radio, we were all tuning in for a very special episode of Blossom, and Homey the Clown from In Living Color was riding around a in van trying to abduct the children.

What?

You never heard about that last one? Clearly you didn't grow up in the Chicago area.

No one really has any idea why, but in October of 1991 reports started circulating that a van being driven by someone dressed up as Homey the Clown had tried to abduct some kids. This rumor spread through out the city and suburbs like lightning. In true urban legend fashion, the details varied slightly. My friends and I heard that the van was white with large bright colored polka dots painted all over (although, most reports say it was white). I have to admit that at first, we were scared. But then it occurred to us- how are the cops not going to find a polka dot van driven by a guy in a clown suit?

We did have one friend who was generally scared of everything who was terrified by this story. Her family lived in an apartment and visitors had to be buzzed in. A couple of us went to pick her up one night and hit the intercom. When she asked who it was, my friend, Dan, said, "It's Homey!" Giggling, we waited for the buzzer. And waited. And waited. I finally buzzed again and told her it was just us and, as far as we knew, Homey was not with us and she let us in.

Anyway, local news picked up the story. Cops dismissed the claims as unsubstantiated and as quickly the stories started, they stopped. Since this all happened pre-internet, the stories about Homey roaming the Chicagoland area trying to lure kids into his van are hard to find. I've only found this one from the Chicago Reader written in 2006: Who Saw Homey the Clown? Personally, found the comments more terrifying then the article.

Apparently, Homey and his possibly-white van have returned. Earlier this week, local news started reporting that a man dressed as a clown tried to abduct a group of kids on Chicago's south side. From there the story, of course, gets a little blurry. Sometimes he's walking. Sometimes he's driving the ubiquitous white van. Sometimes it's a brown pick up truck. He's seen in the morning, or maybe the evening or even the afternoon. He may have balloons or it might be a candy lure. This this article from CBS 2 Chicago, the police seem to be considering that this may be an urban legend returned to life and have dismissed some of the sitings.

Really, let's consider the facts as we know them. A man with seemingly unlimited free time, dressed as a clown, is cruising the all metro-Chicago area schools in a van or pick-up truck looking to abduct kids. Now, I've never been a criminal or engaged in criminal activities. But I would imagine that no matter what the crime, the object is to not get caught. So, a clown suit is probably not the best choice of attire when going for subtlety. Don't most people assume clowns are fairly evil anyway? If I see a clown coming towards me, every self-defense technique I've ever learned is running through my head and I'm putting my keys between my fingers getting ready to jab his eyes out. Squirt me with that flower and I'll squirt you with some pepper spray, Mr. Giggles. I don't think I'm alone here.

I don't know whether to think that it's charming or terrifying that in this age where information is so readily available that rumors like this can still fly around. But as the great Mark Twain said, "A lie can travel halfway around the world before the truth can even put it's boots on."

Here are some links to local stories about the recent clown sitings:

Man Dressed As Clown Stalking Kids

Clown attempts to lure children into vehicle with balloons

Clown Attempts to Abduct Children (video)

Who Saw Homey the Clown?

Molester Clown Impersonator, Or Urban Legend?

Feeling Sorry For Myself and a Greatest Hit

2008-10-04T10:05:00.004-05:00

I'm in a mood today. It's not a good one. It's one of those, "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I'm going to eat worms" moods. Totally pathetic, but I'll probably be out of it in a couple of hours. Later on, I'm going to buy a new TV for my bedroom. It won't help, but it will distract me long enough for the ADD to kick in and give me something else to dwell on instead of my crabbiness.

Anyway, the other day I was looking through my old blog posts. So, I thought I'd repost this old one. Hopefully it will give everyone a chuckle.

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL ANGER DAY, YOU BASTARDS!

Originally posted February 3, 2006
I'm sure by now you have heard about the uproar in Europe regarding a cartoon Muslims feel was unflattering. Well, in case we weren't sure if they were ticked, unhappy, or upset a Muslim cleric has declared today International Anger Day. I usually find out it's some obscure holiday by the banner on Google, but this one I heard about while getting into the shower. "Anger Day, huh? Well, that is something I can get behind!" I briefly considered taking the day off to celebrate, but figured I would be better suited to celebrate during rush hour and at my office.

Later on it hit me, how exactly are we supposed to celebrate International Anger Day? Because maybe it's just where I live, but people seem to be celebrating anger daily. Earlier this week I ran into an old man who started celebrating early by giving me the finger as a commentary on my driving ability. "Happy Anger Day Eve to you, too, sir!" I gleefully called back, tooting my horn in celebration.

My brother in-law, Larry, is another one who seems to celebrate year round. At Christmas 2003 he got angry at his wife because she doesn't drink. He started berating her by telling her that she is never any fun and wouldn't know fun if it fell on her face. The blending of Christmas and Anger Day was masterful. I thought of him this morning when I heard about this new holiday. I imagine he's probably upset that International Anger Day has now gone commercial. "It used to be about the anger, man. "

I am usually fairly pleasant, so I still am not quite sure how I will be celebrating Anger Day. Would a generally surly attitude continued all day be better then a single act of rage? Or are they going to spring International Rage Day on us later this year? I really wish this day would have come with some instructions and, frankly, I am starting to think this was just hastily thrown together. Who is the Anger Day mascot? We've got the Easter bunny, leprechauns, Uncle Sam, Santa, Cupid for the other holidays. Oh, how about attorney Gloria Alred? She's always ticked off about something. Or Cartmen from South Park. He's always spouting obscenities. I'd nominate my brother in-law, but Hallmark is going to demand the mascot be marketable and no one is going to shell out $19.99 for a stuffed Larry.

What about a parade? Instead of candy, float riders can throw lit cigarette butts at attendees. There could be angry clowns who throw pies at the crowd. Forego flashing boobs for beads, instead revilers can give the finger and get some sand in their eyes.

Let's hope next year's International Anger Day festivities reflect a little better planning.

Still Scarred From Mummenschanz

2008-09-26T12:58:00.004-05:00

Yes, that's right, Mummenshanz. If you don't know who they are, they are this creepy "dance" troupe from who knows where, probably from Hell or some other place that over-uses the letter M. They wear black unitards and they use their bodies to make different things like bugs and other things guaranteed to be nightmare inducing. They would frequently take their unitards to The Muppet Show to creep out the nation.

I remember Mummenschanz coming to my grammar school a few times to scare us locally. I don't know if they were the real troupe or just some Mummenschanz enthusiasts who enjoyed freaking out seven year olds. I also remember telling my mom that Mummenschanz was coming to the school and she was all excited. Maybe she felt all culturified that Mummenschanz would grace our suburban enclave with their terrifying presence. Who knows. She probably doesn't even remember. A couple of weeks ago I asked her about when I had to take special gym classes for the fat and/or uncoordinated in first grade and she had no memory of it at all. Her exact words were, "Did I know about this?" I told her that if the school didn't tell her about it, I'm sure I did, because 27 years later and I'm still complaining about it.

Anyway, I used to think that maybe I was too young to understand the subtleties of Mummenschanz and that's why instead of oooing, aaahing, laughing or being wowed I was scared shitless. Now as an adult I realize that it's just dumb. And a little scary. Shut up, don't judge.

Click the link, if you dare.

Mummenschanz on You Tube

2008-09-23T08:44:00.002-05:00

I was all set to write a rant on the sad state of women's fashion (why do designers think we all want to look pregnant?) when I had an unusual experience at the grocery store last night involving my cleavage. It was so odd that I just have to share it. I swear to God every word is true and the bagger really does have only one eye.

I've always wondered why when men see cleavage their IQ drops 95 points. The only answer I can get is, "Because boobs are good." Well, duh! We know and that's why we put them out there. We women see lots of good things on men, but we don't become drooling morons because of it.

I had to go to the grocery store last night because the presidential debate is on Friday and I needed to stock up on my junk food. I live between a very upscale neighborhood (we saw former Chicago Blackhawks goalie Jocelyn Thibault buying laundry detergent there once and at various other times guys who would probably be in the Chicago mob if such a thing existed and they will be the first to tell you it doesn't) and a super crappy neighborhood where the county police have an auxiliary office so they can get to calls faster. It's an interesting mix of people and regardless of their financial status, they all leave their carts either in the middle of the aisle so no one can pass or right in front of whatever I want to buy. I hate going to the grocery store.

Anyway, I was leaning over my cart to empty it on to the conveyor when it occurred to me that my girls were looking like they were trying to escape for high ground. It wasn't the best choice of attire for leaning over trying to get my Easy Mac out of the far end of the cart. Because I want you to get the full effect of the creepiness of this event, I'm going to just write out the dialog. The cast of characters is the young super hot vixen who will be played by me, the creepy cashier (CC) who reminds me of my weird brother in-law will be playing himself, and the uber creepy bagger (CB) with one eye and who gives out way too much personal information (like the time he told me for no reason that he goes to AA) will also be playing himself.

Creepy Cashier: Uh oh! Some one's got a puppy!
Me: What?
CC: You have a puppy.
Me: No, I don't.
CC: (points to carpet spot remover)
Me: Oh, no. I have cats. They barf a lot.
CC: Oh. What kind of cats?
Me: Just two black house cats.
CC: How many?
Me: Two
Creepy Bagger: Do they bark?
Me: What?!?!?
CB: Bark
Me: Um..no. They are cats.
CB: I knew a guy whose cat barked at strangers.
Me: Oh. Um..okay.
CC: Are they good at catching mice?
Me: Thankfully, I don't know.
CC: Well, they probably keep them away.
CB: They are good for keeping demons away, too.
Me: What?
CB: DEMONS. They keep demons away.
Me: Oh. Good to know.

I want to add that these guys rarely even speak to me normally. The whole time this was going on, I was asking myself why didn't I go in the line where the gay guy who looks like Doug Henning was working the register.

Thank God about this time my stuff was finally rung up. Creepy Cashier gave me my receipt and coupons. To Creepy Bagger's credit, my groceries have never been bagged so well in the 8 1/2 years I've been shopping there. So, in addition to finding out that my cats are keeping away demons with their innate barking abilities, I found out that if I want my groceries bagged really well to show a little skin.

Creepy Bagger put the last bag in my cart and said, "Is that an open heart?" I thought, "Oh hell, what does THAT mean??" Then I realized he meant my necklace. It's a white gold heart with one side filled with teeny diamonds and the other with tanzanite. I said yes it was and was thinking, "Dude could you make it more obvious you are staring at my chest??" Then he went on and on about how some people fill the center of the heart with rubies, sapphires and diamonds ("But diamonds are really, really expensive").

I'm not even really complaining about the checking out of my cleavage, because it is awesome, but about the bizarreness of the conversation. Barking demon chasing cats? Can you imagine this guys pickup lines? I hope those weren't it! Next week, I don't care what the weather is, I'm wearing a sweater.

The Super Cute Halloween Tree and the Bath Pillow of Doom

2008-09-14T09:20:00.007-05:00

I am stuck at home because we are getting biblical caliber rain here in the Chicago area. I actually love weekends like this (minus the flooding), because I can sit on the couch all weekend and not feel like I should be doing anything else. Although, seeing all the flooding in the area, I'm starting to think I should be repenting and gathering up 2 of each animal I find. But as we say annoyingly too often in the upper midwest, better rain then snow.

All this nasty weather did give me an excuse to put up my brand spanking new Halloween tree! As you may know, Halloween is my favorite holiday. My family gives me a hard time about this, but think about it, the only real expectations on Halloween is candy. At Christmas we've got all the pressure of exchanging gifts, baking enough for an army, and forced family togetherness. You're supposed to be scared at Halloween, unlike the unintentionally horrifying things that happen at Christmas parties.

Anyway, I finally bought a small Halloween tree and a few ornaments. I think it turned out really cute.

Now on to my weird injury. I don't know if this counts as an injury or not, but it is definitely weird. Thursday I had sort of a rough day, so I decided on some retail therapy at the greatest store ever, Bed, Bath and Beyond. In addition to Yankee Candles that smell like fresh cut grass and pumpkin pie and various kitchen gadgets that I probably will use once, I picked up an innocent looking bath pillow. Here it is:

Looks harmless, right?

WRONG!

I took a nice, steamy hot bubble bath with my new Yankee Candle (Field of Dreams) filling the air with the clean scent of fresh cut grass. I got out, put on my jammies, had a nice cup of honey lemon chamomile tea and went to bed. Things seemed fine Friday morning as I groggily took my shower and got dressed. But Friday night I was getting ready for bed and caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and did a double take. "What the hell??" My cooshy new bath pillow had left all these tiny red dots all over my upper back. I don't know how it happened. Leave it to me to get maimed by a sqishy Nerf-like PILLOW! Because I know I wouldn't believe this if someone didn't have a picture, here it is:

How weird is that? I have no idea how it even happened. I do bruise really easily and am two shades away from clear, so maybe that has something to do with it. At least it doesn't hurt. It just looks really strange. But I am glad that for once my bizarre injury is some place that is not seen by the general public.

Beijing Olympic Edition

2008-08-06T18:11:00.005-05:00

We're just hours away from the official kick-off the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. I have to admit that the actual games part of the Olympics is sort of secondary to me. Don't get me wrong, if I happen to catch a sport, I will tear up when our flag is raised and our anthem played. If the athlete starts singing along or starts to cry, then forget it, I am in full-blown tears. But only the opening ceremonies get me really excited. They are so big and so over the top that they teeter on the edge of camp and most of the time fall right in. At the Torino games, there were dancing tarot cards and a Ferrari on ice, the Athens games had people dressed as statues, and Salt Lake City had Donnie and Marie...and KISS....and R. Kelly (after that icky video was out).

This years games in Beijing promise to be spectacular with 10,000 performers in the land that invented fireworks and pandas. Plus, you know they want to send the message, "See, communism isn't that bad!" Like Billy Flynn sang in Chicago, "Give 'em an act with lots of flash in it/And the reaction will be passionate/Give 'em the old hocus pocus/Bead and feather 'em/How can they see with sequins in their eyes?"

In my excitement and anticipation for the opening ceremonies, I've been scouring the internet to bring you the pre-Olympics RetroKitten style. Grab your gas masks and let's head to Beijing!

Honestly, can you think of an airline you'd like to fly less then Air China with a bunch of weirdo cartoon Olympic mascots on it? I guess it can't be any worse then United.

If these are their stewardi, I recant my earlier statement.

Just like any trip, our first stop is the bathroom. Here we find this handy Olympic toilet.
On second thought, I'll hold it. This better be in the world's largest stall! Don't the commies even let you pee in peace?

Look who else is here, it's Chicago Mayor Richard Daley. That Cheshire cat grin on his face worries me. He probably picked up some new tips on suppressing opposition, bribery and avoiding indictment.

Oh boy. Stars and stripes toes would be cute if they weren't attached to the most terrifying feet ever!! Look at the length of that second toe! I bet she can flip you off with her feet.

I'm a hockey girl through and through. It's common for players to come over from other countries and then play on their home countries hockey team for the Olympics. But for some reason, it just really rubs me the wrong way that Gigantor here, who has made millions and millions of dollars in the United States of America, is proudly holding up the Olympic torch underneath the painting of a bloodthirsty dictator and enemy of the place that has afforded him freedoms which people in his homeland can only dream. Not only that, but it's on the spot where people who were protesting for democracy were slaughtered. Revoke his visa.

Now...back to silliness...

The commies have Donald!!! Call in the Seals, Delta Force, the Texas Rangers, the Green Berets, and the Marine Silent Drill Team!!

I love drunk Germans. They are the most fun people on the planet next to drunk Australians ( who I couldn't find any pictures of...yet).

Awww....look at the bad parents.

Here is the actual caption for this photo: Amanda Beard (C), two-time Olympic gold medalist and US team captain, unveils her nude poster for People For the Ethical Treatment of Aminals (PETA) at the Olympic Village in Beijing. Beard staged the first athlete protest of the Beijing Olympics, unveiling a nude photo of herself Wednesday outside the Athlete's Village to back an anti-animal cruelty cause.
So, let me get this straight, in a country where people set themselves on fire to protest human rights violations, she decides her big move is going to be getting naked. Revoke her visa, too.

I thought hockey cheerleaders were stupid! These are beach volleyball cheerleaders and don't they look thrilled? The blue bikini girls are my favorites. The one on the right looks like she just wandered in there and has no clue what is going on. The one on the left looks like a Chinese chola. They need mean Kelli from the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders to whip these sad sacks into shape.

Attack of the frog people!!!!

Cop: "Stop, ma'am. What's in your coat?"

Me: "Um...nothing."

Cop: "Really? Because your coat seems to be wiggling."

Me: "I have...a...tumor...? I'm not smuggling out baby pandas if that's what you are thinking."

Cop: "Open your coat."

Me: "Really, it's a medical condition."

Cop: "Ma'am, do you really want to go to Chinese jail?"

Me: (heavy sigh) "Fine. You caught me."

Injured By A Band-Aid, Now With An Update!

2008-07-30T20:07:00.005-05:00

Just when I think I have injured myself in the stupidest way ever, I injure myself again. Yesterday I thought it would be cute to let the cats out on the balcony. They are indoor cats so this was their first trip into the wild, if you consider my suburban Chicago balcony wild. It was mostly cute. Lucky cat lasted about a minute before she wanted to go inside. The other cat, Hello Kitty, lasted about 35 seconds before she wanted in. I was holding her and as soon as she saw the safety of the living room, she lunged off me. I now have a huge cut on my chest, stomach and a nasty one on my wrist. Since I am so pale that I am practically clear, I scar easily. So, I put some Neosporin on my wrist and slapped a Band-Aid brand Tough-Strip on it.

I don't go for those off-brand Band-Aids, because the second they get a little water on them, they slip off. Let me tell you, this is not a problem with the Tough-Strip line. The box says, "Super-Stick Adhesive- stays on until you want it off." This is not exactly true. I wanted it off. It wouldn't come off. I soaked it in water. It wouldn't come off. I put some soap on it. No go. Finally, I just pulled it off. "Pulled it off" makes it sound like it was a quick, pain-free process, but let me assure you, this was not quick and it damn sure wasn't pain-free. The cut didn't hurt as bad as taking the bandage off. It ripped off skin and hair! The whole area where the bandage had been was all red and puffed up. The weirdest part was that it actually bruised me! I knew no one would believe this, so I took pictures. Yeah, I know, I need a new hobby, but check it out...

It's a twofer. You get to see how pale I am, too. Those dark marks are bruising! So now it looks like I've been shooting drugs after trying to kill myself in a retarded way. Lovely.

If all this wasn't bad enough, the adhesive wouldn't come off my skin. I tried regular soap, rubbing alcohol (that was really nice on newly skinned areas), dish soap, witch hazel, and Vaseline. The only one that made even a little dent was the Vaseline. For some reason it didn't help the glue come off, but it made it less sticky. I was searching in the kitchen for anything that might help and came across some Lysol 4-in-1 kitchen cleaner, it's like 409. I sprayed it on a paper towel and rubbed that it. That finally got most of it of or at least loosened it. I rubbed some more Vaseline on it and that mostly worked. In the above picture there is a little bit of it left at the bottom as my wrist starts to curve around.

They really should come with a disclaimer. "Warning: Not for pasty girly-girls who bruise easily!"

***UPDATE 7/31: I may have decided to start my birthday early by getting a carrot cupcake with cream cheese frosting from the Whole Foods down the street. I'm there probably three times per week and am pretty friendly with all the cashiers. I thought it was strange that this one was looking at me a little oddly, with almost pity. We all know I'm quasi-pathetic, but I thought I was hiding it well from the outside world. Then it hit me on the way to the car, she caught a glimpse of my freak band-aid injury and thinks I'm a suicidal intravenous drug user. Sigh.

A Storm and Some Election T-Shirts

2008-07-10T18:10:00.004-05:00

We're having a huge storm in suburbia right now. It looked way cool as it was rolling in, but I was busy writing this post and missed most of it. I did manage to get this one neat picture before it really started pouring.

When I'm bored, which is about every 32.8 seconds, I surf Cafe Press. It doesn't matter what category I click on, Obama campaign t-shirts come up. True, some are pretty cool, but I started thinking that there have got to be some cool McCain ones, right? Maybe? Okay, I hoped there would be some cool McCain ones. I was not disappointed. I've waded through endless pages of Obama shirts to bring you the best McCain, GOP, anti-hippy stuff on Cafe Press. Some speak for themselves and some will lead me to a little story that you know will probably have nothing to do with the campaign shirt.

Election Swag I thought this was simple and cool.

This one is courtesy of my new friends over at Lush Laundry. I'm always looking for stuff to keep the hipster doofus type guys away from me. This just might do it.

Who knew John McCain was such a total hottie back in the day? Thanks to the folks over at John McCain- The Right Stuff are spreading the word!

Not an election t-shirt, but it will also probably stop the hipster doofus guys from hitting on me, too. This one is from Right Wing Swag.

Now, you might be asking, "Retro, why all the hipster doofus repellent stuff?" I think I'm on hipster doofus high-alert, because I'm a hipster doofus magnet. One of them actually told me, "I have a thing for hippy girls" and he meant me! If anyone has any tips on sending out "conservative signals", please share. Oh, this one is from Politiclothes who also bring us this very cool McCain t-shirt...

In Case You Didn't Know, I'm an Idiot

2008-07-06T08:21:00.003-05:00

The blog needed a new photo, so here's one of my kitty cats, Lucky. She also answers to Lucky Cat, Lucky Bear, Lucky Girl, Little Bear, Luck Luck and whatever else pops into my mind at the moment. It's hard to get a decent picture of her, because she always wants to lick the camera.

Occasionally I do something so entirely idiotic that I even shock myself. But the most stunning thing is when I do that same idiotic thing again. Nine times out of ten, my biggest acts of stupidity result in a physical injury. So I get a nice little reminder of acting like a moron. Case in point, the time I broke my foot.

It was Easter Sunday at my mom and dad's house. I was hiding out in my normal position, far end of the couch, and trying not to make any sudden movements to draw the attention of my crazy aunt. She only asks you questions as an excuse to go on a rant about how we are killing the Earth. She had just left the room for her traditional post dinner 30 minute trip to the washroom (who's killing the Earth now?), so I thought it was a good time to make a break to the kitchen for a soda. I had been sitting on the sofa with my right leg underneath me and apparently had been for quite some time, because the second I got up I realized my lower leg was completely asleep. I had enough time to think, "Wow. My leg is really asleep," before I started to lose my balance, my foot twisted in a way that God did not mean for our feet to bend, and I fell back on the couch. My foot started tingling and I just sat on there until it stopped.

I had ankle length boots on (hey, they were cool at the time!) and I didn't realize that I had developed this huge lump on the top of my foot. I don't know if I have some abnormally high tolerance for pain or what, but it hardly hurt. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the greatest feeling, but I could still walk around without feeling that uncomfortable. I just figured I sprained it. I put some ice on it and went to bed.

The next day, I put on thick socks and cooshy gym shoes and went to work. This part is kind of gross and should have been a big clue by four that something wasn't right. A few times during the day I could feel something, my bones I guess, shifting around in there. But this didn't raise any alarms with me! See, I told you, it's incredibly stupid even to me. I came home that night and Mr. RK and I went grocery shopping. Finally, around 8 o'clock that night I took off my socks. I was bruised from the top of my second toe (the little piggy that stayed home, probably because he was smart enough to realize his foot was broken) all the way up to the middle of my calf! But did we go to the hospital? Nope. Because we are dumb.

I walked around on my broken foot for a week. Yes, a full seven days before we went to the hospital. The bruising was not getting any better, so I figured this was a sign I needed more then just thick socks and cooshy gym shoes to get better. 'Bout time, right? I don't know if the bones shifted back into place or what, but they couldn't find the break! But since I had all the signs of a break, I had to wear this hidious black sandal thing. If Frankenstien were looking for shoes to wear to the beach, this is what he would wear. You all know how I love my shoes, so this hurt me more then the actual break. Plus, I had to walk slowly. I don't know if I've ever shared this, but I have two speeds- go like a maniac and stop. The other day at work I was walking to the bathroom and this guy, who happens to be a body builder, came out of the copy room right in my path. I was walking so fast that I couldn't stop and smacked right into him. It was like hitting a wall.

So after all this, you would think that I would be a little more careful getting up with asleep feet and legs. I kind of was, until last night. I was minding my own business, sitting on the couch with my right leg tucked under me. I got up to turn the living room light on and thought, "Oh crap, my leg is asleep." At least this time I stood still, sort of. All I did was try to move a little to get in a better position to keep my balance. My leg was so completely knocked out that it didn't want to move at all. The first two toes curled under in an unnatural way, foot started tingling and, well, you know how it goes. Only this time, it hurts on the bottom underneath my big toe, which I can't figure out. I haven't gone to the doctor yet and it's really not that painful. You know, this all sounds really familiar....

New Awesome Sandals

2008-07-01T14:27:00.002-05:00

I am a shoe addict and Zappos.com is my pusher. When I moved two months ago I donated at least 10 pairs of shoes and it made no dent in my shoe collection at all. My closet is more like a shoe museum. Yet somehow, it seems like I keep wearing the same 4-5 pairs over and over again. I you have "a look" when 75% of your outfits go with either beaded flip flops or low top Converse All-Stars (in original white and sometimes black).

Anyway, while trying to avoid editing a story I'm writing for a contest, I was checking out Zappos and saw that Minnetonka has a line of sandals. Yes, the moccasin people! They look nothing like moccasins and are actually super cute! They've got a western feel to them, with lots of silver and turquoise embellishments.

Through the magical wonderfulness of free overnight shipping, my Boca Thongs (I guess that's Minnesotan for flip flop with a little heel) came today. I was torn between it and the Silverthorn Wedge, but Boca won because they were $6 cheaper. Sometimes, okay, lots of times, cute shoes are not comfortable at best and downright painful at worst. These are cute and comfortable! I pray that cute and comfortable shoes are not a sign of the endtimes.

Grandpa Was A Stand-Up Guy

2008-06-18T19:32:00.005-05:00

I come from a family of storytellers. Somehow whenever we all get together, we end up sitting around the kitchen table, all trying to out do each other, and end up with our side hurting from laughter. People passing by probably think we are a bunch of happy drunks. But even when my brother and I were kids, we'd all end up in howling in laughter over Friday night pizza. No, our parents didn't let us drink! We all just liked to get our best shot in and we still do.

My favorites, the ones I ask my dad to tell over and over, are the ones about his dad as a young man in 1930's Chicago. My grandpa was a steel worker and a tough guy. Family legend says that when my hell-raising aunt wanted to -gasp!- wear a pair of Levi's (that she was shrinking in the bathtub to get them tighter), that he tore them in half with his bare hands. Well, before he landed at the steel mills, he was just kid out of work in Depression-era Chicago. The mob ran everything in Chicago in the 1930's. That is, if such a thing as "the mob" existed and we all know it doesn't, or at least that's what I've heard from the people in Cicero (that's totally funny if you live in Chicago, trust me).

He and his cousin went to the Tribune building to see if they had any newspaper delivery jobs available. They had just enough money to ride the streetcar there and back. The foreman said nothing was available at the moment, but maybe the following week. As my grandpa and his cousin were walking back to catch the streetcar, a taxi driver narrowly missed hitting them. The cabdriver flew out of his car, pointed at them, and started yelling, "Stop them! They didn't pay me! Stop them! Thieves!!" They were dumbfounded, because they hardly had money for the streetcar, so there was no way they would even think of taking a taxi.

A policeman grabbed them and hauled them to the sidewalk. They told him they were out looking for work and never saw the taxi driver before he started yelling. About this time, a very large man in a three-piece suit, cashmere overcoat, and fedora (I like to imagine he had spats on, too) walks up the to the taxi driver. They have words and the man strolls up to where the cop is talking to my grandpa and his cousin. He talks to the cop for a minute and they turn back to my grandpa and his cousin. "Excuse me, boys, but did you ride in this man's taxi?" asked the fedora man. They said they had not and started to explain themselves. He cut them off with a wave of the hand. "That's not necessary. Sorry for the troubles," and handed them each a $5 bill. The fedora wearing man grabbed the taxi driver by the back of the coat and assisted him into his car by way of a shove.

A few months later, my grandpa landed a job driving a truck. Things were tight and he had a family to support, so he let go of the fact that the job description was a little shady. He was to drive this empty trunk to a location, wait while it was loaded, then drive it back. At night. And don't look at the truck bed. Ever. And don't stop for anyone, even the cops. But, hey, money is money and the kids gotta eat, so he did it.

He drove out to this seemingly deserted location. Waiting for him was the biggest Cadillac my grandpa had ever seen. A large, well-dressed man asked if he'd like to wait in the Cadillac and warm up while the truck was taken to another location to be loaded. Having never had the opportunity to get inside a Caddy and it being winter in Chicago, he jumped at the chance. He regretted it when he realized that his escort and his partner were so big that they took up the entire front seat and lacked necks. Grandpa was tough, but not a big guy. If things took an ugly turn, he could maybe have handled one of these guys, but two against one are bad odds with normal, human-sized opponents. He was so nervous, he didn't need the car's heater to warm up.

When the now filled truck came back, one of the no neck men turned to him, pointed a sausage-like finger and said, "Now, don't go snooping around the back of the truck." Like he needed to be told twice! He wasn't stupid, he knew he was probably running illegal booze or guns back into the city and he drove like a bat outta Hell. He dropped off his load and collected his $20. They wanted him to do it the following week, but he turned it down. Granted, it was $20, which was a huge amount, but he knew his nerves couldn't take another round with the no neck brothers!

I wanted to write about my other grandpa, because he grew up near the Lexington Hotel, which is where Al Capone ran his operation, and our family ran a pool hall and that is actually the least interesting of all his stories, if you can believe it! But this is already getting pretty long, so I think I'll save those for another day.

An open apology to Lupe, the flaming bitch on wheels who works at ComEd customer service:

2008-06-12T14:31:00.003-05:00

I'm sorry that I called at 5:57 PM when the ComEd customer service department closes at 6 PM. I'm sorry that ComEd sent me a bill for $155 for an address that I have never lived or requested service. I'm sorry that you think I was "rushing you" and not "letting you speak" by asking if there was anything I could do to provide you with more information like my meter or account number. I'm sorry that after three minutes of complete silence and wondering if I was on hold, said, "Hello?" That was brazen, ballsy and totally uncalled for. I deserved your heavy sigh overflowing with disgust. It won't happen again. I was stupid to ask if I had the right group and if you could help me. Your staunch, "NO" should have been enough for me, but I had to keep pushing! So stupid!

You were so right when you told me that the reason my "old address is showing up" it will take 30 days for my bill to reflect my new address. It was completely foolish of me to try and tell you that I didn't move from that address. You were correct to start yelling, "Ma'am can I finish? Ma'am LET ME SPEAK!" I'm still wondering why I was moronic enough to ask for a supervisor. You were right again to tell me that I could not speak to one. Why would I want a supervisor when I had the help of such a knowledgeable, intelligent, and demure flower of womanhood like yourself? I was damn lucky to get you and don't think I don't know it! How could I forget after you told me so yourself? I'm sorry that you think I didn't want your help. Really, how were you to know after my calling into your call center, having all my information ready, and begging for your help? That would confuse ANYONE!

Truth be told, I LOVE getting bills for things I didn't purchase! Sometimes I send Comcast and Nicor an extra two or three hundred dollars and write, "Buy yourself something nice!" in the check memo. I really called in an attempt to wreck the day of a ComEd employee. It's my secret shame. That and the not being able to read. But back to you, Lupe. I'm sorry that my panicked, "Yes, of course, I want you to help me!!!" was so completely confusing that it caused you to respond, "That is it, ma'am. I have had enough. You need to call back tomorrow and speak to a supervisor. I'm disconnecting the call."

But most of all, I'm sorry that when I called back this morning and spoke to another rep, that she was able to tell me in about ninety seconds that the bill for $155 was sent to me in error and to disregard it.

Well, off to write a letter to the Uniden people know and let them know that their phones can really take a fling across the room and into the wall like no other brand!

Highlight of my day and it's only 9:15...

2008-06-11T09:12:00.003-05:00

Oh my God, people. This is sort of the day we've been waiting for! Yesterday I sent Dave Barry a story for his blog and he used it and I got a shout out!!! AND he used my real name, not my screen name, so he (or someone with access to his e-mail) read my e-mail! I'm so excited!

Check it out and bask in my nerdiness and no, my name is not Jollymon or Pirate Boy...

http://blogs.herald.com/dave_barrys_blog/2008/06/democratic-conv.html

Encounters of the 0.5 Kind

2008-06-03T19:11:00.006-05:00

Two posts in one week! It's like old times! If you considers 2005 old timey, I guess. Anyway, over the weekend I went to the Morton Arboretum. I just can't tell you how much I love that place. If you are in or visit the Chicago area, really check it out. It's lovely. They have concerts in the summer and normally they have bands like Three Dog Night or Buckwheat Zydeco. Not that they are bad, just not my cup of tea. This year Chris Isaak is performing! I have tickets, but I need a date. Knowing my luck with the opposite sex, I'll probably end up going with my mom.

Every year they have an art installation. Last year they had this guy who made things out of sticks. He made a stick house that looked like a Ripley's Believe It or Not sized ball of twine. People must have let them know how stupid they thought it was, because this year they got something cool- art that not only looks recognizable, but is huge!

"Big Bugs!" is the creation of sculptor, David Rodgers. There are 10 bugs in the collection all made of wood. Pictures do not do them justice and it should be seen in person to be fully appreciated. But I just want an excuse to tell this story about a praying mantis. So here's a picture of a 1200 pound praying wooden praying mantis....

This is one of those stories that if it didn't happen to me, I would not believe it, so I will assume you are at least a little skeptical of it's truthfulness. But I assure you, this is all true!

I was walking in to work, as usual, I was late, so there wasn't anyone else around in the parking lot. I was looking at the ground thinking my normal, "Oh God. I can't believe this is my stupid life" thoughts and I saw what I assumed to be a stick. Then I realized, it wasn't a stick, but a praying mantis! I had never seen one before and it shocked me (they're cool and creepy at the same time), so I jumped back a little. This thing turned it's head, saw me, and took a quick step backward. I had startled it! I told you, if I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it either.

But here is the kicker. The next morning, I arrived at the same time and walked my same route through the parking lot. Not only was the praying mantis back, but it had brought a friend! I swear this is true. They both had their big ol' heads turned towards me. I imagined the praying mantis going back to his praying mantis neighborhood and telling his friends and family the same story I had told my friends and family. "No really, it was huge! I've heard of 'people', but I never actually saw one before! It was creepy and cool at the same time. It startled me and I jumped back, but then IT jumped back, too! No, I swear! It's true!" Then it's praying mantis friend decided this whole story couldn't possibly be true and had to see it for himself. It was the praying mantis version a bigfoot sighting.

Random Goodness On A Sunday Afternoon

2008-06-01T15:49:00.004-05:00

Good afternoon to you, dear readers! Isn't that picture lovely? I took it! I shock myself when I take pictures like that.

It is an absolutely beautiful June first at Maison de Retro. So, of course, I'm sitting at home on the computer. I like the nice weather, but it puts so much pressure on me to get out and do something. As a compromise (with Mother Nature, I guess?) I sat on the balcony and did a little work I had been avoiding for my real job. That's the one really sweet thing about my real job is they let us telecommute pretty much when ever we want. My boss said, "Frankly, I think I get more work out of you guy when you are at home." Well, duh. At home no one is stopping by couch saying, "Um, retrokitten, do you want to put in $5 for some person you hate's birthday but feel obligated to participate in because I'm standing right here?" Also, at home, if I run into someone in the bathroom, I call the cops. At the office, we stand and talk for 10 minutes. One of my coworkers who sits on the other side of the office, referred to the area I sit in as, "Crazytown." That gives you an idea of the types that sit around me. As far as I know, no one refers to where I live as anything other then Maison de Retro. Oh and here, the snacks are free. No $6 nachos or $1.50 Gummi Bears. You can buy a 50 pound bag of them at Costco for $3, but in the world's most expensive vending machine, an ounce of Gummis will set you back $1.50.

I shouldn't be eating the Gummi Bears anyway. With all that's been going on, I've totally been comfort eating and that means chunky needs to get her butt back to Weight Watchers. The last time I went was March 22. I know I've gained, but I hope the days where I couldn't eat much helped minimize the damage. This brings me to a funny story that I have been wanting to tell, but never really had a way to work in before. So, I'll just blurt it out here.

I loved going to WW on Tuesdays, because the groups were small enough that we all knew each others first names. There were three people who would always come in together, a girl about 25 or so, her husband who was about the same age, and the girl's mother. They would sometimes come in all together or just the mom and daughter or the husband and wife or even the husband and his mother in-law or sometimes separately.

I won't lie, he was cute. Especially for guys who come in to WW- it's not exactly a beefcake gathering place. I can be a bit of a flirt. Okay, well, a lot of a flirt. But it's just that, harmless flirting, I've never strayed from my husband or even any boyfriends (boyfriends before I was married, get your mind out of the gutter) and I would never flirt with a man right in front of his lady. WW Boy and I would occasionally check each other out on the sly, if his wife wasn't around and we both seemed to laugh a little too hard at the other's jokes during the group discussion, but that was it.

One evening I went and weighed in and it was one of those days I thought would be a great 2+ pound loss and I lost 0.2. Yes, it's still a loss, but I was disappointed. I sat down in my normal seat. WW Boy led his mother in-law down the same row and sat down two seats over from me. Interestingly enough, if his wife was not around he would some how end up sitting near me. When it came time to share our losses, I raised my hand and said, "I need claps for my loss this week to help me feel better about it. I lost 0.2." Everyone clapped, as we are required to do. But WW Boy turned to me. started clapping and gave me a big, exaggerated, "Yea!!!!!" and we both started to laugh. Our leader went on to say that most of her losses were fractions of a pound and how they add up over time. WW Boy shared his loss and returned the big yea he had given me. We both smiled and laughed again. I caught a glimpse of the mother in-law and she was not nearly as amused as we were. In fact, I should have weighed in again, because the daggers she was sending me with her eyes probably caused massive blood loss that would have shown up on the scale.

The funny part of the story is that never again did they show up to the Tuesday night meeting! I don't know if they stopped coming all together or decided that maybe they'd go to a less flirty meeting. I can only imagine the conversation on the car ride home!

An Update, A Bird Swoops My Head..Again, and My Cat Grosses Me Out

2008-05-25T13:47:00.004-05:00

Happy Memorial Day, everyone! I thought I'd update all three of you on what's been going on since my last post. It never fails that just when I think things can't get any weirder, they always do.

Each day things get a little easier. It helps that I really love my new place. Right outside my window is this full, lush tree. Instead of facing the interstate like the old Chateau Retro, new Maison de Retro overlooks a little courtyard where bunnies frolic. One day I was working from home and something caught my eye. I looked up and right outside my window was a merlin! No, not a wizard of yore, but the bird. It looks like a small hawk. It was so cool! Then later that night I was going to the dumpster and presumably the same merlin screamed and swooped my head. In case you are new to my blog, birds love my head. I don't know why, but until I have a better reason I'm blaming it on asshole birds.

I think I might have mentioned that I was going to start volunteering at an animal shelter. The day before the orientation, I noticed my one cat was sleeping a lot. Then, I noticed that if she wasn't sleeping, she was cleaning herself. Then I noticed, she was bleeding. From her butt. Great. I had to take her to the vet right away. Because cats have the ability to sense the word "vet" telepathically, she went straight under the bed. Being on my own, I had no one to help me fish her out from under the bed. I tried opening a can of food, scooching under the bed (nearly dislocated my shoulder on that one), and poking her with the broom. I swear I heard her laughing at me. She got one excellent scratch in and in addition to the pint and a half of blood I lost, my patience was also gone. I said to the cat, "Oh that is IT! I am NOT playing ANY MORE!" Is not abundantly clear now why I don't have kids? I had to take the mattress and box spring off the bed to get at her. But the good thing was that once she saw what I was doing, she didn't put up any fight at all. She went directly into the carrier.

$214 and a trip to the emergency vet later, I found out she has an anal sac abscess. I know, could she have anything grosser??? They shaved the area around the abscess, I guess so we could get a good look at her completely repulsive wound. If this wasn't bad enough, they gave me antibiotics to give her twice a day. Oh yes, I don't have enough drama in my life. I need to give a cat a pill TWICE A DAY! I was getting a little attached to all that blood I have, but heck, my marrow has been a little lazy lately. Time it starts earning it's keep!

Oh, but it doesn't stop there. The antibiotics make her nauseous. She started barfing. Ladies and gentleman, I've never seen an animal barf so much. It was like she barfed up every bit of food she had eaten in her entire life. On. My. Bedspread. Not once, but twice! Back to the vet. Since I made an appointment this time, I saw a different doctor. This one looked exactly like the Sidler from Seinfeld. He gave me some liquid antibiotics (yea!!!) but told me I had to also flush her wound every day (booo!). Because there is nothing cats like more then water, especially on open butt wounds. The good news is that she's doing everything normally, including hissing at the other cat and seems to be healing up just fine. Retrocats will live to terrorize each other another day!

The poor thing has to wear one of those collars that block the wound so she can't lick it. She looks like she's getting a hair cut. It's sort of funny when she goes to scratch her neck. That thing spins around like no one's business! I have to tighten it up every few days, because it loosens up a little here and there. Before I realized this, she managed to get her one arm through the neck hole all the way up to her shoulder. I have no idea how she pulled that one off, but it was funny watching her strut around like a supermodel with an off the shoulder top on until I could corral her and fix it. She still has the instinct to clean herself, but the collar gets in the way and it sounds like she's licking a tent.

Isn't that the way life goes, though? Just when you think things are settling down, something else comes along to shake things up. Sometimes I wish things would slow down, so I could catch my breath. But then I realize that this is life. This is what makes memories. This is what gives us our character. This is what connects us to each other. As the saying goes, only death and taxes and birds swooping my head are certain. Okay, maybe I altered it a little.

It's Raining Men

2008-05-13T18:10:00.002-05:00

Well, not really, but doesn't that title grab your attention? I've decided it's time to let you guys in on what has been going on in my life, as crappy as it's been. Mr. Retrokitten and I have separated. I warned you it was crappy. Neither of us cheated or is on drugs or strayed in anyway. We're still good friends, but sometimes people are better off as friends and not husband and wife. We both kind of agree that it seems as if things have run their course. If nothing else, the separation with give us the space and time we need to work on things.

Now, I know you are thinking, "What about marriage counseling?" An excellent idea that leads me right into one of those, "Only to Retrokitten!" stories. Several months ago when this all started, I did make an appointment with a counselor. She seemed OK during the first session. It was nice to have a seemingly objective person to interpret what we were saying to each other and she stressed that this was a "safe haven" where we could say anything without judgment. But she did make some red flags go off that should have sent me screaming for the door. The first one was suggesting we read Dr. Phil's "Relationship Rescue." I don't know why we stayed either. She told us our homework was to remember why we got married.

In the second session she asked me my thoughts on marriage counseling in general. Since she said this was a "safe haven" to express myself, I told her my exact thoughts. I told her that I don't know anyone who has ever been helped by marriage counseling, that their marriage either stayed screwed up or they got divorced anyway. I also said that I was there because I owed it to my husband to at least try and was willing to work on things. But, Mr. RK and I had already agreed that we don't want to be one of those couples in counseling for three plus years. "Safe haven" my ass! I got a lecture about how she knows she has helped people in her 26 years on the job and those couples are in counseling that long because they are making progress, blah blah blah... Those red flags weren't just waving now, they were spelling out, "She's a loony!" in semaphore. We were told our homework was that I was to work on patience (yes, because I've only been trying to cultivate that for 32 years, but I'm sure I'll make progress in a week) and Mr. RK was supposed to work on speaking up for himself. She didn't give us any tools to work on these things, just told us to work on them.

In the meantime, Mr. RK and I decided that it would be better off if we parted ways for at least a few months. I rented an apartment and started making arrangements to move. I told him about my reservations about this crazy therapist broad. He said that he wasn't really happy with her either. We made a plan that at 20-25 past the hour, whoever was speaking at that time would ask her to give us some tools to work on our alleged issues.

Therapy night comes. She goes right back to picking up the conversation about how I don't know anyone who has been helped by marriage counseling. Again, I get a lecture about how she knows she has helped people and couples who keep doing therapy for years are making progress and that's why they come back. I nodded along like an idiot, because I didn't really want to talk about this again. It was like when you are watching, "The Biggest Loser" and they come back from commercial and show the what happened right before the commercial break. Then we tell her we are separating. I had anticipated her asking us things like, "Why? When? What do you hope to accomplish with the separation?" Did she ask even one of those things? Of course not, because I apparently suck at picking out counselors. She asks if I have furniture. I said no. "Are you going to get furniture?" Okay readers, to me, this was a total "Here's your sign!" question. Did she think I was going to put up a tent in the middle of the living room and use one of those LL Bean crank radio/flashlights? So, I know I gave her a touch of the attitude when I replied, "Of course I am. I have to sit someplace." She wouldn't stop with the stupid furniture! "What if you move back? What will you do with the new furniture? Where are you going to get the furniture? Are people going to help you move?" It was the weirdest thing!

Somehow we finally got off the subject of my new furniture and on to Mr. RK's sticking up for himself. Twenty past the hour came and he asked her for some tools to be more assertive. In case she wasn't annoying enough with the furniture inquisition, she made up for it by talking for no less then 15 minutes about the assertiveness training class that she USED to teach. How all sorts of people took it ("men, women, all ages, young, old, black, white, mexican, blue collar, white collar"), how they loved it, what the text book was called, how they used to do exercises, and did I mention people loved it? Even though she taught this self-proclaimed awesomely loved class, she couldn't give Mr. RK one single thing to do to be more assertive!

But the hour wasn't up yet! Mr. RK was trying to tell me what my problem is (yeah, marriage counseling is a great time) and he just couldn't verbalize it. Idiot marriage counselor lady says, "I know what it is!" Now I'm getting pissed, because it feels like I'm left out of the joke, if you know what I mean. So, I say, "Well, I wish someone would tell me!" Idiot counselor pipes up and says, "Of course I'm getting new furniture!" complete with mocking head nodding, sing-song tone, and gargoyle-like facial expression. I just stared at her. I was in shock. It was something you would do to imitate someone you despised, not someone you were supposed to be helping! I looked at her with bulging, disbelieving eyes. I put my hand on my purse, ready to walk out the door, but then it occurred to me, where would I go? I didn't want to disappoint my husband by walking out. So, I said, "You know what? I didn't come here to be mocked. I am not paying you to make fun of me." Then she said she wasn't mocking me and droned on, but I wasn't really listening. I think it was something about how I have an attitude problem. Please, like a needed a therapist to tell me that! I'm usually the first one to admit my attitude problem (admitting your problem is the first step to recovery, I am told).

I was so angry at the complete lack of respect and professionalism that I am surprised my head didn't turn into a thermometer and explode like in the old Tex Avery cartoons. I could actually feel my cheeks throbbing from all the red in them. She actually had the nerve to say, "You seem angry." Oh geez, did you figure that out with Shaggy and the gang? I said, "Damn straight I'm angry." She said something that started off, "I'm hearing you say-" then I tuned her out. When she finished speaking, I said, "Yeah. That's right." I could have just confessed to being DB Cooper for all I know. Mercifully, the hour ended.

On the way to the car, Mr. RK said, "I can't believe you didn't leave!" I asked him if I was as bad as she mimicked me. He said absolutely not and he didn't want to see her anymore either. So, we decided to take a break from the counseling for a while until the move and we were both a little more settled.

It's been the most difficult time of my life. The good news is that I have stopped bursting into tears for no reason. I can sort of eat lunch again (I don't know why, but lunch is the hardest meal to eat). Now that I'm relaxing a little, I want to sleep all the time. I'm not depressed, I think it's because I was so tense before and that tension is finally lifting. I keep having dreams that I see tornadoes every where. The good thing is that there are always clear blue skies on the other side of the tornadoes, so I think that's a good sign.

2008-04-09T14:54:00.001-05:00

I know I haven't updated in a while, but I have good cause. I just can't tell you about it now. But I will. Someday. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, Cityrag totally stole my idea. I'm gonna let it go, because I probably stole it from someone, too.

http://cityrag.blogs.com/main/2008/04/drunk-tattoos-y.html

Thoughts On The Journey

2008-03-04T13:10:00.002-06:00

I have officially crossed the 60 pounds lost mark! To remind myself of how far I have come, I got out a picture of myself at my highest weight. The Now Me cannot believe that is the Then Me. She was so unhappy, but she stood on the threshold of a whole new way of life and she didn't even know it. If I could go back in time and give her some tough-love, I would. With the laws of physics being what they currently are, I can't. But, if I could, this is what I would tell her:

There is no nobility in ignoring your health. I used to think that I was somehow "better" then people who monitored what they ate. I believed that those people secretly wished they could be like me and throw caution to the wind foodwise. It truly never occurred to me that people actually choose chicken over pizza because they want good health more then they want the pizza.

No one is entitled to eat horribly and achieve good health. It's not possible. There are consequences for poor eating habits. True, by a fluke of nature there are thin people who eat badly, but slimness is not the only indicator of good health. There are always female characters on TV and in the movies who get upset and have a binge. Of course, we never see the binge, they just make jokes about it later. Yet, through the magic of Hollywood, she never gains a pound. We see this and think, "Well, if she can do it, so can I!" never considering 1) Eating poorly always has consequences and 2) It's fiction.

The body does what the body does and usually it's not what you want it to do. There are times when you will follow your program to a "T" and the scale will not reflect it. It happens. It doesn't mean you are a bad person or that the scale is the devil or that the program sucks. It just means the body wasn't giving up the goods that week. Trust the program. It works.

There is no room for 'only' in any sentence about how much you have lost! Those 'onlys' add up over time.

The sentence, "I love to eat!" means completely different things to a thin person as it does to a fat person. Skinny people mean, "I like a variety of foods and will eat until satisfied, possibly leaving some on my plate." Fat people mean, "I will eat it until it's gone and even my sinuses are packed with food." Do not fall into this mind trap by the skinny! They will cut back on other meals to compensate for the overindulgence. Fat people, or at least Then Me, will think about cutting back, decide that's for suckers, eat more and then feel like a jerk.

Finally, you are beautiful inside and out and you are loved, whether you believe it or not. See yourself through the eyes of those who love you and know that you are capable of more then you have ever dared to imagine. Growth is sometimes painful, but it's always worth it. You will start to grow into the woman you have always dreamed of becoming. You are stronger then you know.

Oh and avoid shrimp in February 2007, you are allergic.

Strange Times At Macys.Com

2008-03-01T18:35:00.002-06:00

Well, I was going to take this week off, but something so odd happened that I had to share it. Sitting here on my handy laptop, I decided to shop for some new underwear. Oh yeah, it's another glamourous Saturday night in Chateaux Retro. Anyway, I headed over to Macys.com and saw they offer product reviews! 'Great!,' I thought. 'Nothing like an unsolicited, unbiased product review." Finding a pair I liked, I read the review:

"My wife gave me a pair of these as a surprise. While they are a bit "frilly" for me, they are very comfortable and I do enjoy wearing them."

Um....that really was not what I was expecting. 'Clearly, it's just someone messing around on a Saturday night and has to be just put up there. Someone would have reported it an inappropriate,' I thought. The date? September 11, 2007! Oh yes, I always remember tragic dates in American history with ladies panties. Who doesn't?

I also noticed this person, Austinman, is a top 250 reviewer and has reviewed nothing but bras and panties. Here's another gem:

"I saw these and decided to try them. They feel really great against my skin, are VERY comfortable, and the gusset gives the male anatomy sufficient support. Men, these make really great work panties."

Work panties? Never in my life did I ever think I would encounter the term, "work panties." Maybe Wolverine or Red Wing should branch out, because it sounds like they are missing out by limiting themselves to work boots. At the very least I would think Dickies or Carhartt would get involved.

Just in case you are thinking, "Oh that whacky, Retrokitten! So imaginative!" Here is the link:

Freaky Macy's Man

No, I Don't Want to go on a Damn Cruise!!

2008-02-27T18:57:00.002-06:00

In my never ending quest to link myself with Dave Barry, I've decided to take this week off and repost and old favorite I wrote sometime in 2005.

Well, as you can tell from my pained, tormented screams ringing out all over the land, the holidays are coming. That means in-laws, in-laws and more in-laws. I really shouldn't complain that much, because they are really very predictable. I know that my mother in-law will spend the entire time in the kitchen only to complain "we didn't get a chance to visit!" when we leave after the longest 4 hours of my life. My sister in-law will sit on the floor looking at the after Christmas sales flyers. I can't leave out her husband, Larry (his real name, because he's a jerk), who will ask Mr. rK, "How is work?" only to have that be a segue into an exceptionally long story about how incredibly fabulous HIS job is and how much money he makes (he works in the public works department of a nearby Chicago south suburb, not as a city official or anything, he fixes cars, plows streets, etc.). After that he slops some food down and then pretends to sleep on the couch for the rest of the night. Then, there is my husband's poor, dumb brother who will spend the whole night trying to find something on television to watch and sssssshhhing the rest of us to be quiet so he can watch his show. Once when his nephew was 7, they got into an argument because one wanted to watch Pooh Bear and the other wanted to watch Jumanji. I'll leave it to you to figure out who wanted to watch what. Speaking of my nephew (11) and niece (8), God help me, but they are kind of odd. Take them out of their house and they walk around like terrified aliens who have just landed on Earth for the first time.

It is so bizarre to me, because it's like these people just sort of fell into the same room. No one has conversations with each other. At my families Christmas celebration, although somewhat predictable, at least we are interacting with each other. People are talking and laughing, the kids aren't that weird. It's a completely different feel. It is actually (gasp!) festive. Sure, there are annoying things, like my liberal sister in-law, but every family has at least one oddball. Oh yes, they do. If your family doesn't have one, then guess what? YOU are that one. Anyway, I guess what I am saying is that my family puts the fun in dysfunctional.

Back at mother in-law's Christmas Craptacular, there is one thing I can always count on when I see my sister in-law's husband, Larry. This man is obsessed with the idea of a family cruise. I don't know where it came from, but I sure as hell wish it would go back. Here's the deal, 1- I have inner ear problems that cause me to get very motion sick on boats and even in the car occasionally. 2- I don't want to go on a cruise. Honestly, there is nothing about it that appeals to me or my husband. 3- There is no boat on this planet big enough for me and my in-laws to be on at the same time. I have told this to my idiot brother in-law multiple times, yet it refuses to penetrate his thick cranium. Here is how the conversation goes:

Larry: You know what would be fun? If we all went on a cruise.

Me: I get very motion sick on boats. Plus, that's not the kind of vacation Mr. rK or I like.

Larry: Oh they have stuff for the motion sickness.

Me: It makes me sleepy. I don't want to spend my vacation entirely in the cabin.

Larry: They have non-drowsy now.

Me: That may be, but like I said, neither of us have any desire to go on a cruise.

Larry: (getting very adamant and raising his voice) How do you know you don't like it until you try it? I didn't think I would like it and now I love it. There is gambling. One night I wanted a steak and they brought me a huge steak! (holding up his arms in the air to indicate the size of the steak was roughly the same as a hubcap)

Me: I can make steak at home and there is gambling all over Illinois and Indiana. There tons of places I want to see in the US before I go to the Caribbean.

For some reason he gets angry and takes this exceptionally personal, as if I am judging him by not being interested in a cruise. Newsflash to idiot brother in-law: I am not interested in taking a cruise no matter who is on the boat. If there is not a museum, historical site/homes, battlefield, zoo, and/or quaint shops I'm not interested. My husband is much less picky. He requires two things, sports and bars. Together and separately. I can get him to go pretty much anywhere if I guarantee sports and bars are involved somehow.

There is one thing Mr. rK and I both agree on and that we both hate the kind of vacations where we just lay around. That's how we spend 60% of our time at home. What is there to do in the Caribbean? Tour a rum factory? What's that take, an hour tops. Parasail? If that thing can get my fat ass 4 feet off the water I would be shocked. What Larry fails to understand is that my husband and I live our lives in a manner that we will never have to wear bathing suits. Ever. It's really better for society as whole, but far be it from Larry to ever consider his fellow man. Then again, he must be out there gallivanting in the sun in his full shirtless, farmer tanned glory. He's just over six feet tall, about 75 pounds overweight, and, although I have not seen him without his shirt (praise God!), judging from the amount of hair on the rest of him I would guess that he's got quite the hairy back*. Calm down, ladies! He's spoken for! I guess if he figures he can cavort out in public like a yeti on holiday, then Mr. rK and I should also leave our shame in Chicago and come on down. Sorry, my Inner Censor maybe slow, but she's not stupid. Larry's apparently died as a small child.

Even completely discounting all of these things I have already mentioned there is still one thing that remains. I would be trapped on a boat in the middle of the pacific ocean with my in-laws. Someone would go overboard. Probably me. Sharks, dolphins and inability to swim be damned I would be dog paddling my behind back to Chicago. For the life of me I just can't see how they think this is a good idea. These people don't like me, but they want me to go on vacation with them? They only treat my husband slightly better. At the Christmas Craptacular Mr. rK walks around with this look on his face that says, "There had to be some kind of mix up at the hospital. This can't be MY family." Five days on a giant boat with his loonies and his face would stay that way permanently. This is all coming from the mind of a man who fakes sleeping so he doesn't have to interact with us. Something stinks. I haven't figured out what exactly his deal is yet, but I will let you know when I do. Till then, I'll just keep screaming until the holidays are over.

*For a while he had a beard that made him look like a 1950's Cuban revolutionary.

Questionable Tats

2008-02-19T18:11:00.005-06:00

As the long-time reader will know, I love tattoos. I've got three of my own, a sun, a star and a butterfly. Yeah, I know, all girly and stereotypical. Lately, I've been thinking of getting the star covered up and something else in it's place. Perusing the gallery pages of tattoo parlors, I realized that I would rather have a girly stereotypical tattoo then some of these crazy things. Tattoos are sort of like a joke, if you have to explain it, it's probably not a good one. Before we move on to the tattoos in question, I'd like to say that these are not "bad" as in executed poorly. They are all fantastic and one is just amazing. It's the sanity of the tattooee that I am questioning. If anyone wants proof that America is fat, just look at these tattoos. Now, on to the tattoos!

Exhibit #1:
You know, I liked Shrek, too. But something tells me this person got something entirely different out of the movie then I did.

Exhibit #2:
It's Gonzo! It's Pez! It's awesomeness actually forces the Pez to lunge forth in a circle of wackiness!

Exhibit #3

Okay, seriously? I really don't even have anything to say except what the heck is that thing? The address said, "mosquito." Why does it look like it's having a bloody poop?

Exhibit #4A:

I can honestly say that I have never been drunk enough to ever consider getting a food related tattoo. Maybe it's my inner fat girl who stays away from things like cow prints and Baby Phat clothes that also steers me away from pictures of food permanently etched into my body. But surely this is the only crazy hamburger tattoo, right?

Exhibit #4B:

Oh don't be so shocked. You knew it was a trick question! But this one is even better with the addition of wings, fries, an extra beef patty, AND a fountain of ketchup and mustard! But who else would be goofy enough to get a food tattoo?

Exhibit #5:

Oh stop, you know you love my little rhetorical joke questions! I can appreciate the skill of the tattoo artist in this lovely Aunt Jemimah and flaming pancake number on the left. Do you think they have other breakfast food tattoos like a box of Count Chocula or Booberry? Or maybe they are a full body tribute to advertising icons like.....

Exhibit #6:

The Kool-Aid man! Oh yeah!

Exhibit #7 and our final and my personal favorite entrant:

This reminds me of those age progression photos they show on America's Most Wanted. Either that or it's Angela Landsbury as Princess Leia.

Believe it or not, I actually have more! But I figure that is enough to hold you all for now. Stay tuned for another installment in the near future!

Show and Tell!

2008-02-08T19:04:00.000-06:00

In my heart, I am an artist. The problem is that I cannot draw. Or paint. Or sculpt. So, I guess that's why I gravitated towards photography. I'm not much better a photographer then I am painter, but I really stink at painting! At least this way, I can let God do the work and I'll just try and capture it.

Since we are in the throws of winter with no foreseeable end before July, I decided to share a little bit of spring, summer, and fall with you through my nature photographs. Most of them are from the Morton Arboretum, in Lisle, Illinois, except for the one of the frog next to the big fungus thing. That was taken at The Little Red Schoolhouse in Willow Springs. You can click on each one to see it larger.

Excursion into The Firm or The Firm Ladies are Trying to Kill Me

2008-02-01T11:26:00.000-06:00

I'm here by popular demand with a new post! Okay, one person asked me to update. But her timing was perfect, because I wanted to tell everyone about my latest excursion into the world of fitness. I've never been athletic by even the loosest definition of the word. When I was 4 my mom enrolled me in a gymnastics class and the instructor actually told her to take me home because I was slowing the rest of the class down. Yeah, the instructor was a bitch. Then in grade school I was in advanced reading, but remedial gym. I'm not making that up. I won't even go into the humiliation that was junior high gym class. By high school I had just given up and took choir. So, physical fitness was never a high priority in my life.

Well, as some may remember, I joined Weight Watchers in August of 2005 after exploding the zipper out of my favorite capri pants. Weight Watchers wants us to be in good health, not just thin, so I had to commit to move more. I started slowly with Leslie Sansone's Walk Away the Pounds one mile walk. It was so freaking hard. But in no time it was easier and I moved up to doing it with weights. Then on to the two mile. I vowed I would never do the three mile because it was forty-five minutes and who has that kind of time to workout? Guess I do, because I moved up to the three mile when the two just became too easy. This is something a place I never thought I would be- looking for more challenging exercise!

When ever we get too big for our britches, life has a way of knocking us down a few pegs. I'm not going to lie, I was feeling pretty damn good about the new role exercise was playing in my life. I caught a glimpse of my butt in the mirror and it was looking pretty good and that's some hearty inspiration to keep working out. So, after a very little research I decided on The Firm Body Sculpt. It has a two-part step called, "The Fanny Firmer." "Step aerobics? No problem! I'm in shape now! I'm walking three miles per day with weights. Piece of fat-free cake!" I thought.

Then I attempted The Firm.

That's when life made it abundantly clear to me that I am NOT in shape. I'm more in shape then I was and that's great. But I am not the fitness goddess that I imagined myself to be. Folks, the warm-up kicked my ass! After three minutes I dripping sweat. We hadn't even used the step yet. When we finally got the step out, I was ready to drop, but I wasn't going to give up. I didn't give up during hover squats (hover over the step like you are going to sit on it, then sit, then hover again, then stand up). I didn't give up during the 8000 lunges (but I did decide they were trying to kill me). I didn't give up when sweat was streaming down from my hair. No, my friends, I did not give up.....until they had us stepping on both steps stacked on top of each other (14 inches high) and the leader said, "Okay, FOUR more!" I said, "Hell no. You ladies have fun," and did some little jogs around the living room. I attempted the warm up, but my legs were so jello-y that it wasn't working well.

If that weren't bad enough, after I took my shower I proceeded to knock things around the living room for the next hour because apparently my muscles were so embarrassed at my performance they the decided they weren't going to work anymore. I walked in to the kitchen doorway, I knocked over three glasses at one time, and tripped over the couch.

The next day, and actually still today, the front of my thighs are still sore. But I vow not to give up. I am not going to let The Firm ladies kill me and my butt is gonna rock!

Helpful Hints for Idiots

2007-12-29T09:21:00.000-06:00

Last night my husband and I went to one of our favorite watering holes, Emmett's Ale House, to unwind after the grueling two day work week. We made it home just in time to see the latest installment of the greatest television show ever, "To Catch a Predator." Despite my love for this show, each episode is pretty similar. Oh sure, they try and trip up the men by having them meet the decoy on the beach or sit in a massage chair, but no matter what the location, the men are always taken in by the same scenarios. So, last night I decided to come out of my Dave Berry-like semi-retirement (okay, I just wanted to be mentioned in the same sentence as Dave Berry) and put together a list of helpful hints for the morons who continue to be taken in by Chris Hansen.

1. No one wants to see your penis.
-If you ask someone, "Do you want to see my penis?" and they say yes they are either a cop or laughing their ass off at you. Last night there was a guy who said he had a hobby of taking pictures of himself masturbating, then sent a bunch of them to the decoy. Trust me on this one, no female is interested in seeing this! And, really, how many pictures of yourself masturbating do you have to take that it comes labled "a hobby"? You know, I'd rather not know.

2. No one wants to watch you play with yourself on your webcam.
-See explanation for #1.

3. It doesn't matter if that girl is 13 or 30, a girl who looks like that will never be interested in you.
-Seriously, have you looked at yourself lately, pedo? You're a balding, middle-aged guy who couldn't get a woman your own age, but you think that very cute 13 year olds are just falling all over themselves for you? They are 13, not blind! If you have to drive 3+ hours to get a litte- you're ugly. Oh sure, every once in a while a good looking one slips in and they should be locked up and the key destroyed.

4. Think of some better excuses.
-"I've never done this before!" ...except last time.
"She begged me to come over!" ....uh, she's a kid. She also begged her mom to buy Pop-Tarts. It's what they do.
"We're just going to watch movies!" ...yeah, porno movies.
"I was just going to tell her that she shouldn't be talking to strange men online!"...is that like when companies hire hackers to help with internet security?
"I'm just going to 'mentor' her!"....with your penis and webcam.
We've heard them all before. You get all creative with the chats and have nothing left for TCaP. It's disappointing. During your 6 hour drive, do us all favor and think of something a touch more interesting.

And the most important tip....

5. KNOCK IT OFF!
-These are KIDS! When you start saying nasty things to a KID, don't get in car and drive to the kids house! Do society a favor and drive to the nearest mental ward, because you need help.

One little tip to Chris Hansen, bring back the moss-covered camo cop hiding in the bushes. I can't even imagine how shocked the perps (that's my cop talk) were when the bush next to the door jumped up, started yelling at them to get down on the ground, and pointing a taser at their chest! Oh, and, you rock a turtleneck like no one I've ever seen. Keep up the good work!

Hey, DiCapiro! Where the hell is my "global warming"??

2007-04-11T19:27:00.000-05:00

This is the scene that greeted me this morning. We haven't had snow on April 11 in Chicago in TWENTY SEVEN YEARS!! Might I remind you that 27 years ago we supposedly were going to have massive global cooling. I think they called it "nuclear winter". Whatever. All I know is it's friggin cold and it sucks.

Bears Lady

2007-04-04T15:15:00.000-05:00

I don't know if this happens to everyone or if it's just me, but sometimes it's like God ran out of extras in your life and starts reusing characters. Sort of like Law and Order does occasionally. Several weeks ago I had an encounter on the road with woman with Chicago Bears license plates on her car, hence her designation as "Bears Lady." On the day in question, my commute home was uneventful in every way, which should have been my tip-off something weird was bound to happen.

I was waiting at a red light and noticed the car directly on my right had left enough space for two cars between it and the car in front of it. I turned to look at the driver fully expecting him or her to be some old blue hair who could hardly see over the steering wheel. Instead, it was a woman about fifty staring back at me. For a second I thought our eyes just met by chance, but she was definitely staring.Trying-to-bore-holes-into-my-head-with-her-radioactive-glare kind of staring at me. The light changed and I didn't have enough time to react or give her any sort of, "What the hell is your problem?" kind of look back. I continued on my merry way.

I scanned my brain to try and think of something I may have done to annoy this lady. I hadn't cut anyone off. I always used my signal. I wasn't tailgating. No fingers or horns or even curse words were exchanged with anyone. I had only been on the road about a mile and a half, more then ten times the amount of distance I usually need to tick someone off. But I couldn't see anything I had done to disturb this lady. Maybe she actually met me before and was still pissed, but her face was completely unfamiliar.

We get to the next red light and she's next to me again. She stares at me until the light turns green. At this point I'm starting to wonder exactly what she thought the staring was going to accomplish. I was going to roll down my window and beg for forgiveness for some imagined indiscretion? Give her the, "Sorry! I'm a dumbass!" wave people give when they cut you off almost causing a five car pile up? Flip her the bird?? I wasn't going to do any of those things. I just wanted to get home in the most unobtrusive manner possible. Now that seemed like it just wasn't going to happen. If I changed lanes, she changed lanes. If I turned, she turned. Was she trying to follow me home?? Sorry lady, but petite fifty year olds in Camrys don't intimidate me. I was more curious then anything.

Finally, I pulled into a turning lane and she didn't follow me. She opted to go straight and, true to form, pulled up right next to me and started staring. I slowly turned my head to face her. I furrowed my brow and gave her my best, "WTF?" face. She started shaking her head in utter disgust while mouthing the words, "Unbelievable." The whole situation was so stupid and she was so visibly angry over nothing that I just cracked up! Her jaw got even tighter and she looked like she was going to hit the steering wheel. That made me laugh more! The green arrow lit and I thought that was the end of the Bears Lady saga. I was wrong.

About a week later I saw her again. When she passed me, she had her hand up next to her face like she was playing with her hair blocking her face. I thought, "No problem, baby. We all have bad days and do dumb things we regret." A few weeks later she was behind me again, only this time she decided to tailgate me. The only way she could have been closer to me was to get out of her car and get in my backseat. She was smirking the entire time. "God ran out of extras for me and He cast a psycho!" What was she trying to do? All she was accomplishing was making me think she had an unmedicated case of borderline personality disorder. But was that the end of Bears Lady? Of course not.

Another seemingly uneventful ride home, when suddenly the car in front of me SLAMS on his brakes! There were no cars in front of him, so I have no idea why he was braking. I checked my rear view mirror to see if the car behind me was cursing me horribly, lo and behold, BEARS LADY! But before I could react- BRAKE! Deranged kid slams on the brakes again! I don't know what he was imaging was in front of him, but now I'm in a freak sandwich! He was probably seeing Grateful Dead bears or Scooby-Doo running across the road and didn't want to hit them. In a brief moment of clarity Bears Lady actually backed off and stayed about five car lengths back. Who can blame her? From her point of view I looked like an insane random braker! Yet, it was not the end of Bears Lady.

Just yesterday I am sitting at a stop light and minding my own business. Out of the corner of my eye I see some movement in my rear view mirror. The woman behind me is gesturing wildly and looks like she's yelling. I look at her for a second and think, "Hmm. Looks like Bears Lady, but that's not her car." No one is in the car with her and she's going nuts. Arms are flailing and she's cursing up a storm (after years of watching hockey, swear words are the only words I can lip-read). The light turns green. Glancing in my side mirror I see the familiar blue Chicago Bears license plate. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Bears Lady got a new car." I don't know if she was gesturing wildly towards me or if she's just a kook, but I'm leaning towards kook.

Cooking with the Mother In-Law

2007-02-21T09:14:00.000-06:00

On Sunday I was looking for a notepad and I stumbled on something I had written about my mother in-law. I was just journaling to get my feelings out. I didn't date it, but I mention that being in a cut-off period from them, so I think it's about 2 years old. It kind of rambles and isn't really finished, but I thought you guys would get a kick out of it.

I have to say that since I have decided to cut-off Liz that I have a sense of humor about her antics. I don't think I have ever talked about her cooking. She has some strange ideas about food in general, not just cooking. She keeps a food diary, which in itself is not unusual and is a pretty good way to keep your diet in check. What makes it unusual is that she does it to make sure she doesn't eat the same meal too many times in a given year. I've asked my husband what she thinks will happen if she eats too many green beans or a hamburger twice in the same week, but he wasn't sure. Who knows what fate befalls the woman who eats turkey twice a year? My mother in-law knows and she's apparently too frightened to share.

The next incident covers a lot of ground. It goes into her food beliefs and bizarre rituals known as family get togethers. Whenever it's someone's birthday, they get to pick the meal that everyone else is subjected to. This particular time it was the Laura and Nick Fest (my brother and sister in-law, their birthdays are less then a week apart). They picked Arby's. Yes, Arby's. These people cannot make any decision quickly. The Arby's menu sent them all into a full-blown panic. It took on average 40 minutes to decided what they wanted. I don't mean a total of 40 minutes. I mean 40 minutes each. We all had to wait while each person picked out what they wanted, then the next and so on. It was ridiculous. Maybe they thought the menu said, "Army's" and we were enlisting. That is a major life decision. Picking between a Big Montana and an Arby's Melt is not.

After finally getting Liz to decide on what to order, someone (probably my idiot brother in-law, Nick) asked her if she wanted a shake. I could have killed him. We had to hear about how she allows herself one sundae per year- usually in August. Since this was July, she thought maybe it would be okay if she substituted her sundae for a shake. But, gosh darn, she really looks forward to having that sundae in August. This was a really noodle scratcher for her. In the end, she and Laura decided to split a shake. Mother and daughter sharing an Arby's shake. It was a beautiful thing.

Later on someone gave Liz a curly fry. The second it hit her lips she was bounding up from her chair and lunging across the table to grab a glass of water. The fire finally quenched, she managed to say, "I didn't realize they were so hot!" If the only spice you use is salt, then yes, curly fries are exceptionally spicy. My husband once tricked her into having a hot pepper and we thought her head was going to explode. She looked like the guy in the old cartoons whose head turned into a thermometer and then blew up. My then five year old nephew thought it was hysterical! He started laughing and clapping while Liz was chugging down bucket after bucket of water. When she finally came up for air, he said, "Do it again, grandma!!"

The theme for this should really be "food" and not "cooking", because I have yet to talk about her cooking. The first time I went over there was either for Christmas or Thanksgiving. I've tried to block most of it, so I forget the exact occasion. She made what she called "dumplings." I - and the rest of the free world- would call them, "raw dough in a water-like gravy." It literally looked like a loaf of bread dough, cut into slices, and sitting in water. My husband had to ask his mom what they were, because he didn't even know. I had never had dumplings before, but I knew these were piss poor dumpling impersonators.

Then there was the broccoli. The poor, poor broccoli. I didn't know it was possible to feel sorry for a vegetable until I met Liz's broccoli. If there were a vegetable anti-cruelty hot line, I would totally call her in. My husband and all his siblings have been telling Liz for years that she should just make the main dish and let us bring the rest. The reply is always the same, "But that's not (Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, etc....)!!" I guess to her Christmas is crappy raw dough dumplings and bitching about how you spent so much time in the kitchen that you couldn't visit with anyone. Back to the broccoli. My husband was bugging her to let us bring something for Thanksgiving. She kept shooting down any suggestion he had for us to help out. In frustration he finally said, "What about the broccoli??? Can we just bring that??" Liz let out a hearty laugh. "The broccoli takes THREE HOURS!!" She boils it and slathers it with Cheez Whiz. How can that possibly take more then 15 minutes?

We were mortified. It certainly explained why the poor vegetable was not longer any recognizable shade of green, but a color that can only be called blech. Her three hour boiling treatment was like punishing this broccoli whose only crime was being plucked out of the produce aisle by her whithered old mother in-law hand.

Run For Your Life, It's Baby Stink Breath!

2007-01-05T11:20:00.000-06:00

Or...An Open Letter To The Lady Who Sits Two Cubes In Front Of Me

For the love of all that is holy, please brush your teeth. You sit about 15 feet in front of me and I can still smell your nasty ass breath as you speak. Now that my hair is short I can't hide in my hair to block out the smell. Seriously, what did you eat?? Because it smells like you've been sucking on a poo popcicle. Don't you taste it? Doesn't it taint the taste of all your food?

I had to use your phone once and YOUR PHONE SMELLED! Think about it. Your breath is so bad that the smell has actually embedded itself into your telephone. That is nasty. Considering that fact that you go out to lunch at least three times per week, I think the $2 for a toothbrush and a $6 for the large bottle of Listerine is not out of your budget.

Oh. My. GOD!! STOP LAUGHING!! It forces the smell back here even more.

The smell is practically a BEING. It probably should have it's own cube and draw it's own paycheck. It already has its own phone!

Look, my dentist is a total con artist, too, and I think he may be in the mafia. But that is no excuse for letting that thing grow and flourish in your mouth! I still manage to drag the brush against my teeth every day.

Did someone here do something horrible to you? Is that why you feel this need to punish us? Whatever we have done, I am sorry. I apologize with my whole heart and pray you forgive us and brush your damn teeth!

It's not like you dropped some ketchup on your blouse at lunch and hope no one notices. Honey, we notice!

Between you and the guy who sits behind me hocking phlegm all day it's a miracle that any of us can keep any food down.

In closing, I again implore you, please for love of your fellow co-worker, brush your teeth. The world will be a happier place.

Major Apology

2007-01-05T08:28:00.000-06:00

I apologize to anyone who saw that disgusting picture!! I would never, ever, ever put anything so completely foul like anywhere. I am totally appalled. My sincerest and heartfelt apologies to anyone who saw it. I swear that when I posted it, it was a cute picture of a black cat with a Santa hat. I am so, so, so sorry. It has been deleted and nothing like that will appear here ever again.

Christmas With The In-Laws

2007-01-03T12:36:00.000-06:00

Good afternoon, readers! I trust you all had magical and lovely Christmas and New Year celebrations.

No? Well, neither did I. On to Christmas Day we gather at my mother in-law, Demonica's, condo. My sister in-law, Marge* and her husband, Larry and their kids, Mabel and Melvin were already there, as was my brother in-law, Jim Bob*. We are always the last ones there and the first ones to leave.

Normally, Larry doesn't talk to anyone unless it's to make a nasty dig (see the previous entries "Thank You, Jackass Brother In-Law!" and then one about not wanting to take a cruise that I am too lazy to look up the title to). I was putting the gifts under the tree and he YELLS- "Hi Kitten!!" It caught me so off guard that I looked at him like he was going to steal my wallet and managed to get out a timid, "Hi." When he does this, it usually means he's going to boast about his latest exploit, but there was no follow-up. Could the midlife crisis fog have lifted and had he returned to the land of the living?

It was time to sit down to dinner. I originally picked a seat facing the kitchen, but staring up at me was this life-sized portrait of the Virgin Mary. Demonica had half of the table covered in Virgin Mary items. She had enough to open her own Virgin Mary store. Nothing against Mary, but I don't need that kind of pressure. I just imagined her saying, "Are you really going to eat that? You have had a lot of cookies the last few days." I switched seats.

I wish there was a way for me to take samples of Demonica's cooking and share it with you. Although, you would probably never read my blog again and start referring to me as, "That horrible woman who made me eat her mother in-law's cooking." I never thought of myself as much of a cook until I ate Demonica's cooking. Compared to her, I'm Rachel Ray. I always thought beef roasts were supposed to be a bit pink on the inside and juicy. Demoncia's roasts laugh in the face of juicy!! Juicy pink beef is for the weak! Demonica's beef is brown. Damn brown. So dry you can floss your teeth with it...and that would probably be a better idea then actually eating it. One of the roasts was completely square like a Wendy's hamburger. It had this sort of sheen to it, like a rainbow trout. That's not a good look for beef. The other was, well, let's just say I had to drink a lot of water to get it down.

Larry actually made conversation. He didn't brag about working 70,000 hours overtime or about how much money he makes or how his kids are so smart or... anything. Maybe it was because he was busy eating Wendy's Roast like it was his last meal and even cracked open the tray of Christmas cookies he and Marge had brought and started shoveling them in. Still, I braced for his next attack. He's like a cat when they smack around a mouse for a while. Then the cat pretends to be not interested, only for the mouse to relax and make it easier for the cat to pounce.

After dinner we headed into the living room. Then it hit me. The Smell. It deserves capitalization, because it truly was a living, breathing entity. I thought it was me. "I must have forgotten deodorant. I'll do a big stretch and do a quick pit sniff to verify." It wasn't me. There was not one culprit, but THREE! Yes, Larry, Melvin, and Jim Bob all STANK. Larry smelled like his deodorant quit on him the day before. Melvin did not seem to have been introduced to the magic that is daily showering and deodorant. But the worst of all was Jim Bob. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in at least a week. I mean really, if Christmas isn't a good enough reason to bathe then what is??? Apparently, my husband was the only male in attendance who had showered that day.

Oh boy. Time for gifts. Mr. RK and I do not buy Christmas gifts for adults in our families. Marge and Demonica absolutely insist on buying us gifts regardless. I know what you are thinking, "That's so nice!" It's really not. They buy us the most useless crap ever. "It's the thought that counts!" But there is no thought. Marge bought us each a Christmas ornament. We don't put up a Christmas tree. This is not a secret. Of all people, Demonica pipes up and says, "Marge, they don't have a tree. Why did you get them ornaments?"

But they weren't our only gifts. Marge also gave me a package of three photo holders that look like brightly colored daisies with springs for stems. I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted that they think I have the same tastes as a thirteen year old girl. Mr. RK got a gift card to Baker's Square. A fine restaurant, I am sure, but we have been there exactly one time and it was on our first date more then ten years ago. I was going to sell it to this weird girl at my office, but then I heard her say that she got one from her in-laws! There has got to be some kind of school for in-laws that teaches them this junk. “Giving Your Son and Daughter In-Law the Most Useless Crap Ever 101.”

The best gifts were from Demonica. I got a set of lotions that French whores would say, "Zees smell tres trashee!" Mr. RK got socks. He's a t-shirt, jeans and gym shoes man. He wears white sweat socks exclusively. Demonica gives him socks that can only be described as old man socks. Thick, long, and in khaki, navy, and pale blue. They would go perfectly with a pair of Bermuda shorts, sandals, and a golf hat. Let's not forget that he wears a size 9 shoe and she got size 10-13. So even if he were to wear them, the heal would be up at his ankle and so long that they would go over his knee. The only thing she could have given him that would be less useful is a dress.

Jim Bob gave Mabel the "Full House" dvd collection. Mabel could have cared less, but Marge went crazy for it. "FULL HOUSE!!! I love that show!! Kitten, did you watch this show???" Um yeah, when I was 12. The Olsen Twins creeped me out (still do) and Uncle Joey ceased to be funny after exactly 14 seconds. Marge is 10 years older then me. I was 12 when that show started, meaning she was 22. I can’t imagine any 22 year old sitting through an episode unless they were too drunk to move. Maybe she was hot for John Stamos, but, geez, watch "ER"; he's at least ditched the mullet.

After opening gifts, Mr. RK said to Larry, "Hey, Kitten baked a ton of stuff and everything is really good." Larry perked up and said, "Yeah, I know. Her stuff is always really good." Okay, who was this guy?? Granted he stank, but I was willing to overlook that because he was acting human for a change. Now he compliments my baking?? Clearly, he had been abducted by aliens and replaced with a pod person. It was the only rational explanation.

Marge and I put our cookies out. Marge looked at my spread and said, "Oh. I didn't make anything fancy." She snarled the "fancy", like it was a slur. Let me tell you my philosophy on baking: if it's got more then 5 steps and/or involves rolling the dough, I don't make it. That philosophy eliminates about 99% of fancy recipes. Trust me; I made nothing abnormal or snooty. Demonica and Jim Bob were the only people to even try my cookies. Demonica couldn't resist throwing in a little dig, though. She took one of each type of my cookies and cut them in half, whining that they were all just toooo big for her to eat a whole one.

The aliens must have restored Larry’s jackass personality. Marge asks him, "Aren't you going to have any cookies?" Larry yells, "No, I'm on a diet." Marge looks so confused (more then normal) and says, "Since when?" They go a few rounds and he insists that he is on a diet and can't possibly have any cookies. Was this another crack about my weight loss? I have no idea what he was getting at, but everyone looked at him like he just was an idiot. So, I guess it backfired.

I know this is already long, but I wanted to add an incident that didn’t directly involve me. At one point my husband was in the kitchen talking to his sister, Marge. I heard them whispering and on the way home asked him what that was all about. He said, “Crystal stories.” Crystal is Larry’s sister. I could have an entire blog with nothing but Crystal stories, but they are so completely bizarre that no one would believe them. He said that Marge told him, “She has gained so much weight. She was never thin, but now she’s just HUGE!”

Did she momentarily forget that I have gained a ton of weight in the ten years my husband –her brother- and I have been together? Did they ever bother to find out that I was on medication that made me gain the weight very quickly? I know I am mean. And I bitch. A lot. And I make fun of people. A lot. But people always know where they stand with me. I don’t hide behind this façade of a sweet kindergarten teacher like Marge. I didn’t go into another room and make fun of her hideous Christmas vest. Really, besides lesbians and jugglers who wears a vest?

It wouldn’t bother me as much if this was the first time she had made nasty comments about someone’s weight, but it’s not. My husband said something to her about it last time and she replied, “I wasn’t talking about Kitten.” That makes it okay then! I’ll make fun of idiotic kindergarten teachers who wear fugly Christmas vests and get confused by bread machines. Oh, but I’m not talking about Marge, so its okay! I may be mean, but I know that for every American woman that weight is an issue and draw the line (except for my husband’s flaming bitch on wheels cousin who called me a fatass to my face and I wish her nothing but fatness; she used to be fat, too, and now thinks she has to heal all the fat people of the world).

It just goes to show that when I think the in-laws can't shock me anymore, they always, too.

*Not thier real names, except for Larry, because he's a total jag.

Christmas Cookies!!!

2006-12-20T17:38:00.000-06:00

I love to bake! I thought I would share this awesome recipe for peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. This is a total crowd pleaser and you probably have most of the ingredients in your kitchen already. Who doesn't love peanut butter and chocolate?? This is a recipe my in-laws beg me for and I told them I don't give out my recipes. Hehehehehehehee....

This is a quick recipe that makes just about the perfect amount. Let the egg and chocolate sit out on the counter for a few minutes and get it up to room temprature (and the brown sugar, if you keep it in the freezer or refrigerator), it just helps it mix better.

Oh and I wanted to mention that by the magic of Christmas they are zero calories. ;-)

1 cup peanut butter (I use smooth, but whatever floats your boat)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
up to 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate pieces (this part is flexible, use what you like- regular chocolate chips, those swirly chocolate chips are good, dark chocolate chips, chop up a Hersey bar, chop up a dark chocolate baking bar. Last time I made them I chopped up a 70% dark chocolate bar and they were soooo good!)

1. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. In a mixing bowl beat peanut butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar and baking soda until combined. Beat in egg and vanilla until combined. Stir in flour. If you want a really chocolatey cookie, stir in the full cup of chips. Personally, I like them a bit more peanut buttery and add around 3/4 of a cup of chips. But whatever works for you.

2. Shape dough into 1 1/4 inch balls and place on ungreased cookie sheet (I like to use either parchment paper or my fancy french silicone baking mats), flattening slightly with your fingers.

3. Bake in preheated oven about 10 minutes or until cookies are puffed and lightly browned (in my ancient oven it's about 12 minutes, but start checking them at 10, it's better to under cook them then to over cook), centers will be soft. Cool on your cookie sheet for about 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack.

Makes about 2 dozen

American Music Awards

2006-11-22T13:25:00.000-06:00

I generally don't watch awards shows, because really, what's the point? If anything noteworthy happens it's going to be on the internet that night and all over the media the next morning. What I always enjoy are the photos the next morning. I try to deny it and say, "Oh, I'm just looking at the dresses!" but really, I want to see celebrities looking dumb. Let's face it, we all feel a little bit better about ourselves whenever Paris Hilton drunkenly trips over something or someone's boob pops out on the red carpet. "Sure, I may have had a crappy day at work, but at least I didn't inadvertantly flash my girls to the world!"

With that in mind, I bring you several photos from last night's American Music Awards. After all, it's just wholesome family entertainment, right?

Uh...maybe not.

You would think after being declared the Mullet King that Billy Ray Cyrus would be a little more careful with his hair styling decisions. Am I the only one who sees a stunning resemblance to Fred Flintstone's weird neighbor?

I have to wonder what JC Chasez was thinking when he picked out this little number. "Hmmm...what will make me look like Kramer from Sienfeld? Oh, and I better make sure I make my hair really, really pointy, too! I want to look as geeky as possible!!"

I love Carrie Underwood. But she shouldn't be going to Demi Moore for fashion advice.

"Did someone out there say 'Free Republic'? I know I heard it! I am NOT paranoid! Who asked if I always dress like I am going to a funeral? Oh that is it. I'm outta here."

Is it just me or does Katherine McPhee look an awful lot like Claire Danes in this photo? If you get a chance check out the Yahoo AMA slideshow, because there are more of McPhee and she desperately needs attention. She's blowing kisses at the camera and posing coquettishly.

Hey, Taylor, what do you think of Katherine McPhee's desperate cries for attention?

Haha! That's my take, too! Any word on when you will publicly declare your love for blogger, Retrokitten, by dedicating your album to her?

Hey, that last part wasn't supposed to be funny!

Happy Thanksgiving, all! Here's a silly picture I stole off someone else's blog...

Oooo...pretty...

2006-11-14T11:48:00.000-06:00

As you can see, I gave Retrokitten's Rants a makeover! Even though the polka dots were semi-retro looking, I thought it was time for a change.

As a special added bonus, here are some great sites for retro-looking clothing.

Daddy O's I loooooove this site! The cute party dress is from their dress collection. I especially enjoy that they carry "plus size" women's clothing. Although, take the term "plus size" with a grain of salt. They have several tops labeled XL that are size 12. But they do list measurements for the clothes and many, many items go up to size 3XL and are reasonably priced. Think that red number might be too hot for Christmas with the in-laws?

Pin-Up Girl ClothingUnleash your inner pin-up girl! From bobby pins to shoes and everything in between. Again, sizes run small. In what bizarro world is size 8 an extra large? What a blow to the old ego. Some things are actually sized for Earthwomen, but they sell out fast.

Zappos! While not a retro clothing site, Zappos.com is potentially the greatest website ever. If you can't find shoes at Zappos then head to the doctor, because something is clearly wrong with you.

I don't recommend clicking on the "retro" section unless you want to wade through pages of Vans and Reebok hightops circa 1986. Head towards the women's dress shoe section and start searching.

If having eight gabillion shoes to choose from wasn't heavenly enough, the godlike creatures over at Zappos also bequeathed us with FREE SHIPPING BOTH WAYS!! Yes, you read my giant text correctly. If you get you shoes and they don't fit or the heal is too high or you got drunk and ordered 20 pairs of various kitten heals, send those bad boys back free of charge! God bless you, Zappos creators.

Thank You, Jackass Brother In-Law!

2006-11-06T08:37:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I know. I haven't updated since July. My neighbors are still weirdos. My office is still a freakshow. But I wouldn't be writing if my in-laws weren't still the biggest bunch of kooks I've ever met. After 10 years of dating and marriage to my husband I have learned to deal with my mother in-law and my sister in-law. Oh sure, they rarely miss an opportunity to let me know that they do not consider me family, but my mother in-law can't figure out how to work a camera and my sister in-law was so mystified by a bread machine she had to return it (she said, "How do I know I will like the bread it makes?"). So, when they say idiotic things like how since my brother has kids I am finally an aunt (I guess my husband's sister's kids who have called me auntie since they could speak are mistaken?) I just consider the source and let it go. My brother in-law is a whole other stupid story.

As things have taken a turn for the better with my female in-laws, they have taken a turn for the worse with Larry (using his real name, because I don't like him). A few years ago he started going through the dreaded midlife crisis. He went from slightly obnoxious to downright mean. Like a stereotypical midlife crisis victim, he's dissatisfied with his life and taking it out on the rest of society. He's like Kim Jong Il without the pompadour or nuclear capabilities. In short, he's crazy and miserable and wants the rest of us to be miserable, too. But this time it backfired.

Last Saturday night my sister in-law had us over for my nephew's birthday. Well, I thought he was my nephew until I was informed I wasn't really his aunt, but for lack of a better term we'll continue calling him my nephew. Things were fairly unremarkable. Typical goofy in-law behavior. My mother in-law ambushed my husband because she again can't figure out why her latest camera won't work. Kids walking around with "We just landed here from Mars!" looks on their faces. My sister in-law is running around like mad while her jackass husband, Larry, sits on his fatass doing nothing.

I have to interject this one little point before we go any further. As I have posted in the past, I've been doing Weight Watchers. I'm a slow loser, but over the course of about 14 months I've lost over 55 pounds. Either I was totally friggin huge or the in-laws are slightly less observant then a rock, because none of them have ever mentioned my weight loss. Not that it's really anything I would want to discuss with them. My in-laws are the, "I have to eat to keep weight ON!" variety. But at the same time, 55 pounds is not a small amount. It's kind of like if one of your relatives showed up to Christmas dinner wearing a rainbow clown wig. Don't you think you'd ask, "Hey Don, did you do something different with your hair?"

I walked in to the living room and stood next to my husband. We had been there all off five minutes. Larry was in full miserable glory, because his little camping club (cough*Brokeback Mountain*cough) went on an outing and he had to stay for the birthday party. I started talking to my sister in-law. I overheard Larry ask, "Have you lost weight?" No, Larry was not talking to me. He was talking to my 140 pound husband.

"Uhhh...no."

Larry raised his voice slightly trying to get my attention. "Are you sure?? Because you look A LOT THINNER."

My husband sort of chuckled. "I think I would know if I lost weight."

It was right then that I realized that to draw Larry's ire I must look pretty damn good! His intent was to cut down my husband for looking thin and to try to demean my efforts by seemingly ignoring them. He cannot tolerate anyone having success in any area of their life. It's almost as if he has decided there is only so much good to go around and for someone else to succeed means that he must be failing.

Larry's comments were supposed to make me feel shitty, but they did the opposite. I felt awesome. One the inside I was cracking up at how his "nasty comments" had backfired. After that, it was easy to avoid the pizza, chips and ice cream cake and stick to the baby carrots and cucumber slices. Since then I have been more motivated then I have been in months. Really did he think I would be bawling my eyes out? "Oh no!! But I'M the one one who lost weight! Not YOU! Why doesn't anyone notice ME??"

As is traditional with most married couples, the second we hit the car to head home we recount all the things we couldn't comment on at the time. The very first thing out of my husband's mouth was about the weight comments. We just started laughing! "Was that his pathetic attempt to act like he was 'ignoring' you?? He couldn't make it more obvious that he noticed!" There was, of course, more jackassery out of Larry- there always is. He argued that Bud Lite is the best beer in America and that no one should buy a house for at least the next 15 years, because the housing market is about to go belly up. But nothing as stand out as the weight comments.

So, thank you, Jackass Larry! You gave me just the kick in the (now very roomy) pants I need as we head into the holiday season! Watch for my even skinnier butt at Christmas! ;-)

My Saturday Night In Photos

2006-07-26T10:51:00.000-05:00

Saturday night my husband and I along with my mom and dad went to see actor Gary Sinise's Lt. Dan Band perform at a fundraiser for Operation Support Our Troops Illinois. It seemed like a great idea at the time. We got there early while the band was doing a sound check. The weather was perfect, about 78 degrees with light clouds. The Weather Channel said chance of rain was 30%, which, to me, meant there was a 70% chance it wouldn't rain.

Uh-oh. Here come the clouds to pee all over our good time. In no time it started to rain. You know, "rain" is not really the most accurate description of the weather that night. "Deluge", "torrent", "bombardment", "tempest", "monsoon", "Catagory 3 Biblical Storm" are all more accurate depictions. I am still suprised we didn't see frogs dropping from the sky or have a plague of locusts the next day. My husband and I were huddled under my jean jacket that was soaked through in about, oh, five seconds. My dad had 2 umbrellas in the car that he ran and got- thank God! Outside of a shower or a pool, I don't think I've been so wet in my life.

They made an announcement from the stage that dangerous lightning was headed right for us and to get back to our cars immediately. Considering just about everyone around us had metal-tipped golf umbrella's I didn't walk back to the car, I ran. This it the view from inside my mom's Jeep Liberty. We sat there for about an hour with the heat cranked up, because 1- we were wet and 2- that rain was FREEZING! Honestly, I was surprised we didn't get hail.

This is what it looked like outside the car. Those little white dots are all raindrops bouncing the flash. Every five minutes for the entire hour we spent in the car my mom kept saying, "Any minute now it's going to lighten up." I guess she figured eventually she'd be right. It couldn't rain forever. Or could it?

Well, of course it didn't, silly goose! People started getting out of their cars and were treated to this amazing site. The photo really doesn't even do it justice. It was so bright and literally went from one end of the sky to the other. I couldn't get it in one picture. I wanted to try and find a leprechaun, but no one would go with me. I wasn't going to go alone. I've heard those suckers are mean.

Here's the other side of the double rainbow. What was great was that very little people had gone home. We all were there to support our troops and a little Biblical rainstorm wasn't going to keep us from having a good time!

Despite the sorta clear sky it was still raining. We had left our chairs in the rain so we didn't lose our spot (everyone did this) and there were huge puddles in our chairs. Needless to say, everyone walked around looking like they had peed their pants.

But the show must go on! Roadies were promptly sent out to attempt to dry off the stage. How low on the roadie totem pole is the guy who was sent up the side of the stage to unfurl the flag? You can kinda see him on the left of the stage. I didn't touch this (or any) photo up at all. Those are the actual storm clouds in the background.

I just have to say, if you get the chance to see the Lt. Dan Band, do it. It's great time. They played for nearly two hours and I think the only type of music they didn't play was classical. There's a little rock, a little country, a little blues ("Sweet Home Chicago" brought the house down), a little R & B and everything else. It's a great time and all the proceeds went to Operation Support Our Troops Illinois. They played so long that my husband and I were saying, "Oh my God. When are they going to stop? I'm freezing!"

Trust me, this little blur is Gary Sinise.

One little quick story for you that wouldn't really fit anywhere else. Since our chairs were soaked we didn't sit down in them until the last possible second. I was praying that as a group with soaked chairs we would all decide to stand, but we didn't. As the show is starting the radio host from WLS was saying some words on stage. People in the back started to sit down. Well, this guy starts YELLING at my husband and I to sit down, because, "Everyone ELSE is sitting down!!! No one is standing but YOU TWO!!" Okay, I guess he was blind to the fact that my 6' 4", 225 pound dad right behind me and the 6'7" 300 pound guy in front of us, the guy who looked like a GIANT Marine next to us, the old man next to my mom, and so on and so on who were all standing. We sat down, but were slightly annoyed at being singled out. Well, it became the nights running joke between my husband and I. Every time we saw anyone doing anything we would say to each other (to each other only, strictly for our own making-fun-of-yelling-jerk amusement), "You are the only one _____!!!" We saw a lady with a dog. "YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WITH A DOG!!" There was a man who brought a huge flag and was waving it. "YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WAVING A FLAG!! JACKASS!" "WHY ARE YOU PLAYING THE BASS?? YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE ON STAGE PLAYING THE BASS!!!" The message is, don't pick on the giant Amazon girl, because she's going to make fun of you. All. Night. Long.

Update On The Crazy Lady

2006-07-20T15:26:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I wrote about the crazy lady who told me my gigantic big butt was looking great (I'm paraphrasing). Well, as you can read in the title, I've got an update.

Tuesday night all seemed normal at our Weight Watchers meeting. Somehow the topic turned to people whose shorts creep up their thighs as they walk and they just leave them there. Our leader said, "I always wonder why they leave them there. Don't they notice?" and we all had a good laugh. As we were leaving the meeting I was behind Crazy Lady. I heard her saying to another WWer, "I was behind this lady at the bank the other day and her shorts were just crammed up there. I kept thinking, 'Do I tell her? Do I not tell her"," and then she had a hearty chuckle. Is she just walking around the Chicago area staring at ladies' behinds? Really, if she's going to start commenting right to stranger's faces about their shorts wedged up their huge butts then she better learn tae kwan do or start wearing kevlar.

My Playlist

2006-07-03T14:23:00.000-05:00

Good afternoon, readers! I thought I would share with you my latest ITunes downloads. Let's pretend I didn't steal this idea right off the ITunes website, okay? Great!

"Amarillo By Morning"- George Strait Such a beautiful song. It's like a cowboy song from a different time.

"Delta Dawn" -Tanya Tucker How can a 13 year old have such a gravely voice? Did they make her start smoking at 3?

"Hicktown" Jason Aldean This song cracks me up. How can I not love a song about truck pulls, White Rain, butt cracks, and drunken bingo grannies??

"Nobody Gonna Tell Me What to Do" Van Zandt Tossing your hard hat at the boss and quitting to hitting the road to play guitar, it's the American Dream in 3 minutes and 28 seconds.

"CB Song" The Legendary Shack Shakers This song was popular in a Geico commercial a couple of years ago. "I said a little hunny bunny, what's your 20?" I friggin love this song. It makes me feel like badass girl.

"She's Always a Woman" Billy Joel The woman in this song is so far from perfect (she laughs after she cuts him and he's bleeding! What a total bitch!), but he loves her anyway.

"Levon" Elton John Apparently, I was the only person in America who had not heard this song until Taylor Hicks sang it on American Idol.

"Your Song" Elton John If we had had a traditional wedding reception, I would have picked this for our first dance as husband and wife. My husband and I desperately want a house, but they are just too expensive near us. One of the first lines is, "I don't have much money, but if I did I'd buy a big house where we both could live." It makes me cry every time.

"Do I Make You Proud?" Taylor Hicks I am not one of those secrect American Idol watchers. I scream it loud and proud. Why did Taylor strike a cord with so many people? Because at one time or another we've all been told we're too old, too young, too fat, too thin, too ugly, too pretty, too something and tried to fit our round-peggness into that square hole that someone else we thought we belonged in. Here is someone who listened to himself and refused to compromise despite being told week after week that he looked drunk or other insults. I eagerly await his album!

"Lady Marmalade" LaBelle Oh yeah, the kitten brings the funk! None of this Christina Agularlearakjxz#&fwa junk. Only the original will do.

"Are You Gonna Be My Girl?" Jet This is another song I just friggin love. The only problem with some of these songs that make you feel like a badass is that if something happens to make you look dorky (zipper open, booger that goes in and out while you breathe, skirt tucked into your pantyhose, etc.) you look 10 times dorkier. Not that I would know or anything....

My Gigantic Butt Butterfly

2006-06-22T12:23:00.000-05:00

Recently, I took a grammar workshop offered by the lovely folks over at writersonlineworkshops.com and, thank God, it's over! It was tough, but I learned loads. Our final project included a 1000 words on the subject of our choice. I thought you would get a kick out of what I wrote.

I was sitting in my weight loss support meeting celebrating the 47.6 pounds I had lost. After the applause died down and we moved on to celebrating another member, I started to reflect on how far I had come in the last eight months. There are so many words to describe how I felt at that first weight loss meeting. Embarrassed. Shameful. Desperate. Terrified. Fat. "Wow. That's a lot more then I thought I weighed," I said as the group leader handed me back my weight tracking card. She looked at me with a smile that radiated enthusiasm. "Well, it's all down hill from here!"As low as I felt I knew there was no other option. I couldn't continue on such an unhealthy path.

Week after week I grew more and more confident. I was no longer embarrassed to tell people I was dieting. I was proud of my accomplishment. Proud that I was choosing to be healthy. Proud that I was no longer leaving meetings in a mad rush to get to my car so I could cry out my guilt. Instead, I was actually speaking up in meetings and making the other members laugh! People would tell me that what I had said had helped them lose weight. Just hearing that I had helped someone else gave me a boost to keep going. Unlike that bleak first day, I could now see myself reaching my goal.

With heartfelt words of encouragement from our leader, the meeting was over. I fished my keys out of the bottom of my purse and strolled to the door. "I thought you had lost quite a bit, because that butterfly was looking a lot smaller,"said a voice behind me. Butterfly? What was she talking about? I thought. "Oh! You mean my tattoo! I've had it so long that I forget about it." I turned to see the woman who sat behind me during meetings smiling. I had a purple butterfly tattoo on my lower back- a remnant of wilder days. Now it tended to peek over the waistline of my ever droopier jeans. But had she just said my tattoo was smaller?

She was still smiling as she said, "Yeah, it was getting pretty wide and spread out back there." Holy crap. I had heard her right. Was this woman insulting me at a weight loss support meeting?? Maybe she was trying to compliment me and it was just coming out wrong. Yeah, that had to be it. Only a psycho would make fun of someone else's butt size at a weight loss meeting. Hiding my shock, I said, "Well, the skin on the lower back doesn't get much sun, so that's why I got it back there." Nice recovery, I thought. That should give her time to recompose herself. "It's definitely smaller then it was when you first started coming here."

I had to give myself a pat on the back, because I wanted to say, "Are you friggin' kidding me? Do you hear yourself?? You are saying that my oh-so-massive butt started at my lower back and was stretching out an innocent butterfly! Do you drink during the meeting? Because then I could let it go. Or if you had some kind of injury that made you say the most wildly inappropriate things. If not, you're just a jerk."

Instead, I just walked away.

For days after the meeting I replayed her words over and over again. "Yeah, it was getting pretty wide and spread out back there." It echoed like Lou Gehrig's speech in Pride of the Yankees. "Today, I feel I have the biggest butt on the face of the Earth..." We had never exchanged harsh words, so she had no reason to be derisive. That's why it caught me off guard. I know what it's like to unintentionally make an ass out of yourself and I fully empathize with others who do the same thing. So, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt that she was not trying to tell me I had a gigantic behind.

I went to my meeting the following week, got weighed, and took my usual seat. A few minutes later the crazy lady took her usual seat right behind me. Feeling a bit self-conscious, I tugged at the back of my shirt to be certain nothing was peeking out that would jog the her memory of our last conversation. "Isn't her butterfly so much smaller? It's not nearly as wide as it was before." She grinned to the woman next to her. Was this some kind of bizarre karma I was working off? Had I inadvertently been rude to someone and this was my penance? I had given this woman the benefit of the doubt and she said it AGAIN! I didn't want to be rude right back to her, but I didn't want to act like I didn't care she was making these strange comments about my body either. I meant to give a little laugh that said, "Your comments don't bother me, crazy lady!" Instead, this very forced, "heh" came out. It was like a scoff. I didn't really care. Message sent.

I sat there the rest of the meeting thinking about those first weeks. I was thinking how that terrified woman would have reacted to these comments. I know exactly what she would have done. She would have sat in her car, cried, and never came back. I choose to forgive the crazy lady the same way I would want to be forgiven for something completely stupid I blurted out. But if she mentions my fat arms, she's going down.

Wasn't that heart-warming? A few laughs, a little tears, cursing, threats of a beat down, everything you love about me in less then 1000 words. I wanted to share this comment with you that I recieved from one of my classmates:

"The piece has lots of power in it. But it seems that you don't draw out all the power."

First off, I love constructive criticism, because it helps build strength as a writer. But what the hell does that mean??? It's like saying, "It's good, but it really sucked." I could post all of this person's comments, but they are, in fact, longer then my entire essay. Even though I told this person that this is a real situation, he insists that it is fiction and I need to make everyone fatter. Sadly, I am not joking. He thought I should, A) Detail the "main character's" weight-loss/gain history, B) Give the main character a chance to overcome obstacles, and C) Use this as a tipping point for that vixen of a main character to gain all of her weight back -- while keeping the assignment under 1000 words. Do I need to add that one assignment by this person was panned by everyone else in the class (he used so many obscure words to describe kids going off the high dive that no one had any clue what was going on) and we've all recieved negative feedback from him ever since? Well, you probably guess that part already.

Disturbing Kitchen Item

2006-06-16T12:01:00.000-05:00

While checking out bedbathandbeyond.com I stumbled on this disturbing kitchen item:

The Beef Jerky Factory Plus

Make jerky at home. Great for making jerky the way you like it and at a fraction of the cost. This kit includes: jerky gun, three attachments for various shapes and jerky spice/cure packets.

Maybe it's just because my family are of the rare northern redneck variety, but I was under the impression that the only gun used in making jerky was the one you shot the deer with.

My Head, the Bird Magnet

2006-06-11T13:19:00.000-05:00

More then a few times I've been compared to Elaine Benis, Jerry Seinfeld's fictional ex-girlfriend from Seinfeld. I like to think it's my charming smile, long dark hair, and disarming sense of humor. But those who have spent more the five minutes with me would probably say it's more the impatience, hostility, and lack of dancing skills. Well, add one more the list, folks, because yesterday a bird almost flew into my big, giant freak head. Again.

For those not well-versed in Seinfeld lore, let me explain. Elaine started dating a guy who was a "bad breaker-upper." He missed their first date because he got stabbed by an ex-girlfriend. As Elaine is trying to break up with him, he bitterly says, "Fine. You've got a big head." At first she laughs it off only to have a cabby tell her that her head is blocking his entire rear window and later a bird flies into her "big giant freak head." Now that we've got that out of the way, on to my story.

My husband and I love a good walk in the woods. God help us if we see any kind of wildlife at all. You won't see two bigger spazzy idiots. It's like we just discovered Bigfoot everly time we see a frog. One of us starts this sort of excited whispered, "FROG! FROG! FROG!" while pointing like mad at said frog. Mother Nature is a clever mistress and she has carefully camouflaged most animals from excitedly pointing idiots. Nine times out of ten the other person has no idea what the first is flailing on about. Occasionally, nature likes to scare the crap out of us. Like the time we startled a great blue heron. We came around the corner of the trail, suddenly there is this loud thrash of wings breaking the air and an ear splitting, "Krrrraaaaaaauuuuukkk!!" We see what looks like a pterodactyl rising from the shore of the lake, thankfully, away from us. How we missed a four foot tall bird with a six foot wingspan, I will never know. I won't even mention the time we both jumped sky high after being startled by a chipmunk.

Yesterday was cold and rainy in the Chicago area, but we took off for a nature hike anyway. As we are starting out we pass a group of trees about 100 feet away. My husband says, "Hey, look! A red-winged blackbird." I turned to look and see this thing at eye level about four feet from my face! Instinctively I fling my hand up to block my face and yell, "WHOA!!" Okay, I wish I could have yelled something cooler instead of the Joey from Blossom, "Whoa!", but there was no real thought involved. As soon as I yelled the bird swooped off in the opposite direction. I've heard of defending the nest, but really what the hell was this about? It's nest was 100 feet away and we were walking AWAY from it! Had this been my first encounter with birds swooping at my head I would have laughed it off. You see, dear readers, this is actually the second time I've been eye-to-eye with a bird several feet away from my head.

Several years ago we went to the Minnesota Zoo. It was early September and most kids had already gone back to school, leaving the zoo relatively empty. After taking in most of the exhibits we decided to watch the bird show, mainly so we could sit down for a few minutes. The handler tells us an albino red-tailed hawk is going to come out and, "Don't be alarmed if he swoops over your head. He sometimes does that." The bird is released and flies to a perch at the back of the arena where he gets a nice dead mouse to feast on. The handler gives a signal and the hawks starts to fly back down the stage. Well, apparently no one told this bird that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Instead of flying directly back to the front of the arena he takes a hard left. I turn around to watch him fly and see he's about four rows back, at my eye-level and rapidly approaching my giant freak head! Had I not ducked down (yes, I did say, "Whoa!" then, too. I am so not cool) he would have either had to majorly pull up or smack squarely into the back of my head. Not only would I have been responsible for a major injury to the only known albino red-tailed hawk in North America, but imagine having to explain that one to my insurance company. "Yes, an albino hawk flew into my head. No, I was at the zoo. No, I was not drunk then or now. No, I do not take hallucinogenic drugs."

So, if you see a nearly six foot tall woman walking through the woods wearing a helmet and carying a camera that is probably me.

Face to Face With Dogman

2006-05-05T16:37:00.000-05:00

I have a super quick update I thought you would get a kick out of. Yesterday when I pulled into the parking lot I saw my neighborhood, Dogman (he used to have a dog, I'm not too creative with nicknames), walking back towards his condo from his car. I can't figure out of Dogman is a jerk or really shy, but he will go very far out of his way to avoid both my husband and me. We've seen him talking to other people, so we're leaning towards jerk.

So I get out of my car and as I turn onto the sidewalk I see Dogman is coming towards me, presumably back to his car. Well, the jerk puts his head down, and starts to walk off the sidewalk on to the grass to avoid me! That's fine you don't want to speak, just give me a head nod, but the shear obviousness of it really ticked me off. At least be subtle in your snubbing. My inner Glen Close in "Fatal Attraction" yelled, "I will NOT be ignored!" So, I looked right at him, flashed my biggest smile, and let out this LOUD, "HI!!!"

Dogman just about pooped his pants in surprise. "Oh, um, hi. How ya doin'?" he mumbled. It was barely audible, especially compared to my spazzy greeting. In a perky clear voice I said, "Doin' great!!! How are you???" He mumbled, "Good", and hurried his pace. "That great!! Glad to hear it! Have a nice night!"

Walking the rest of the way up the sidewalk I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting out laughing. The second I got in the entry way and out of Dogman's earshot I just let loose. That'll teach him to come back to his car when he sees me around.

Encounters of the In-Law Kind

2006-05-03T15:04:00.000-05:00

I know you have been sitting there hitting refresh over and over just waiting for an update on last weekends extravaganza with the in-laws. For the first time in a long time I hardly have anything to report. Things actually went okay. But there was one thing I learned, old people love to talk about bowels.

This party was causing me some dilemma, because I knew they would have crappy pizza and crappier fried chicken. Frankly, I didn't want to waste the calories. If I am going to splurge on my diet then I want to use those calories on awesome pizza, not the place that sent the best coupons. So finally I decided, screw it, I will just bring my own food and if anyone says anything I will just tell them my irritable bowel syndrome is aggravated by the greasy food (because I knew no one would mention the 40+ pounds I have lost). I figured problem solved, because no one is going to want to talk about diarrhea and constipation at the dinner table. Oh how wrong I was! Granted, I opened myself up to this by bringing my own food and did expect a certain amount of questions, but not the rapid fire non-stop in-depth questioning that I faced.

I explained the situation to my sister in-law. She's dumb, but nice and said she understood. When it was time to eat I brought out my yummy grilled chicken salad. My husband's aunt, we'll call her Hairlipina in homage to the ferret that lives on her upper lip that she think no one notices, asks me why I brought my own food. I quietly say, "All the grease in the pizza and chicken aggravate my IBS." My mother in-law pops up, "AGGRAVATES YOUR WHAT??" Again, quietly I say, "My IBS." I thought that would be the end of it, but Hairlipina had some more questions. "How long have you had it? Doesn't all that roughage go right through you? What other things can't you eat?" Crap! I had to think fast, because I had foolishly assumed when people heard the word "bowel" they would run from the topic like they were on fire. I didn't think they would have actual questions about my problems! I tried to be very softspoken and vague in my answers, so that Hairlipina might get the hint that this is not a subject I wanted to talk about. Then she tried to (loudly) convince me to get on medication.

This went on for about 10 minutes. I don't know if they were on to me or if they just really liked to talk about bowel movements. Knowing my husband's family like I do it was probably the latter. Later on we had to hear in painful detail about my brother in-law's lactose intolerance. Hairlipina and her husband were held in rapt attention. If ever I get to the point where stories about someone elses bowel movements are the highlight of my day, someone please commit me, because I've clearly gone mental.

After being hit with question after question I had really had enough. My jackass brother in-law (not the lactose intolerant one, another one) struts up oozing arrogance. He looks at my food and says, "Oh what's this? Our food isn't good enough for you?" He was not joking. He was trying to put me on the spot and embarrass me. How he even thought that was possible after playing "20 Questions About Kitten's BMs" tells you what an idiot he is. I looked right into his eyes, raised my voice slightly, and said, "I HAVE IRRITABLE BOWEL SYNDROME, OKAY????" This had a couple of fabulous results. 1- He didn't talk to me the whole rest of the party. Which means I didn't have to listen to the benefits of cruising for the millionth time. 2- It shut everyone else up about my bowels. I finally was able to eat my salad in peace.

The rest of the afternoon went okay. My niece liked her gifts. Oh! Here is something you might enjoy. This party was in the "rec center" of a church. "Rec center" is apparently another word for "gym". Much of the time we were there the kids were all bouncing basketballs and shooting hoops. At one point they started playing some kind of dodgeball-like game. All of a sudden we are treated to a blood curdling scream. It was so high pitched I think it made some of my hair fall out. I looked around to see what was going on and who let out the scream. My niece? One of her girlfriends? Oh no. It was my 11 year old NEPHEW!! It was like a Ned Flanders scream! He did it several times. He starts junior high next year. If his parents were smart they would put him in karate or judo class or something. Because once those bullies get a whiff of that scream he is going to be pummelled daily. Let's examine the evidence, he's got a unibrow (it just started to form, it's terrifying), his mom dresses him in short-sleeved dress shirts, screams like Ned Flanders, and is obsessed with Scooby-Doo. The deck is stacked against him. Poor kid. Maybe I'll get him some brass knuckles or a switchblade for his birthday.

2006-04-25T14:12:00.000-05:00

Hello, readers!! I wanted to let you all know that this Saturday there is a get together with my in-laws and I should have stories galore for you next week. I may even have (gasp!) PHOTOS. Oh yes, the rechargable batteries are charging up and barring some unforeseen circumstance or I forget there will be visual aids to next weeks report.

I'm actually am not dreading this party like I normally would be. Since it is for one of the kids that means my sister in-law will have to deal with her husband's family. That's right, her in-laws. I think that you might be interested in one particular in-law, the white trash sister in-law. No, not me! Her OTHER sister in-law. Her husband's sister. Whenever she's around I want to run up to my both my mother and sister in-law and say, "See! See how much worse I could have been!! You oughta be thanking your lucky stars that I am not anything like that one!" Let's call her, Crystal, because you know...well, think of all the Crystal's you've ever known. That's why.

Where to begin? When my husband and I first started dating she would find little excuses to touch him. At Easter one year she "accidentally" dropped her fork on the floor and went under the table to get it. I happened to be sitting back far enough in my chair that I could see she was going to grab my husband's foot. Well, at least she was going to until I "accidentally" kicked her while crossing my legs. Crystal would tell all of these "remember when" stories from before he and I started dating. I am sure you know the type. She always gives unwanted advice telling me to do things like she does them. I shouldn't put so much effort into my hair. I should just pull the front into a lacquered ponytail and be done with it, like she does. Clothes? Who has time for such frivolity? Just go to sweatpants and mens pocket t-shirts, like she does. Make-up? Nail polish? Legshaving? P'shaw! All needless wastes of time. I should forget about such things, like she has.

Finally, hairy legs be damned, she got her own boyfriend and left mine alone.

When she started dating this guy, we'll call him Cletus, we really didn't see her too much. She would pop in for a free meal now and again at her niece or nephews birthday party (sans gift), but her mom kept us up-to-date on her goings on. Cletus used to drive the vacuum truck (I call it the parking lot zamboni) at the local supermarket and lost his drivers license, so he lost his job. He started working at Burger King. He mysteriously lost that job. So, Cletus found a job working as a mechanic getting paid cash under the table. As fate would have it, he lost that job, too. From my description it sounds like this happened fast, but it was over the span of around 5 years. Here's the thing- he lost the parking lot zamboni job and his driver's license right after they started dating and he's never had a license since. He doesn't even have a state ID card. That and his lack of jobs requiring him to pay taxes make us keep an eye on America's Most Wanted, because we are convinced he is wanted somewhere for something. We haven't seen him featured....yet.

Crystal and Mr. RK work at the same company. Frequently she seeks him out for chats. He hides if he can, but it's like trying to hide from The Predator. Mr. rK swears she has some kind of heat seeking and x-ray vision. She corners him and just won't stop talking. One day she had him trapped for upwards of 20 minutes talking about Cletus' remote controlled car collection. She was trying to convince him that it was a really cool hobby and he should try it. Then the 4 of us could get together and race. Oh yes, I'll bring the Boone's Farm and Cheez Whiz. Another time she wouldn't stop talking about her gall bladder surgery, pulled down her sweatpants and showed him her scars. He had to leave early with hysterical blindness.

I mentioned earlier that her mom has kept us updated on Crystal's goings on, well, Mr. rK's coworkers, who can't stand her, keep updated on the real stories. Like the fantastic "house" that Crystal and Cletus bought. We heard that this place was so friggin spectacular that it was practically an affront to God Himself. It's actually a trailer that cost a whole $8,000. No, I didn't miss a zero, that's eight thousand....and they mortgaged it. If you will notice above I didn't mention anything about Cletus' job after he lost his mechanic's job, that's because he doesn't have one! He doesn't have a drivers license so he sits around the house all day. Crystal claims to love it, because she gets "a hot meal on the table" when she gets home at midnight. But all is not well in Crystal and Cletusville. Lately, she has been complaining that the smell wafting through the trailer is not that of fresh home cookin', but of locoweed. That's right, mary jane, dope, herb, maui wowie, pot. Really, how long does it take to pop in a Hot Pocket before Crystal gets home from work? He's got to do something to pass the rest of the 23 hours and 58 minutes and 15 seconds of the day.

I sort of like when Crystal comes to family get togethers. I can't even tell you why. Maybe it's because my mother and sister in-law stop focusing on ripping apart every little thing I do and say and put the spotlight on her. Maybe it's because someone actually talks to me at these gatherings. Or maybe it's just because I have someone else to make fun of.

From The Desk of Ms. JK Rowling

2006-04-05T09:23:00.000-05:00

JK Rowling (if you don't know who that is, where have you been?) has added a great essay to her website about girls and weight. It's very funny and sadly true.

"Being thin. Probably not a subject that you ever expected to read about on this website, but my recent trip to London got me thinking...

"It started in the car on the way to Leavesden film studios. I whiled away part of the journey reading a magazine that featured several glossy photographs of a very young woman who is either seriously ill or suffering from an eating disorder (which is, of course, the same thing); anyway, there is no other explanation for the shape of her body. She can talk about eating absolutely loads, being terribly busy and having the world's fastest metabolism until her tongue drops off (hooray! Another couple of ounces gone!), but her concave stomach, protruding ribs and stick-like arms tell a different story. This girl needs help, but, the world being what it is, they're sticking her on magazine covers instead. All this passed through my mind as I read the interview, then I threw the horrible thing aside.

"But blow me down if the subject of girls and thinness didn't crop up shortly after I got out of the car. I was talking to one of the actors and, somehow or other, we got onto the subject of a girl he knows (not any of the Potter actresses – somebody from his life beyond the films) who had been dubbed 'fat' by certain charming classmates. (Could they possibly be jealous that she knows the boy in question? Surely not!)"

Continued at For Girls Only, Probably...

Update and The Saga of the Oak Trains

2006-04-04T10:08:00.000-05:00

Well, a long overdue hello to my readers!! Quick update on what's been going on. First, I had the cold from hell passed on to me either by one of my lovely coworkers or by a rugrat on a nightmare journey into a Hell known as Red Robin. I had never heard of this place before, but apparently it's like Chuck E. Cheese without the games. Our friends convinced us to go. They don't get to pick the place anymore. Second, I have just been lazy about updating. That shouldn't shock anyone. Last but not least, I am down a grand total of 39.2 pounds as of last Tuesday night. Woo-hoo! I find out tonight if I broke the 40 pound barrier. Now that we are all caught up, on to The Saga of the Oak Trains....

When my husband and I were dating he lived way out in the country about 40 miles from me. On a roadside about a mile from my boyfriends home we would see this old man setting up shop on the side of the road, "OAK TRAINS FOR SALE". He'd prop up his lawn chair next to his truck and wait for customers. In the 4 years we were dating we never saw one person even stop to look at the trains, let alone actually buy one. We talked about stopping once, but what the hell were we going to do with this gigantic oak train? These things were huge, they had to be at least 18 inches high and 24 inches long. It wasn't even an entire train. It was just the engine. So, we would drive by and look for customers, but there never were any. I know this sounds dumb, but it made me sad. I imagined Oak Train Man packing up his trunk with dozens of oak trains and his hopes high, "This is it! Today I am going to do it! I'm going to sell a train!" His wife looking on from the kitchen window, smiling sweetly, "God love that man and his oak trains." Only to have his hopes dashed with each passing car.

Finally, we got married and my husband moved. We thought our days of the Oak Train Man were done. Okay, to be honest, we didn't even think about Oak Train Man. I mean, really, it wasn't like we knew him or anything. One afternoon we were driving to the mall. We took a short cut off a main highway and that's when we saw him. Yes, it was Oak Train Man. The weird thing was not that he had moved operations about 15 miles north, but that he was at an intersection that had forest preserve on 3 corners and a fancy schmancy subdivision on the forth. Wouldn't you think that he would move to a busier intersection? Again, Oak Train Man had no customers. I avoided looking at him as we passed. I don't know why. I doubt he was thinking, "You used to drive past me out on Lincoln Highway! Get back here and buy a damn oak train, woman!" We saw him every time we went to the mall and once he did have a customer. I wanted the light to last longer so I could see if she was really buying a train. Later in the summer we saw he had added a companion piece to the oak train collection- an oak flower box complete with plastic flowers. It didn't help.

Last weekend Mr. rK and I were running errands about 3 miles from home. I looked left and to my great shock was Oak Train Man! It was at this point more then any other that I realized Oak Train Man is no businessman. Yeah, I am kind of slow sometimes. The stretch of road he was on is 55 miles per hour and known for fatal car accidents. Who is going to slow down for oak trains and oak flower boxes when they hardly slow down for other cars? And there is never a shortage of flea markets and craft shows in our area. Wouldn't that be safer then setting up shop next to a 55 miles per hour zone? I think it's rare that cars come ramming into the middle of junior high band fundraiser craft show. But maybe Oak Train Man knows something I don't.

*****

Just a quick update.... another pound gone! Grand total is 40.2 lost!

Quizi

2006-03-02T13:41:00.000-06:00

I don't know what the plural of quiz is, but it should be quizi (pronounced, "quiz eye"), because it's really fun to say.

I have been a bit under the weather lately, so I haven't had the time or energy to write up something jazzy for you all. But I accidentally found this website full of cheesey quizi.

Strangely enough, I do like Jack and Cokes and I think my dentist is a complete scam artist, but no I do not belong to a swingers club.

Your Monster Profile

Demon Beheader

You Feast On: Jack and Coke

You Lurk Around In: Swingers Clubs

You Especially Like to Torment: Dentists

What's Your Monster Name?

I really wanted to be Selma so I could say, "Well blow me down! I'm a Selma!" But, alas, I am a Barney. (BTW, if you get that joke you watch way too much Simpsons)

You Are Barney

You could have been an intellectual leader...

Instead, your whole life is an homage to beer

You will be remembered for: your beautiful singing voice and your burps

Your life philosophy: "There's nothing like beer to give you that inflated sense of self-esteem."

The Simpsons Personality Test

Didn't have to take the test of know this one...

You Are Miss Piggy

A total princess and diva, you're totally in charge - even if people don't know it.
You want to be loved, adored, and worshiped. And you won't settle for anything less.
You're going to be a total star, and you won't let any of the "little people" get in your way.
Just remember, piggy, never eat more than you can lift!

The Muppet Personality Test

Already filing the paperwork to make this my legal name.

Your 1920's Name is:

Zelda Ophelia

What's Your 1920's Name?

Didn't need the test to tell me this one either.

You Are a Natural Flirt

Believe it or not, you're a really effective flirt.
And you're so good, you hardly notice that you're flirting.
Your attitude and confidence make you a natural flirt.
And the fact that you don't know it is just that more attractive!

What Kind of Flirt Are You?

This one I completely disagree with. There is some modern art I really love, but a portait of me better look like me only better. Not some jumbled crap stuck on a canvas.

Who Should Paint You: Alfred Gockel

All American yet funky, you inspire an artist's imagination
And while not everyone will understand your portrait, you will!

What Artist Should Paint Your Portrait?

Enoy!

Fat Camp

2006-02-21T16:20:00.000-06:00

Since I’ve been doing Weight Watchers I’ve become a huge fan of weight related reality TV shows. I’m not a big television watcher normally, but God help the person who gets between me and Celebrity Fit Club or The Biggest Loser. I even found a new one on some channel called Lime and the show comes out of Canada. So not only do I get to follow their weight loss, but I get to make fun of their accents. “Hahaha! He said, ‘Ooot’ again!”

On Monday I was off work (no, I don’t work for the post office) and I stumbled on a show called Fat Camp on MTV. The show follows fat teenagers around for 8 weeks at- surprise!- fat camp. The fact that they are at fat camp is really secondary to the whole teenage melodrama. It’s full of backstabbing, bullying, lying and smoking. Oh yeah, and they get weighed a couple of times to justify the name of the show. I thought it was going to poke fun at fat kids or be a fat empowerment show. It was neither. It was just a bunch of apparently rich (judging from their designer clothes, bling and the one kid getting a poolside facial) being regular teenagers who just happened to be hefty. As is the case with all “reality TV” the real story was in the relationships.

We meet Diane, who is diabetic, has a thyroid condition, and completely steals the show. She makes us laugh and laugh some more. And laugh again. Only to leave us with our mouths hanging open in disbelief at the end. We learn that she has been home schooled for a year and a half and she doesn’t have any friends. When she finally gets to camp it becomes abundantly clear why. I am all for home schooling. Public schools are so PC and out of their collective minds that I completely understand home schooling. But it shouldn’t be used as a crutch for the socially stunted like our new friend Diane. The moment she gets there she is sitting on her bed and the girls in her cabin are introducing themselves as no one really seemed to know each other. She wasn’t participating in the conversation and felt left out. So she announces, “I have to go check my blood sugar,” and leaves to see the nurse. The nurse just happens to be her mother. What a coincidence! As soon as she sees her mom she bursts into heavy sobs saying, “No one is talking to me! They are all totally immature! I can’t stand it!” Can’t stand it? You’ve been there an hour. But it doesn’t stop there. Anytime Diane didn’t want to participate in something she would run to the infirmary to hang out with her mom. Finally the camp director said she had to knock it off and start hanging out with the kids. Surprisingly, this did not result in free-flowing sobs as her scenes normally ended. Then there was The Chair Incident.

Miss Diane didn’t want to play volleyball so she sat in an Adirondack lawn chair. Anyone familiar with these chairs knows that the butt part is lower then your knees. So getting out can be difficult for short people and the very overweight. If you are short and overweight forget it. Just sit on the ground. Diane asks a girl standing nearby to give her a hand getting out of the chair. The unidentified girl takes Diane’s hand and must not have known her own strength, because she whipped her out of that chair. I’m sure if I slowed the footage down that I could see Diane become airborne for a few seconds. Of course Diane isn’t ready for this burly girl to launch her out of the chair at warp speed so she loses her balance and falls face flat in the dirt. Had it been me to fall down I would have got up and laughed. Really, what else can you do in that situation? Don’t ask. Diane starts weeping. Then she starts flailing her legs and screaming, “My knees!! I fell on my knees!!” People are trying to help her up and she just lays in the dirt sobbing. I really thought she was going to go Nancy Kerrigan on us and start yelling, “Why?? Why? Why????” Again, the only cure is a trip to see mom. Later on she tells us that her bunkmates are bugging her to take a shower. After a foul-mouthed tirade she relents. While walking to the showers her towel falls off. Everyone starts laughing and one girl shouts out, “I’m blind!!!” At this point I had to think really hard if maybe I had given birth and forgot; because skinny or fat your towel falls off in front of me I’m shouting the same damn thing. As expected, this sends our friend Diane to her counselor in a fit of heaving sobs. The counselor comes back and she yells at all the girls and my long lost daughter says, “I’m just saying that I would have yelled, ‘I’m blind’ no matter whose towel fell off. It had nothing to do with her being fat.” I hear ya, girl.

Towards the end of the summer the camp has a dance for the kids. There is a band that plays all kinds of crowd pleasing tunes like “Sweet Home Alabama”. This is apparently one of Diane’s favorite songs, because she didn’t just come out of her shell. She came out and stomped the crap out of that bad boy. She starts head-banging and doing the heavy metal devil horn thing with her hands like she’s at a Metallica concert circa 1992. Sweat is pouring down her face and her hair is drenched. The concert is over and she is screaming, “Alabama!!!! YEA!!!!!!! WOOOOOO!!! Alabama is where it’s at!! Sweet home Alabama!!!!” Some kid asks her, “Are you from Alabama?” She gives a nonchalant, “No”, then goes right back to screaming, “SWEET HOME ALABAMA! WHERE THE SKIES ARE SO BLUE!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” It was like she was possessed by a Van Zant.

The thing that really got me about this show was how cool that fat kids seemed. They all had trendy clothes (okay, everyone but Diane) and perfect skin. When we see them at home they are all in the popular crowd. They were all texting each other on their Razor cell phones. The main girl, Marisa, we find out at the end of the show was named homecoming queen at her high school. When did it become cool to be a fat kid? I’m guessing it was sometime between when I graduated high school in 1993 and last week. All the kids I know are at least 2 years away from teenagerdom, so they aren’t any help. But they are good if you drop something and don’t want to bend over to pick it up. I’ve always battled my weight and in high school it fluctuated wildly (the more things change the more they stay the same). While I wasn’t the Diane of my high school I wasn’t hanging out with the trendy popular clique, either. Somehow I fell in with the popular smart kids. We were nearly as drunk and rebellious as the trendy popular crowd, but we were more preppy and snobby. Chubby 16 year old me certainly wasn’t hooking up with all sorts of guys, though, like these fat camp girls. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t seem slutty, but they didn’t have any problems getting dates either.

The whole thing to me was shocking in its normality. They were regular teenagers who happened to be fat. Obviously they weren’t happy with their bodies or they wouldn’t have been at fat camp in the first place, but they didn’t seem to use that as an excuse (again, everyone but Diane) to keep them from going after what they wanted. They wanted a boyfriend they went out and got one. They wanted to wear cute clothes, they did it. They wanted to be homecoming queen then they went after it. How many of us say, “When I lose 20, 30, 50, 100 pounds I will _____________”? Maybe this is a lesson we could all take from the fat camp kids.

That and if you are short and fat don’t sit in an Adirondack chair.

Wayne's Dumb Wife

2006-02-10T13:45:00.000-06:00

These have been trying days to be a hockey fan. The only time hockey gets in the news is when something bad happens. Not just bad, really stinking bad. Todd Bertuzzi's crippling hit on Steve Moore, the season long lockout, and now an illegal gambling ring involving not only the Phoenix Coyotes assistant coach, Rick Tocchet, but Wayne Gretzky's wife. I cringe when I hear the latest talking head reading off the stories coming up and the third story is the latest on the NHL's connections to mafia bookmakers. This isn't just a black eye for hockey, this is double black eyes due to a severely broken nose.

To tell you the truth, I really don't care about anybody's gambling habits. The government is only upset that they didn't get their share. Apparently Janet Jones Gretzky was looking for a hobby with an edge that scrapbooking doesn't provide. But I have to wonder if she is unfathomably stupid, unceasingly arrogant or just lazy. One report I heard this morning said that these two were known to drop quite a wad of cash in Vegas. That does not go unnoticed by casino management. Whales and highrollers are lavished with attention and comp'd all kinds of favors, including free trips to Vegas on the casinos private jets. I am sure that with one phone call she could have a private jet waiting to whisk her away from Phoenix or LA to Vegas and she would be back in time for dinner. But no. Mrs. Jones-Gretzky would rather tarnish her husbands reputation by lazily placing bets with one of his coworkers.

Speaking of Wayne, maybe on his way to Turin, Italy on Sunday he should look into renting copies of Goodfellas, Casino, and episodes of The Sopranos to to watch on the plane and see exactly how someone should act when they believe they are under investigation by the feds. Rule number one is DO NOT have a phone conversation with the person under investigation about how to keep your wife's name out of the papers. You live in Phoenix, Wayne! Go out in to the desert and you put your hand over your mouth so the federal lip-readers can't see what you are saying. Considering some of the people under investigation in New Jersey have very strong mafia ties I would think maybe one of these NHLers should have at least picked up a copy of Mafia Etiquette for Dummies to pass around. Then again, no one went into pro sports because that job at NASA they were eyeing was filled.

This is going to be a sore spot in the NHL for quite some time. Commissioner Gary Betteman needs to get his head out his butt and do some serious PR work. Scandals like this do nothing to get the casual fan out to a game.

Happy International Anger Day, You Bastards!

2006-02-03T10:27:00.000-06:00

I'm sure by now you have heard about the uproar in Europe regarding a cartoon Muslims feel was unflattering. Well, in case we weren't sure if they were ticked, unhappy, or upset a Muslim cleric has declared today International Anger Day. I usually find out it's some obscure holiday by the banner on Google, but this one I heard about while getting into the shower. "Anger Day, huh? Well, that is something I can get behind!" I briefly considered taking the day off to celebrate, but figured I would be better suited to celebrate during rush hour and at my office.

Later on it hit me, how exactly are we supposed to celebrate International Anger Day? Because maybe it's just where I live, but people seem to be celebrating anger daily. Earlier this week I ran into an old man who started celebrating early by giving me the finger as a commentary on my driving ability. "Happy Anger Day Eve to you, too, sir!" I gleefully called back, tooting my horn in celebration.

My brother in-law, Larry, is another one who seems to celebrate year round. At Christmas 2003 he got angry at his wife because she doesn't drink. He started berating her by telling her that she is never any fun and wouldn't know fun if it fell on her face. The blending of Christmas and Anger Day was masterful. I thought of him this morning when I heard about this new holiday. I imagine he's probably upset that International Anger Day has now gone commercial. "It used to be about the anger, man. "

I am usually fairly pleasant, so I still am not quite sure how I will be celebrating Anger Day. Would a generally surly attitude continued all day be better then a single act of rage? Or are they going to spring International Rage Day on us later this year? I really wish this day would have come with some instructions and, frankly, I am starting to think this was just hastily thrown together. Who is the Anger Day mascot? We've got the Easter bunny, leprechauns, Uncle Sam, Santa, Cupid for the other holidays. Oh, how about attorney Gloria Alred? She's always ticked off about something. Or Cartmen from South Park. He's always spouting obscenities. I'd nominate my brother in-law, but Hallmark is going to demand the mascot be marketable and no one is going to shell out $19.99 for a stuffed Larry.

What about a parade? Instead of candy, float riders can throw lit cigarette butts at attendees. There could be angry clowns who throw pies at the crowd. Forego flashing boobs for beads, instead revilers can give the finger and get some sand in their eyes.

Let's hope next year's International Anger Day festivities reflect a little better planning.

Tales From the Scales

2006-02-01T12:08:00.000-06:00

Did you ever have one of those days that turned into one of those weeks that turned in to one of those months? Such is the tale of woe that is my January.

As I've mentioned many times before I've been doing Weight Watchers. Christmas was tough, but tasty and I gained about 5 pounds. I thought, no problem. This is going to fall right off. It's all cookie weight. Well, the next week after religiously recording everything that I shoved down my gullet I gained 1.2 pounds. After arguing that the scale was clearly mistaken I grudgingly acknowledged why my next step had to be- exercise. Just the word sticks in my throat like a bitter pill, so I knew this was going to have to be a major undertaking.

I managed to get up early and workout 3 days the following week and still recorded every bit of food I ate. This time it showed at the scales- 4 pounds down! Woo-hoo! I was finally back on track. I was wrong. The following week I gained .2. Yes, a whole two-tenths of a pound. But to my already fragile pizza-starved mind it might as well have been 15 pounds. I rationalized, "I probably just had to pee." Yes, that's right. It was urine's fault!

So, I kicked my workouts up a notch determined to break back below thirty pounds gone. I exercised 5 days in a row. I measured all my food. I wrote it all down. "This has to be it", I thought. "I've been killing myself working out and I'm going to run a victory lap around the kitchen when I see my big ol' loss at the scale this week!"

I was so excited that I practically jumped on to the scale. In my head I was doing my skinny victory dance. I watched the numbers start to climb...and climb...and climb right past what I weighed last week. I gained another 1.6 pounds.

Skinny dance stopped.

Fat girl funeral dirge commenced.

I just stood there with my jaw hanging open and said to my leader, "This doesn't make sense. I was exercising like mad. I was sweating like a hog. I tracked everything I ate. I never went over." ("Sure, ya did, tubby", I can hear you saying, but I swear it's true.) We talked for a few minutes and I was near tears. I know that's a stupid thing to cry over, but I really thought I had done well. In Weight Watchers we have things called, "Flex Points" that count toward extra food for the week. I hadn't used any of mine last week and generally try not to use any. Her thought was that since I was working out so much that maybe I needed to use the Flex Points to fuel my body a little more. Honestly, at this point she could have told me to pour ketchup over my head under the light of the full moon and I would have been open to it.

But God bless my leader. She's lost 80 pounds and really believes in not only Weight Watchers, but in us. She has immense love for each and every one of us that just radiates. As I was trying not the speak too much for fear of creating a free-falling tears zone she said, "Don't worry. We are going to figure this out and get you losing again." I nodded, avoided eye-contact and took a seat in the meeting. Let me tell you, that was the second hardest WW meeting I have ever had to sit through since that very first day. I had to listen to people sharing their victories over the scale and there were A LOT of them. The one that just killed me was a woman -who normally I like- tell about her loss. When asked how she lost she said, "You know, I don't know. I was at Disneyland last week and they don't have very healthy food. It was lots of fried foods, chicken fingers, fries, you know. I was just surprised I lost anything let alone 1.6 pounds!" I had the urge to tell her I found it and she could gladly have it back.

It takes more then a set back like this to get me to quit something. I'm exceptionally pig-headed that way. One thing our leader talked about at this weeks meeting was getting the a good balance of protein, carbs, and fats. That actually triggered something for me. I looked back to what I had eaten the previous week and I did not have a good amount of protein. Lots of carbs, though, and I think that maybe the culprit. I'm going to add more proteins and make sure I eat some of my Flex Points on days I exercise. We'll see if that helps anything. I know if I keep working it that the weight will keep coming off. It's just so frustrating when my hard work and lack of gyros and pizza from my diet doesn't pay off at the scale.

All this and garbage at work, too. I wish I could tell you about it, but I can't right now. I can tell you that it has inspired me to start taking classes. Of course, all the colleges around here just started back in January which leaves me out of school until around May. In the meantime, I'm going to participate in some writing workshops starting later this month. The first two are reviews of grammar. I know you are thinking, "About freakin' time!" Yeah, well better late then never!

Everyone have a great week and have a slice of pizza or baklava for me!

Paris Hilton, Dumber Then We Thought

2006-01-20T14:03:00.000-06:00

Poor, poor stupid Paris Hilton. We all just assumed, rich celeb, and famous for doing nothing, she clearly must be a moron, right? Now it seems she's being sued by someone for something and who really cares. The important part is that Paris gave a deposition and now we have documented proof that she is just as stupid and vapid as we all suspected. Never let it be said that I don't love my readers. I'm reading the entire deposition and bringing you the highlights. They don't even need commentary as they are hysterical on their own.

Let the fun begin.....

Mr. Stein and Mr. Berra are the lawyers and Paris is the witness. "Q" is a lawyer asking a question and "A" is Paris answering it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mr. Stein: You have to say "no".

Witness: No.

Mr. Stein: You are shaking your head.

Witness: No.

Mr. Stein: I know you are shaking your head, but you actually have to say it.

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Witness: I said something just along -- I just to her that I wanted her to stop saying things about Paris and I to the media and to stop using my name for fame and that she is old and should stay home with her child instead of being at night clubs with young people. And just that- - I just....What else did I say? Just that she is not cute at all.

Q: Not what?

A: Good looking. I'm being nice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A. And every time I was on E or Entertainment Tonight, he said she would go inssane and
turn off the TV and start saying all these horrible things about me.

(uh-oh. If she's pissed about one person doing this I guess we are all in trouble!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Q. This Elton John party, was that a pre or post Oscar party?

A. Yes.

Q. I'm sorry. Pre or post?

A. After.

Mr. Stein: Post.

(I just want to interject here that this is one of my biggest pet peeve's- answering a multiplue choice question with a yes. If every you want to annoy me, this is a good way.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: I meet so many people. I don't even know some of my friends names, so I don't even know their names.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: It was a weird Greek name. Like Douglas or -- I have no idea how to say it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: I was just, like, "Hi, nice to meet you." I was just trying to be nice. Because if you are nice to someone, they'll feel bad saying mean things about you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Berra: Why don't we just mark that article and exhibit because I want to ask you some things about what is alleged in that article.

The Witness: I'm so hungry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: Not stalking. I would never say stalking. I'm not like a dude. Like, I think a girl can only stalk a guy. She can't really stalk another girl.

Q: I totally lost my train of thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: He said that she was going to do voodoo on me. And I kind of believe in that stuff a little bit, so I was a little scared of that, but that's about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: It was embarassing for me because I would be humilitated if someone thought I could get strangled. It's that'st the craziest thing ever. It makes both of us look bad. And I wouldn't want people thinkining that I have such shitty security that no one -- that people could just come up and touch me like that. I wouldn't want the public thinking that that is okay.

(Everyone got that? It is NOT OKAY to strangle Paris Hilton in public.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Q: And you had heard it previously from Kula? Kula wasn't in town in London, was she?

A: No. Yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: I was in Europe the whole summer. And all there is is like French-- I didn't see anything because I wasn't in America.

Q: You don't surf the internet?

A: No. I'm bad with the internet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: Whatever I write in an e-mail, it doesn't mean anything. It is just words I write.

(Wait a second. Is she saying that "Merry Christmas! Love, Paris" e-mail I got was just words? Well, screw you, too, sweetie! And I know you won't read that cause you suck at the internet.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Witness: He's a fucking liar.

Mr. Stein: Quiet.

The Witness: Sorry.

(Did anyone else just flash on Bullwinkle and that talking dog with the glasses when they read that or was it just me?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not all the hilarity comes from Miss Hilton. Some is provided by the lawyers who argue and bicker like nursing home roommates.

Mr. Berra: The bottom of the first column.

Mr. Stein: Chris Applebaum?

Mr. Berra: Excuse me?

Mr. Stein: Chris Applebaum?

Mr. Berra: I'm saying page 288, FIRST COLUMN.

Mr. Stein: First column, yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Witness: This is not going to the media, right?

Mr. Stein: No.

(Hehehehehe...well maybe not the OLD media....)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Q: So would you say that your coverage b y Page Six over, let's say, the last year have been generall favorable, generally negative or just been mixed?

A: It's always negative. I don't think they ever have anything ncie to say about anybody. Page Six, it's a gossip column. They are going to make up what they want.

(And that's why we love them.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More From My Idiot Neighbors

2006-01-18T13:02:00.000-06:00

Good afternoon, readers! We have been having bizarre weather in the Chicago area recently and it has been playing havoc with my sinuses. So I haven't had the energy or drive to write anything other then, "Ow! Ow! My head really hurts!" for nearly the last two weeks. But I am back and ready to go.

I bring you tales of my wacky neighbors! Last time we visited my neighborhood all was fairly peaceful, yet it did not stay that way for long. The Moron Twins next door received a severe tongue lashing from mom and dad because of complaints about their music and video game explosions waking up the entire building at 3 AM. Well, Bigfoot Moron (named for his giant Sideshow Bob-like feet) thought he would be cute and moved his stereo from the living room into his bedroom, so now the only people who were waking up nightly at 3 AM to sounds similar to a jackhammer pounding through 6 feet of concrete were those who shared a bedroom wall with him. Those people would be me and my husband. So we complained again to the condo association and again all was quiet for a time. Come Saturday morning Bigfoot cranks his music at 5 AM. We didn't complain though, because, hey, at least we got an extra two hours sleep.

Fast forward to last Tuesday. My husband does laundry on Tuesdays (yes, you read that right. My husband does the laundry. Isn't he great??) and went down into the basement to see if the machines were occupied. He opens the washer and sees black streaks all over the inside like something rubber was pushed up against the sides and tons of 2 inch long black threads every where. He was puzzled until he noticed off to the side a black rolling suitcase with a bottle of Tide sitting on top of it. One of our idiot neighbors tried to wash a suitcase in the washing machine. Just when I think they can't do anything stupider they surprise me. So my husband scrapped the idea of doing laundry that day lest we end up with our clothes covered in black threads from some idiots suitcase.

Last Thursday and my husband is getting the mail. He runs into The Old Lady Across The Hall (TOLATH) and Bigfoot Moron's brother, Mr. Peepers, both carrying laundry baskets. TOLATH tells Mr. Peepers she is going to do laundry. He starts whimpering, "But I have to be some place at 7 and I just have one-"

TOLATH cuts him off in a very disgusted tone says, "Oh, would you quit your whining, Paul. Just do your laundry and quit whining about it. I'll just do mine tomorrow if you will stop your whining!" Mr. rK just stood there with his mouth open. He went from general annoyance with TOLATH to being her biggest fan with those 4 little words, "Quit your whining, Paul." Paul apparently being Mr. Peepers real name (not that I ever intend to use it again, get a nickname from me and be stuck with it for life).

Somehow after that the three of them started to chat and mr. rK came up with some juicy gossip about the whole building. TOLATH asks Mr. Peepers if he is having any luck selling his condo and, oh boy, did that brighten mr. rK's day! We had heard rumors about their condo being for sale, but had no proof until now. He said he was having a few people look at it, but no offers yet. TOLATH says, "Why don't you have your brother buy it?" and just like that my husband dropped out of TOLATH fan club. Mr. Peepers started to laugh and said, "I don't think anyone in the building would appreciate that too much." Then he launched into an expletive laden rant against his brother and spilled the goods. Seems Bigfoot is bi-polar and doesn't like taking his medicine (he also had some other condition that my husband couldn't remember) and that their parents basically kicked out Bigfoot and pawned him off on to Mr. Peepers because they didn't want him in their house anymore! Gee, I can't imagine why? He's so charming, the way a nail in the foot is charming.

Mr. Peepers also told them that Bigfoot is bad with his money, spending it on crazy gadgets, tv's, video games, booze, and "other things". Mr. rK thinks he was going to say drugs, but he thinks everyone on drugs, so take from that what you will. The whole time the old lady's eyes are just bugging out of her head, because she can't believe this is true of her beloved Bigfoot. Or she has a major thyroid condition.

Somehow the topic turned to laundry and mr. rK asked if anyone else had seen the mess that was in the washer. They each gave an annoyed yes and Mr. Peepers added that it was probably from the suitcase that was down there. He went on to say, "Probably that f*!&:{$ whore, Maria from downstairs." Yes, those were his exact words. Mr. rK again was shocked. We have seen Mr. Peepers and Bigfoot chatting her up on a few occasions and assumed they were all buddies. Little did we know. The mention of "Maria" (allegedly Dr. Jackass's real name) set off Mr. Peepers AGAIN on a rant. He is getting fined by the condo association for cigarette butts on the lawn, but has quit smoking and seems to think Dr. Jackass is the real culprit. "Have you seen her patio? It's a f*(%$@# pit! She has s^&* all over the place. You know it's totally her and her fat ass mother!" Then TOLATH added, "I bet they are gypsies! Don't turn your back on them. Gypsies are shifty." (In case anyone is keeping track she has now accused our neighbors of being in the Czech mafia, communists, Al Queda, and now gypsies.) None of this phased Mr. Peepers, "I don't know about that, but I do know she's a damn slob!"

Their little gab-fest broke up after Mr. Peepers cell phone rang. When I came home I was ambushed at the door by my husband who said, "Boy, have I got some juicy gossip for you! I ran into The Old Lady Across The Hall and Paul and we all talked for a while and he spilled the beans about a ton of stuff!"

I just looked at him completely clueless as to who or what he was talking about, "Paul? Who the hell is Paul?"

New Year, Same Crap, plus Lonely Lennon

2006-01-04T13:24:00.000-06:00

Happy 2006, readers! I know everyone wants to know about my whacky in-laws and Christmas, but the truth is that nothing that crazy happened. The goofiest stuff was actually with my family. My crazy aunt lost her balance and broke her fall by planting her ass squarely on top of my three year old second cousin's head. About ten minutes later he got a fever and fell asleep. I would probably have the same reaction to a face full of my aunt's ass. Then I would make her pay for all the therapy I would require. And, of course, idiot brother in-law, Larry, did bring up that my husband and I NEED to take a cruise. At least this time he didn't suggest we all take it together and dropped it after I said hell no. We also discovered that my sister in-law (Larry's wife) still cuts up her 8 and 11 year old's food for them and generally treats them like they are about 3 and 5 years old. I used to think it was sad that the bars were open on Christmas Day, but after having spent 9 Christmas Day's with my in-laws I finally understand the need.

On to New Years. I may be the only person who feels this way, but I think New Year's Eve is the dumbest holiday ever. Don't get me wrong, any holiday that gives me a day or two off of work is a day worth at least mildly celebrating, but I never "got" New Year's. No matter what one year is going to end and the next will start on January 1. No one stays up late waiting for Tuesday. "I didn't think it was going to happen, but then wouldn't you know it? 12:01 AM and it's Tuesday! AGAIN!" It seems like an excuse for bars to jack up their prices and serve a crappy buffet. I don't think I'm giving anything away here when I tell you we stayed home for New Year's Eve and watched The Blues Brothers on AMC.

One thing that I saw over the holidays still has me laughing. It seems Sean Lennon needs a woman and he's enlisting the help of the NY Post's Page Six to find her. And you better be genetically born a woman, too, pal, or no dice. Here is the ad:

"Any girl who is interested must simply be born female and between the ages of 18 and 45..[..] must have an IQ above 130 and they must be honest. They must not have any clinical, psychological disorders . . . and a kind heart. Clearly beautiful - but beauty on the inside is more important - but no deformities, third legs, fifth nipples . . . I'm completely alone and I'm completely miserable. So please send your request to [PAGE SIX]."

I don't know whether to laugh at or cry for him. How bad were his dates that he has to specify "must simply be born female"? Oh and don't even get me started on someone who looks like this:

asking that his date be "clearly beautiful". Please. He looks like the schizophrenic guy who lived across the street from me growing up and like a shower is a distant memory. If specifying that potential dates just have to be born women then one should not be so picky. It's like reality hits him in the next part of the sentence ("Hey, that was fairly shallow for a guy who looks like an unshowered mental patient") and he tries to recover by saying, "Beauty is on the inside..." and nose-dives again by qualifying it, "but no deformities, third legs, fifth nipples . . . " What I find most interesting about this is that he is apparently so desperate that third and fourth nipples are completely cool. But a FIFTH?? Whoa slow down! That's where he draws the line between girlfriend and Discovery Channel documentary. Again, it begs the question, just what happened to make him think, "Oh, I better put in about the fifth nipple. I don't wanna go there again."

My favorite part is the last line:

"I'm completely alone and I'm completely miserable."

Slow down, ladies, don't all run to contact Page Six at once! Who can resist a man who not only weeds out the fifth nipple crowd, but who is completely miserable? Isn't that what we are all searching for? Clingy, needy, mama's boys? Who would be shocked to learn that, like my sister in-law, Yoko still cuts Sean's food? Hmm...I don't see any hands.

Playing amateur psychologist for a minute, may I suggest that Sean doesn't need a lady. What he needs is to get his hairy (judging from the rest of him) behind in the nearest shower, stop being so terrified of the razor, get his own place (I think he still lives at the Dakota with Mommy Dearest), and get on Prozac or Wellburtin or any of the other wonderful anti-depressants on the market today. His picture doesn't exactly scream, "Rays of joy!!!" does he? More like, "Please don't give me another wedgy" or "Where's my mom to cut up my steak?"

I'm just guessing, but I believe potential suitors (are women suitors?) may be paralyzed with fear at the thought of having Yoko Ono as a mother in-law. If the choice were between Demonica and Yoko Ono, I hate to say it, but I think I would have to pick Demonica. She maybe clueless and demanding, but at least she's entertaining once in a while. Hell, Yoko hasn't done anything entertaining in...well...ever. Call me crazy, but I got a feeling that anyone who hooks up with him will be feeling like the third wheel after a Mommy Dearest tags along on a few dates. Oh, and get used to hearing this phrase, "That's just the way she is!!" when for Christmas Yoko writes you a crappy poem or song (then sings it!) about how your house is messy and her son is too good for you and you are thinking, "WTF is this? That was the last time I make HER a relaxation giftbasket!"

My resolution this year and every year is to be nicer. After this I think I need to recommit to that goal. Good luck with the search (and the shower), Sean.

Merry Christmas Love, Grandma

2005-12-15T08:53:00.000-06:00

Christmas is supposed to be a time of peace, love and miracles. That's easy to forget standing in endless lines, dealing with grumpy salesclerks, and trying to find a parking space at Toys R Us. But the best flowers come from the stinkiest manure and sometimes it's these little diversions that can remind us how magic Christmas can be.

Like most kids, Christmas was my favorite holiday. We would trek over to my grandma's house and I would be showered with gifts and cookies. I don't think I could tell you a single toy I received growing up, but I can picture every yummy detail of grandma's cookies. There was every kind imaginable and the supply seemed endless. Heaven for a little chubby girl. I always loved grandma's tree, too. It wasn't covered in fancy, expensive ornaments, but on every branch hung something grandma had picked because it brought a smile to her face. The tinsel sparkled (and stuck to our clothes if we rubbed our feet on the carpet, we discovered) and to me there was not a more beautiful tree in the world.

Grandma passed away when I was 15. She gave me more then my nearly six feet in height. She showed me that no matter how old we are that the world can still hold wonder, that there is humor in every situation, and no one should leave your house hungry. Her passing was difficult for everyone. As everyone who has lost someone knows, you never really get over the pain, you just move through it. Every day you put one foot in front of the other and take another step until it feels normal again. Her house was cleaned out and her things divided up with my cousin getting her ornaments.

My mom took over hosting Christmas and it is beautiful. The Christmas before I moved out of my parents house would be the last before I was married. Like teenager grasping at the last straws of childhood I was looking forward to and dreading that Christmas at the same time. Things would be different from then on. I was longing for Christmas at grandmas. I wished so badly that she could have met my fiance, because they would have loved each other. I wanted to hug her. That Christmas I missed her so much that it was like a dull constant ache.

Then the monkey wrench in the plans- my mom came down with pneumonia. Our regular Christmas Eve celebration would have to be moved or cancelled all together. I went with my then fiance to his uncles house. This was before the in-laws believed I was the devil incarnate, so things weren't too bad, but to me, it wasn't Christmas. I missed grandma so much. I couldn't hear any carols without wanting to cry. A few days after Christmas my mom was feeling better and made the call that Christmas would go on, but it wouldn't be until right before New Year's and only for lunch.

We gathered at my parents house that afternoon and, honestly, it felt weird. It was kind of like going through the motions of Christmas in June. All the food was there, the tree was there, gifts were there, but the Christmas spirit was not there. My crazy aunt had brought over the gifts from my cousin since he and his family were visiting his wifes parents out of state. I was sitting on the floor opening a gift from my cousins wife - a Best Buy gift card, but there was something more in the box. With a puzzled look on my face I pulled out the small loosely wrapped items and saw a little glint from inside the package. The wrapping came off and instantly a lump formed in my throat- ornaments from my grandma's Christmas tree. I could hardly speak. How did they know? I guess they didn't, but my grandma did and she let me know that I was not alone that Christmas.

I still feel a small ache that she is not around to play with my cousin's children or meet my husband or see how I have continued her tradition of buying out the entire counties supply of butter, sugar and flour to make piles of Christmas cookies, but I know that she is never far away, especially at Christmas.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to all my readers. And Merry Christmas to my grandma.

Oh Crap! It's Starting to Look A Lot Like Christmas....

2005-12-02T16:30:00.000-06:00

I'd like to say that I've been away from my blog for about two weeks for some good reason, but I don't have one. No writers block or anything like that, just a big steaming hunk of lazy. I have had some dental problems, but I won't bore or gross you out with the details. I will only say that when a doctor offers you pain medication, take it! Don't be think you are going to play through the pain, because, we all know that when a doctor says to you, "you might be a little sore" it really means, "you will feel excruciating pain like you never thought possible this side of Hades." I have to go back in two weeks and you can bet that I will get some then. And it better be the good stuff, too.

Well, Thanksgiving has passed and A Christmas Story has aired officially marking the start of the Christmas season. Gaudy light displays have popped up all over my neighborhood, including the one over at my downstairs neighbor Dr. Jackass's place. It looks like she just threw some lights at her patio window and left them where ever they landed. The piece de resistance is the strand of lights wrapped about 100 times around her air conditioning unit. Oh, and just an fyi, remember back around Halloween I told you about her flirting with my husband? She's back at it. He thinks she is completely sleazy and looks at her like she has 9 heads when she starts talking to him, but it doesn't stop her. What is with some women?

Anyway, the Christmas rush is in full throttle and, as usual, I am already over-extended and behind in everything. I bake a ton of goodies and for some reason it never occurred to me to give people these goodies as gifts, so now I'm on the hook for goodies and gifts. I really do love baking, so I don't really mind, but in my adult life I've come to believe that it's the gifts that ruin Christmas. There is always at least one person who comes up with something that is more like a fraternity scavenger hunt then a gift list. The gift giver is immediately set up for failure, because there is no way to find any of the crap on it. Even after I saw the bizarre demands of my mother in-law's Christmas list, my nutty aunt still remains Queen of the Christmas Scavenger Hunt. Half of the things she asks for I swear do not even exist. Then when I explain that half of her list was imaginary, the rest I was not able to find, so here's a Target gift card she has the nerve to give "the heavy sigh" and retort that she was able to find these things....last spring.

Then there are, of course, the obligatory gifts. The people you really don't want to buy a gift for, but will look like huge jerk if you don't at least throw some token their way. I always end up getting these types something I feel is extra nice. Nothing ruins Christmas like your cousin screaming, "You bitch!" after she opens a nose and ear hair trimmer. Well, I guess if you yelled back, "At least I didn't get the home moustache waxing kit for that ferret you have living over your upper lip!" that might send things further down the crapper. Doesn't every family have a woman with a horrifying moustache? And we're all supposed to act like everything is just fine while she walks around looking like one of the Village People. My family is Greek, so we are all to aware of the potential for female facial hair and have taken the appropriate steps to remedy the situation. However, my husband's aunt has given up on trying to cover-up her moustache. In a week, my Italian husband can't grow as much facial hair as his aunt. It was so bad that he actually warned me about it before I met her. Although, that may have more to do with my tendency toward blurting things out then her moustache.

Every few years I will get the fabulous idea to make gifts. It is actually a good idea, if you start in May. Starting in mid November is not such a good idea. Yes, this was one of those years that I thought it would be a good idea to make gifts. Stupid, stupid, stupid retrokitten. I don't want to specifically say what I am making just in case any family is lurking, but I should have started a long time ago. The estimated time of completion for the gifts is Valentines Day. Now I'm going to be one of those schlubs running to the mall at the last minute to find gifts to replace the homemade ones I thought would be finished in time. Is there anything worse then the mall at Christmas time? There is a whole underbelly of society who only leaves their home at in December. The rest of the year who knows what they do, but they aren't shopping en masse. They are easy to spot by their wide-eyed lost expression and by the fact that they are not the slightest bit annoyed by the crowds. They will suddenly stop walking causing whoever is behind them to plow right into their backside. Not to mention that they walk so slow that it's suddenly clear why there is at least one person trampled at Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving each year. I see them wandering the grocery store, too, where they find the most crowded aisle to abandon their cart and wander off. Usually they are spotted again a few aisles over enraptured by all the different flavors of soup.

Do you hear that dull thumping sound? That's me repeatedly banging my head against the desk.

Despite all of these things, I really do love Christmas. I always try and pick out gifts that my friends and family will really enjoy. I even try to get things for the obligatory gift people that I think they will like. I haven't figured out why I do this, because no gift is going to suddenly make the person warm to me and make us life long pals. But, I guess I figure that at Christmas we should at least try and get along. Or maybe underneath my crabby facade I really am a big softy. Or I am just drunk.

My Husband Was Raised By Wolves

2005-11-15T14:34:00.000-06:00

The only explanation for how my kind, considerate, well-mannered husband could possibly be related to his family is that he was abandoned as a small child to be raised by wolves. After visiting my in-laws I can honestly say that I got the pick of the litter. For the life of me I cannot imagine how my idiot brother in-law, Otto (nicknamed after the busdriver on The Simpsons if that tells you anything), and his people-pleaser sister, Mary, all came from the same set of parents, in the same house, raised the same way. The answer, my friends, is wolves.

I will save you all some time and tell you that this story is anticlimactic. There were no big events of disappointment or disgrace. There wasn't even anyone asking when would be a good time to schedule the family cruise. This is really disheartening as it leaves me with no opportunity to say, "I'm not going! Look what happened last time we all got together!" I'm on the hook for a trip to Demonica's house for Christmas. But, do not despair, dear reader!! For I come bearing the fruits of in-law frivolity gone amuck. Those fruits just aren't as large as I anticipated, like buying off-season melons. There were so many little things that were said and done that added up to one big In-Law Crap-o-rama. We had no choice on the way home but to stop at the nearest pub for a pint and to decompress. It's become standard operating procedure after we leave the in-laws and I'm sure in-laws are the reason that bars stay open on Christmas Day.

We arrived at the same time as Larry's mom and dad who greeted us with warm hugs. They are both very friendly, talkative people prone to exaggeration which makes for some interesting conversations. I've been told that my lactose intolerance means I need gall bladder surgery, even the tiniest bit of booze will cause any child under 12 to have instant liver failure, and that people pay Larry's mom for her lasagna because it's that good (to which her daughter shouted an unbelieving, "Who paid you for lasagna?? No one ever paid you for lasagna!!"). Who knows, maybe she is as bored as I am and is just trying to liven things up a little. We were glad to see they were there, because even approaching 40 Larry is still afraid to act up in front of them.

I saw not much had changed in Mary's house since our last visit in July. There were still piles of papers and baby toys (her kids are 8 and 11) stacked where ever possible. An odor of dirt, dust, and mildew hung in the air. The once blue carpet still had a faint brown tint that no amount of steam or shampoo would ever be able to remove. I absolutely hate sitting on their furniture. A few minutes on a sofa or a chair is enough to embed an odor so foul that I would rather sniff a gaggle of homeless guys then my clothes. When we got home Saturday night even my hair stank. I am no Martha Stewart. My house can get quite messy, too, but the second I smell something gross I am on the prowl to find the culprit. When the offender is found, it is dealt with in a swift and merciless manner. I can tolerate stacks of junk and toys littering the floor (we have two very spoiled cats), but rampant stink is one thing that I cannot overlook. We reluctantly sat on the couch across from Larry and his mom.

Larry also picked up his parents tendency toward tall-tales. He started talking about his latest camping excursion with his buddies. With eyes wide he exclaimed, "We had this massive bonfire with flames sixty feet high!!!" I looked at him seriously and said, "Sixty feet, eh? Did you measure or is that an estimate?"

He ignored me and kept going, "And there were guys jumping through the flames!!" My husband piped up, "Why didn't you do it?"

Larry shrugged, "They were really hammered."

"That's weird that they were so drunk they were jumping through sixty foot flames, but no one or no clothing caught on fire," I pondered.

Larry stared at me for a moment then said, "So, did you and dad get the truck fixed this morning?" shifting his attention to his mother. A few minutes later Larry started asking her if she wanted to go on vacation with them next year. She said no, but Larry was persistent, "Oh c'mon! We'll all go on a cruise!" 'Oh no. Here it comes', I thought, but it didn't. That was the end of the cruise talk for the evening and I was damn glad.

Mary was in the kitchen making the kids help her set things up. Larry's mom and I offered help, but Mary refused saying the kids could do it. "It" involved putting out no less then 10 different bowls of snacks and a cheese platter. This was all for 8 adults and 3 kids. Maybe this next bit is snobby, but I don't really care. Of the 11 different snacks she put out 9 were from packages that were already opened and half eaten. How do any of the guests know that our hosts didn't open the bags, lick all the chips, and put them back? Needless to say, I passed on the snacks.

My mother in-law, Demonica, arrived, an hour late as usual. No pleasantries from her. She walked right up to my husband, thrust a garage door opener for her key chain into his face and said, "HERE! Can you fix this?" My husband is not handy. All of our assembly required furniture was put together by me or my dad. I do minor repairs around the house. We have a ceiling fan we bought to replace our current ceiling fan and it's still in the box because we are both afraid to put it up. He's a great manly man, but handy work is not his strong suit. I don't know where she got this idea that he was handy, but she does this every time we see her and every time he hands the project right back to her saying, "I have no clue. Give it to Otto." As he was handing it back I caught a whiff of her perfume. Chance by Chanel. I knew it, because it's my favorite perfume and I wear it nearly all the time! By sheer luck I had instead chosen BCBGirl Star. I don't remember Demonica ever wearing perfume before and found it so odd that when she started wearing a scent she picked one I have worn for several years. Maybe we actually do have something in common, or maybe she's just a big weirdo who copied my perfume.

Mary called in the pizza order. This is not as simple as it sounds. My husband's family is notoriously cheap and cannot buy anything without a coupon. Mary had two good coupons for one pizza joint. She called in one order under her own name. Then, made Otto call in another pizza order so she could use both coupons. She wanted more pizza, so she called in another order to another pizza joint using another coupon and used her husbands name, I guess so the Pizza Information Network wouldn't get wise to her little scheme. Nothing is ever simple with these people.

Later on we dined on the most horrible pizza every created, accompanied by garlic bread that was so salty my lips instantly puckered after one bite. At least this food was new. There wasn't much dinner conversation, thank God; although, Larry's dad did tell me that the bridge of my nose told him of my german heritage. I think that may have been a backhanded compliment. My mother in-law, Demonica, doesn't really have conversations in the traditional sense of one person asking another an open-ended question. She just throws out a long rambling statement and sees what happens. Normally, she doesn't even start the statement addressing any particular person, but from context clues we are supposed to figure out who she is talking to. She says, "This man who used to dance at this place I dance at works for Company XYZ and he used to come on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and then he just stopped coming one day and so I guess he's working lots of overtime because he just stopped coming." Because I work at Company XYZ I assumed this was directed at me, but how am I supposed to answer that?? Is it even a question? What I managed to get out was, "Oh." Yes, I'm quite the conversationalist myself.

A few post ago I was annoyed that we had not received a thank you from anyone about sending Little Nephew a birthday gift? Even though we sent a card and gift for him to have on his actual birthday (one month ago), Mary did not give him the gift until last Saturday night! It was only a gift card and, of course, she is the parent so she has the final call, but I still found this odd. There weren't even any weird gifts from Demonica. Mary wised up and went shopping with her, picked out all the gifts and Demonica paid for them. I have to believe it was the "I (Heart) Hip Hop" shirt that sent Mary over the edge.

This next incident still has me shaking my head. I love to read. I recently cleaned out about half of my books and I still have a ton. In the past I have asked the in-laws for gift cards from Border's and Barnes and Noble for birthdays and Christmas only to receive the reply, "I don't think we have those stores down here. What do they sell?" So, I know they are not big readers, but Mary is a teacher and I would think she would stress the importance of reading to her children. Little Nephew, 11, opened a birthday card from his grandparents and let out The Heavy Sigh when he saw the writing on the front. His mother said, "What's the matter? Is it too many words??" He nodded his head yes and she said, "Okay, just read the inside." I gasped and put my hand to my chest in a more gentle version of the "I'm comin', Elizabeth!!" that I really wanted to do. To someone who loves books this was like kryptonite. Too many words?? This is the same woman who last Christmas told us to get this kid books!! I see now that was money well spent. If the front of a greeting card is challenging then all 100 pages of A Series of Unfortunate Events is going to give him hives. Two hours before this he was showing off his straight A report card. Yes, that included English and reading. During the big report card viewing his grandfather said, "With grades like that he can get into any college in the country! Why, he even could make it to the Ivy League. Wouldn't that be something. The Ivy League." Well, yes it would be something considering the Harvard application is 8 pages plus an essay and the kid can't get past 10 words on a birthday card.

It was around this time that Larry and Otto started belching and farting loudly in the living room. Neither of them could be bothered to watch Little Nephew open his gifts as they were providing their own entertainment. An exceptionally loud fart signaled it was time to go, but Mary dumped a dozen envelopes of photos on to the kitchen table and proclaimed, "Here are some pictures!" We were right next to the two grandmothers who were salivating at the thought of all those pictures of the grandkids, so we were stuck. One of the pictures was of Little Niece and her school friends at the zoo. Demonica starts to laugh and turns to my husband. "Remember when you were in grade school and I went with your class to the zoo and there was a girl who was being chased by a bee and she was afraid of the bee?" He nodded and said she was running because she was allergic to bee stings. Demonica kept right on laughing. I took it as one of those 'you had to be there' kind of jokes, because generally I don't find life threatening allergies funny. Maybe it is just me.

We tore through the pictures at lightning speed, grabbed our coats, and tried to make a break for it only to find that someone had blocked our car in. My husband goes back into the house and says, "Hey, someone is blocking us. Can you move your car?"

Demonica yells to him, "What color is the car?"

My husband looks at her like she is mad, "It's dark out. How do I know. Whoever parked in the driveway is blocking us."

"Guess it's not me then," and Demonica went back to the pictures.

Taking a deep breath he randomly picked a color, "Red, OK? It's red."

Mary picks her head up, "Oh, must be mine then." Mary lives there and hadn't moved her car. Did she think we did some kind of fancy parking trick somehow squeezing our car in the 4 inches between her Taurus and their camper? She peeks her head out the door and says, "My car is still behind the camper. Must be mom's car." These are the only people on the face of the earth who can make something as simple as moving a car an exercise in torture. Without missing a beat, Demonica tosses her keys to Otto and asks him to move it.

My husband plops into the drivers seat and drove to the main road. Neither of us spoke for some time. Finally, I took a deep breath (inhaling the nasty stink of our once clean clothes) and said, "So where are we going for beers?" He smiled and said, "Oh. My. God. Where to start?"

Not Quite Hallmark Moments

2005-11-09T15:39:00.000-06:00

The countdown to the birthday craptacular goes on. We still don't know the time or place of this extravaganza, because my husband enjoys calling his family as much as putting on a meat suit and walking into a grizzly bear den. At least the grizzly has the decency to be overt in it's attacks, with my mother in-law it's more subtle. She doesn't rear up on her hind legs, roar, and claw my face off. Instead, she's more like my cat when she finds a bug. She hovers unnaturally close, bats the bug around for a little while, puts the bug in her mouth, then spits it out (repeat about 10 times), eats the bug, and then sadly looks around for the bug wondering where it went. In my mother in-laws own way she lets it be known that cruise-obsessed brother in-law, Larry, and I are not family anymore then the couch or the television set.

Let's step into the time machine go back to December, 2002. My sister in-law, let's call her Mary, borrowed my mother in-law's camera to take on vacation. Mary saw there was a roll of film still inside the camera and offered to get it developed. My mother in-law, let's call her, Demonica daughter of Satan (Demonica for short), said that was fine as long as she had the camera back for Christmas Day. Demonica is odd when it comes to taking photos. Somewhere she has a photo of every single gift her kids have ever received. That's cute when the kids are little, but when they are 37 no one cares that they got a Billy Bass Singing Fish. But the second the wrapping paper is off Demonica starts yelling, "HOLD IT UP! Let me get a picture!" If that wasn't weird enough, she doesn't share these pictures with anyone. This is disappointing, because Demonica is known for her remarkably awful gifts. One year she gave my husband a shirt that she bragged was only $0.99. He opened the box and saw a sinister jester hologram (yes, hologram) grinning and brandishing a knife at him from the chest of a white t-shirt and it became abundantly clear why this shirt was being sold for less then a dollar. "HOLD IT UP! Let me get a picture!" In 1998, Mary was on the receiving end of three evening bags that would be the envy of any hooker. Since the most formal event Mary goes is parent/teacher night, I can assume there have been massive changes since I was in school. "HOLD IT UP!!" *click* She has calmed down with the adult birthdays, but her poor grandkids are still getting the treatment. Her granddaughter got a pink winter coat...in April. Not a bad gift, I guess, if you live in Saskatchewan, but in Chicago we generally put the winter coats away in the spring. You guessed it, "HOLD IT UP, SO GRANDMA CAN GET A PICTURE!"

When it comes to me and Larry there is no snapping shutter. There aren't even any whacky gifts. Larry always gets the same thing- two polo shirts, and a pair of khaki pants. I always get a gift card or a check, hand delivered about 2 inches in front of my nose and the words, "HERE! You never told me what you wanted," ring in my ears. My mom let me in on a little trick- when stumped on what to buy, ask the giftee what they would like. It is revolutionary and it seems that the revolution has left Demonica behind. Never once has she asked me what I wanted.

So, Mary brings back Demonica's camera on Christmas day with pictures developed just as promised. My mother in-law is in her glory staging pictures with the grandkids. First stop- in front of the Christmas tree. On their arrival, Demonica had accosted everyone to berate them about not helping her decorate the tree. The fact that she had not asked anyone to help was a minor detail she overlooked. Walking into the living room we could see the poor naked tree. It looked like it had heard the doorbell and grabbed the closest thing possible to cover it's private parts. There was one strand of lights that started at the top and wound about halfway down. They of trailed off toward the outlet where they were not plugged in. Demonica is posing in front of the partially naked tree with her two grandkids who have the biggest, merriest, and phoniest smiles plastered from ear to ear. The phony smile is a skill mastered early on by my husband's family. Most learn to do it right before they get on solid food. Afterward, Demonica has to have "her family" pose for a photo. Of course, I take the picture, because I am not her family.

Fate has a way of returning all deeds, good and bad. Usually, with a horrible ironic sting that keeps us from repeating the story too often, lest we be told, "Hey, that sounds just like the time you...."

The unwrapping of gifts and taking pictures of everyone but retrokitten and Larry was over and Demonica checked to see how much film she has left.

"MARY!!!!!! THERE IS NO FILM IN THIS CAMERA!!! WHY DID YOU GIVE ME THIS BACK WITH NO FILM IN IT???"

Demonica had been taking all of her precious pictures with absolutely no film in her camera. Poses in front of the naked tree with the grandkids? Poses with "her family"? Picture of Otto holding up a toaster he neither asked for or needed? All gone. Gone might be the wrong word. "Never existed in the first place" is better. And of course, none of this was Demonica's fault for failing to load the camera, oh no. It was MARY'S fault! Mary is completely clueless, but rarely is she deliberately mean. I was mad that Demonica was trying to blame this on someone other then herself.

I jumped to Mary's defense, "Hey! How is this HER fault? Didn't you check it when she gave it back to you? It's not like she took the car out, didn't fill it up with gas, and snuck it back in the garage. She said she would develop your pictures and she did. YOU didn't load the film." This is probably why the in-laws all don't like me. Despite all of their efforts I still will not shut up. I use my Greek genes as an excuse. Hang out with some Greeks and you will see that I am actually the quiet one.

Demonica did not know how to respond. She just sat and seethed, steam pouring out her ears and her cheeks burning red. I actually saw the lightbulb go on over her head as she perked up a bit. She said, "Well, everyone up! I am going to load this camera and we are going to retake all of the pictures I should already have!" She leapt up off the floor and ran to get her film. Meanwhile, five adults and two kids sat with mouths agape and eyes bulging. Our faces all screamed, "She can't be serious?" My husband was the first to break out of the stupor, "Mom, there is no way I am doing that." Mary and Otto agreed. Demonica was stunned that they did not think this was a fabulous idea. "If you people won't do it, I know my grandkids will!"

In every family the same kid who shows up at 6 PM for Christmas Day is not the same one that leaves at 10 PM. They arrive looking like flawless little ladies and gentlemen in their special Christmas outfits. When gifts are finally opened, they let that built up energy explode and nothing in a 5 mile radius is safe. Hair has now frizzed, clothing is askew, cheeks are flushed, and they have a goofy smile. The kids also decided to decorate the naked tree with balled up wrapping paper. They ditched the traditional star or angel tree topper and instead went with Scooby-Doo and Shaggy. So, it was in this disheveled state in front of the wrapping paper covered tree with Scooby and Shaggy watching over them that my mother in-law and her grandkids posed for the traditional Christmas portrait. Strangely enough, she didn't use that one on the Christmas cards the following year.

Proving My Love to My Readers

2005-11-03T10:44:00.000-06:00

My in-laws are a weird bunch and they keep getting weirder all the time. One would think that the longer I am with my husband that I would eventually figure them out, but they keep throwing me curveballs. Here is the latest trick that sister in-law has done the last two years. Her son's birthday is in mid-October. As the date drew closer we figured we would be hearing from sister in-law or mother in-law about the birthday party. Absolute silence. We went on the assumption there was no party. We hit Target, picked up a gift card, stuck it in a birthday card and put it in the mail so he would have it to open on his birthday. Over a week later we get a call from sister in-law saying the party will be November 12 (a full 4 weeks after his real birthday). She did this same thing last year. I don't think it's unreasonable for someone to pick up the phone and say, "Hey, we can't have a party for my kid until mid-November" a few days before his birthday. But apparently, I am alone on this.

So, the other night my husband says to me, "Are you going to the party?" I replied, "I think a better question is are you going?" He gave a heavy sigh and said I was right and that was the end of that.

Now you may be asking yourself, "What does this have to do with proving your love to us, crazy woman?" Well, the other day I was weighing the options on whether to go or not. On the con side was the fact that I have to be stuck in my sister in-laws stanky house with my in-laws for 3-4 hours (seriously, we stink when we leave there and we didn't stink before we went in, honest), having to face my idiot brother in-law and the inevitable cruise question, and having mother in-law shout in my face because she apparently is under the impression that English is my second language and I am severely hearing impaired.

The pro side. Brother in-law has some very interesting friends that show up at these things, nephew is going to be 12 and his friends are pretty funny, sometimes brother in-laws sister comes and, whooo boy, she is a source of material for months after just one visit. Oh and mother in-law's gifts to the kids are hysterical. They are usually things she got for a huge markdown at the department store she works at. One look at these things lets everyone know why these items were on sale. For Christmas 2003 she gave her grandson this rainbow striped sweater that looked like it would be right at home on either Bert or Ernie. Earlier this year she gave her granddaughter a pink and black striped shirt that said, in big puffy pink satin letters, "I LOVE HIP HOP" (I tried to get a picture, but was too slow. Sister in-law shoved it back in the box so fast, like it had dirty words on it).

The biggest pro of all was that I would no doubt have multiple stories to share with my fabulously wonderful, and no doubt stunningly attractive, readers. That's when I made my decision that I will be attending. How can I say no to all your cute little faces? Digital camera will be in toe, of course, so hopefully I will have some pictures to share, too. There are actually pictures on-line of idiot brother in-law, Larry with sister in-law and the kids AND Larry's best friend that he completely hero worships, Busman with his wife, Dirty Nellie (their nicknames are explained in an earlier post someplace) and their kids. I'm too chicken to link to them, because their e-mail addresses are also near the pictures. Not that anything I say is untrue and they couldn't very easily find their way here, but why stir the pot when we are having such a good time laughing at them?

Meanwhile, this weekend I get to see one of my dear friends who also has in-law problems. Her in-laws are not as entertaining as mine, though. These people aren't just clueless, they are devious. One sister in-law actually stole inheritance money from my friends husband and his twin sister and her longtime boyfriend was kicked out of the Shriners for stealing money! Yes, he stole money from crippled children, nice huh? It's a party for her husband's birthday, so his wacky family will be there, too. I think she wants us there so she doesn't kill them. I'll let you all know how it goes.

No, I Don't Want to go on a Damn Cruise!!

2005-10-26T16:42:00.000-05:00

Well, as you can tell from my pained, tormented screams ringing out all over the land, the holidays are coming. That means in-laws, in-laws and more in-laws. I really shouldn't complain that much, because they are really very predictable. I know that my mother in-law will spend the entire time in the kitchen only to complain "we didn't get a chance to visit!" when we leave after the longest 4 hours of my life. My sister in-law will sit on the floor looking at the after Christmas sales flyers. I can't leave out her husband, Larry (his real name, because he's a jerk), who will ask Mr. rK, "How is work?" only to have that be a segue into an exceptionally long story about how incredibly fabulous HIS job is and how much money he makes (he works in the public works department of a nearby Chicago south suburb, not as a city official or anything, he fixes cars, plows streets, etc.). After that he slops some food down and then pretends to sleep on the couch for the rest of the night. Then, there is my husband's poor, dumb brother who will spend the whole night trying to find something on television to watch and sssssshhhing the rest of us to be quiet so he can watch his show. Once when his nephew was 7, they got into an argument because one wanted to watch Pooh Bear and the other wanted to watch Jumanji. I'll leave it to you to figure out who wanted to watch what. Speaking of my nephew (11) and niece (8), God help me, but they are kind of odd. Take them out of their house and they walk around like terrified aliens who have just landed on Earth for the first time.

It is so bizarre to me, because it's like these people just sort of fell into the same room. No one has conversations with each other. At my families Christmas celebration, although somewhat predictable, at least we are interacting with each other. People are talking and laughing, the kids aren't that weird. It's a completely different feel. It is actually (gasp!) festive. Sure, there are annoying things, like my liberal sister in-law, but every family has at least one oddball. Oh yes, they do. If your family doesn't have one, then guess what? YOU are that one. Anyway, I guess what I am saying is that my family puts the fun in dysfunctional.

Back at mother in-law's Christmas Craptacular, there is one thing I can always count on when I see my sister in-law's husband, Larry. This man is obsessed with the idea of a family cruise. I don't know where it came from, but I sure as hell wish it would go back. Here's the deal, 1- I have inner ear problems that cause me to get very motion sick on boats and even in the car occasionally. 2- I don't want to go on a cruise. Honestly, there is nothing about it that appeals to me or my husband. 3- There is no boat on this planet big enough for me and my in-laws to be on at the same time. I have told this to my idiot brother in-law multiple times, yet it refuses to penetrate his thick cranium. Here is how the conversation goes:

Larry: You know what would be fun? If we all went on a cruise.

Me: I get very motion sick on boats. Plus, that's not the kind of vacation Mr. rK or I like.

Larry: Oh they have stuff for the motion sickness.

Me: It makes me sleepy. I don't want to spend my vacation entirely in the cabin.

Larry: They have non-drowsy now.

Me: That may be, but like I said, neither of us have any desire to go on a cruise.

Larry: (getting very adamant and raising his voice) How do you know you don't like it until you try it? I didn't think I would like it and now I love it. There is gambling. One night I wanted a steak and they brought me a huge steak! (holding up his arms in the air to indicate the size of the steak was roughly the same as a hubcap)

Me: I can make steak at home and there is gambling all over Illinois and Indiana. There tons of places I want to see in the US before I go to the Caribbean.

For some reason he gets angry and takes this exceptionally personal, as if I am judging him by not being interested in a cruise. Newsflash to idiot brother in-law: I am not interested in taking a cruise no matter who is on the boat. If there is not a museum, historical site/homes, battlefield, zoo, and/or quaint shops I'm not interested. My husband is much less picky. He requires two things, sports and bars. Together and separately. I can get him to go pretty much anywhere if I guarantee sports and bars are involved somehow.

There is one thing Mr. rK and I both agree on and that we both hate the kind of vacations where we just lay around. That's how we spend 60% of our time at home. What is there to do in the Caribbean? Tour a rum factory? What's that take, an hour tops. Parasail? If that thing can get my fat ass 4 feet off the water I would be shocked. What Larry fails to understand is that my husband and I live our lives in a manner that we will never have to wear bathing suits. Ever. It's really better for society as whole, but far be it from Larry to ever consider his fellow man. Then again, he must be out there gallivanting in the sun in his full shirtless, farmer tanned glory. He's just over six feet tall, about 75 pounds overweight, and, although I have not seen him without his shirt (praise God!), judging from the amount of hair on the rest of him I would guess that he's got quite the hairy back*. Calm down, ladies! He's spoken for! I guess if he figures he can cavort out in public like a yeti on holiday, then Mr. rK and I should also leave our shame in Chicago and come on down. Sorry, my Inner Censor maybe slow, but she's not stupid. Larry's apparently died as a small child.

Even completely discounting all of these things I have already mentioned there is still one thing that remains. I would be trapped on a boat in the middle of the pacific ocean with my in-laws. Someone would go overboard. Probably me. Sharks, dolphins and inability to swim be damned I would be dog paddling my behind back to Chicago. For the life of me I just can't see how they think this is a good idea. These people don't like me, but they want me to go on vacation with them? They only treat my husband slightly better. At the Christmas Craptacular Mr. rK walks around with this look on his face that says, "There had to be some kind of mix up at the hospital. This can't be MY family." Five days on a giant boat with his loonies and his face would stay that way permanently. This is all coming from the mind of a man who fakes sleeping so he doesn't have to interact with us. Something stinks. I haven't figured out what exactly his deal is yet, but I will let you know when I do. Till then, I'll just keep screaming until the holidays are over.

*For a while he had a beard that made him look like a 1950's Cuban revolutionary.

How I Got My Goblet of Fire Tickets

2005-10-24T11:17:00.000-05:00

I'm still recovering. On the surface it sounds simple enough, give blood and get two free passes for the opening weekend of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. As we all know by now, I do nothing in a small way. Let's start at the beginning.

On Wednesday I see on muggletnet.com that the best movie theater around is offering free passes to anyone who donates blood on Saturday, PLUS the actors who play Fred and George Weasley will be there opening weekend. I have never given blood before, but figured what the heck and signed up. Normally, I am a little anemic, so for the next few days I ate incredibly healthy and made sure to have plenty of beef. I even took my husbands nasty multiple vitamins. Nothing was going to come between me and my free passes.

Let me interject a little about the movie theater right here. This place is super cool. First off, they serve booze. There is this huge bar right in the lobby with quite an extensive liquor collection, not to mention they also serve food. Second, after 5:30 PM NO KIDS. That's right, no kids. They have special family matinees, but after 5:30 PM IDs are checked and anyone under 21 is not allowed inside. Mr. rK and I have never been to this theater, but have always wanted to check it out. We figured this would be the perfect opportunity (here is the website in case you doubt such a place exists Hollywood Blvd).

Saturday comes and I pass all the tests with flying colors and go take my seat to get my blood drawn. My first red flag was that the girl could not find a decent vein to take my blood. My hand actually started to go numb because the tournaquette was so tight. She did manage to find a decent one on my right arm, but just as she is staring me up the woman directly across from me passes out. For the first timer this is quite terrifying. This lady looked dead. Her head was just lolling around like her spine had gone to jelly as the nurses (or whatever they were) were trying to cool her off and revive her. She came to and it was back to business as usually for the nurses. I am now all hooked up to the machine and the nurses parting words are, "If you feel woosy at all, let me know right away." Sure thing. She got about 5 feet away and my head started to spin and my stomach starts churning. I let her know that I was feeling a bit off and she reclined my chair. That did the trick and I was fine. Not even 10 minutes later I was done. Yea!!! I had made it through with no ill effects.

Wrong.

I am a little on the hyper side and when I get it into my head that I want to do something I want to do it five minutes ago. The nurse tells me I'm done and to head over to the snack area where I have to wait for 15 minutes before I can go home. I collect my husband (he had a cold so he didn't donate) and I race over to get some juice and snacks. Everyone is sitting at tall pub tables next to the bar. We hop up and get some water and animal crackers. I was telling Mr. rK about the whole procedure when suddenly my stomach started to churn again and I got very hot. I put my animal crackers down and said to Mr. rK, "I feel kind of woosy again." The girl manning the refreshments said, "Did you say you feel woosy?" By then my vision had started to cloud, but I managed to get out, "I am going to faint." The rest of the story gets a little blurry. I did actually faint for a few seconds until they brought over some ammonia for me to smell and that woke me up choking. My husband said he was freaked out because one guy kept yelling, "We are losing her!" meaning I was slipping off the chair, but years of growing up on TV has taught us that "losing" someone means they are dying. So, yes, he thought for a few seconds I was dying. Poor guy. I remember someone telling me to open my eyes. Finally they brought over a cot for me to lay in, but I couldn't get to it. I knew my legs wouldn't hold me. One of the nurses said, "You will feel better if you can lay down, I promise," and they moved the cot closer. I managed to make it and I thought I did a good job, but Mr. rK said I barely made it in.

That nurse sure knew what she was talking about, because I started to come around as soon as I got into the cot. When I was fully aware again I held my husbands hand because I knew he had been scared. He said the color had just drained from my face and I looked dead. Lovely. The funniest part about the whole thing was that I remember someone saying over and over again, "Liz! Liz!" and that is my mother in-laws name. I wanted so bad to yell, "My name is NOT LIZ!!!!" because I thought they were talking to me. Turns out the nurse was named Liz, so it's a good thing I didn't yell at anyone. Actually, I'm quite proud that I didn't yell at anyone at all. Everyone was very helpful and friendly. The lady who had passed out earlier was still there drinking her juice and told me that when I saw her that was the SECOND time she passed out! She said, "It called menopause and it stinks!"

The refreshment minder wanted me to stay until I felt completely 100% better, but that was not happening. The blood drive was over at 3 and this was going on about 2:45. If we were there any longer they were going to make me see a movie. I went home and dozed on and off until the White Sox game came on and by then I felt about 95%. Sunday morning I was feeling much better. I can't complain though. I did get my free Goblet of Fire passes, someone who needs it will get my blood, and I got one heck of a story out of it.

Boo!

2005-10-19T13:07:00.000-05:00

This is my favorite time of year. The weather has finally cooled off, the trees look beautiful, and things get a little spooky. I absolutely love Halloween. I'm not crazy about the whole going door-to-door begging for candy thing, but having no kids and living in a condo it's pretty easy to overlook. One of my crazy neighbors, Dr. Jackass, apparently loves Halloween, too. She has one of those big balloon things people with houses put in their yards. Her "yard" is about three feet wide and is actually a strip of grass between her privacy hedge and the parking area. If as much as a light breeze comes by it topples her gigantic pumpkins over on to the side walk or into the handicapped parking space. I can hardly wait to see what she has in store for Christmas. Why am I picturing something like in "Christmas Vacation"?

Chateau Retro is always slightly decorated for Halloween. I have small collection of black cat trinkets that stay out year-round. Most started their lives as Halloween decorations, but that are just too cute to put away. This year Target had HUGE black cats. It actually stood on the floor and came up to about my knee. Mr. rK (aka, Halloween Scrooge) wouldn't let me get one. I thought about buying it and then putting it in the house somewhere. Then when he noticed it say, "Oh, that? We've had that forever!" But it was so big that I didn't think that would fly. So, I will have to settle for Hello Kitty and Lucky, my two real black cats that wander the grounds of Chateau Retro.

Of course, the best thing about Halloween are the ghost stories!! So important are the ghost stories that it got two exclamation points in that last sentence. I know not everyone believes in ghosts and that's their prerogative, but I love a good supposedly true ghost story. I guess because they aren't happening to me. If any of this crap I have read about happened to me I'd still be running for the hills. I have had some weird things happen, but nothing terror inducing. There is this one weird thing that is on-going in my life. I wouldn't say it's a ghost at all, but it's just odd. Growing up in my parents house the wall behind the refrigerator would make this kind of knocking or popping sound. It would be one or two quick knocks or pops, once a day. We all just got used to it even though it was fairly loud. Honestly, we hardly would even noticed it until someone would come over and ask, "What was that??" When I was 25 I moved in to Chateau Retro (back then it was just our crappy condo) with my husband and after a little while the wall behind the fridge started making a similar sound. Because I had never lived on my own before and am an idiot, I just assumed this was a sound all walls behind refrigerators make. One night after living in Chateau Retro for several months we were visiting my parents and I mentioned something about the wall popping behind our fridge, too. My mom said, "Yeah, that's weird, because ours doesn't do that anymore. It stopped a couple of months ago." Oh great, so the freakin' knock followed me 20 miles to my new place? I'm sure there is some kind of reasonable explanation for this, but I've never even cared enough to find out.

There were other weird things in that house. One night my dad was sitting in wooden rocking chair watching tv alone. My mom had left the room to let my brother and sister in-law in at the front door. Out of nowhere he said he felt his chair rock left to right like someone had grabbed it from behind and was shaking him. He turned around to tell my brother to "quit screwing around!"*, but no one was there. My mom was still by the front porch with my brother and sister in-law and no one else was in the house.

What is even weirder is that a few weeks after this incident Mr. rK and I are visiting my mom and dad and he is telling us that story. The whole time my husband is drinking iced tea from one of those big, red plastic cups. The cup had been full to the top and Mr. rK had not spilled a drop. When he finished his drink he put the cup on the end table in plain view of all of us. My dad finished the story and we were talking about it when Mr. rK decided to get some more iced tea. He picked up his red cup and noticed a huge cut down the side. The cut was about 3 inches long and went through to the inside of the cup. There were several other scratches next to this main cut. One partially went through to the other side, but all the cuts turned white from the pressure of something pressing on the outside of the cup. He showed it to us and we said it must have been there before and he hadn't noticed it, but how did he not spill any liquid? My dad suggested we put some water in the cup to see if it leaked. We did and it would not hold more then about a half inch of water in the bottom of the cup. It is entirely possible that no one noticed this three inch cut in the cup before, but what about the liquid not spilling? I guess that is possible, too, but how? We were all a little freaked out and were done with ghost stories for that day.

Often we would spot one of our dear departed cats roaming the house, too. One afternoon a friend of my dad's was visiting and sitting on the couch. My dad had left the room leaving his friend in the living room by himself. When he came back his friend asked if the back door was open, because he had just has this icy, cold draft go across his ankles. My dad said, "Door's closed. That's just our cat," and his friend went pale.

Back at Chateau Retro, hubby and I were looking through some old pictures in the bedroom. All external doors and windows were closed. In the bedroom door wafted this smell that I can only describe as musty old person (Lord, I apologize...). I didn't say anything, because I was waiting to see if Mr. rK smelled it, too. Suddenly, he quite animatedly said, "Oh my God! What the hell is that smell???" so I took it we were smelling the same thing. Just as fast as the smell had come, it was gone the second my husband opened his mouth. And trust me when I say that this stink was so bad that it should have lingered.

I don't know if any of these things are "ghosts" or what they were, but they are unexplained. Isn't that the best part about Halloween and being scared, too? You never quite know what is lurking around the corner- could be a demon with a chainsaw, could be a baby in Pooh Bear costume, you just don't know until you get there.

(*the mandatory dad and shop teacher phrase)