I've been so busy taking tests! I took three tests and got the following results:
Mad Men just hired me to be a media buyer. I don't know what that is.
http://www.amctv.com/originals/madmen/job-interview/
I write like David Foster Wallace or Stephen King.
http://iwl.me/
My sponge worthy celebrities are: Keanu Reeves and Jake Gyllenhall. I think they're both legal, anyway.
http://www.todaysponge.com/spongeworthy.html
Go ahead and try them! Have fun! Live a little!
And in other breaking news, it is HOT here in the Commonwealth. The temperature hit 100 in my area ("100, feels like 107"). That's just crazy. I do not accept it. I think I'll go throw some ice on the kitchen floor and roll in it. Now that I've put that picture in your head, I bid you goodnight.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://annieem.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/cousin_it2.jpg&imgrefurl=http://annieem.wordpress.com/2010/02/09/allusions-needed/&usg=___Lu_p5O2ArKPxZAXAhwHdWivMYY=&h=336&w=448&sz=38&hl=en&start=2&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=wWHzxIi1hc4-3M:&tbnh=95&tbnw=127&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcousin%2Bit%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26tbs%3Disch:1
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Nip it Good!
I'm not a dusky sun-kissed goddess. Basically, I only tan on the tops of my feet and the backs of my hands. Otherwise, I burn and sprout more freckles. If I were to let this continue, maybe the freckles would all join together and I'd end up with a rich, freckle-tinted tan before keeling over from skin cancer. So that's not a good idea.
My good idea was to buy a long-sleeved swim shirt. And that was fine. BUT. But, swim shirts for women (from here on referred to as "SS's"), like their male counterparts, do not have any extra coverage, if you get where I'm going. No? Nip, nip, nippity nip. Got me? There is no extra shelf-bra in which to stow the baggage. You hit the cold water and TA-DA!
Now some might proudly display their peaks of femininity and there's nothing wrong with that. Some might find this freeing or sexy and some might just not care. I am not one of them. Most of my life has been about blending in. When everyone dressed like a preppy, so did I. After that I just tried not to look too disheveled for work, with varying degrees of success. My forays in sexy fashion have been few and embarrassing. Oh, there was that stretch velvet period, but mostly, I've been pretty plain.
True, I have gone braless. For a long time, I wore loose shirts so that I didn't have to feel like I was wearing a tourniquet for a superficial chest wound. I hate bras. But I digress. What is really important about all of this is that I bought a snug fitting SS to help keep me from burning to a crisp, yet I was ding dong damned If I was going to put on a tantalizing show, or more possibly be crushed by the fact that MY milkshake scares all the boys at the pool. I feel I'm on this earth to not traumatize anyone, myself included.
Enter my new bikini top. Okay, so I have a special hatred for the recent trend of selling bathing suits in pieces and charging nearly as much for each piece as one would pay for a one-piece. Thieves. Yet I willing paid for the two parts of my tankini (tank top and shorts bathing suit) as soon as I discovered it. Sure, I could pull off a one-piece, but it would be like Sweeny Todd over here every time I had to do a little edging. Much safer, the tankini.
Anyway, so I had to solve the nip problem of the swim shirt, and for the first time, I was glad that I could choose to buy just on half of a bathing suit. I bought a teeny bikini top for a low-low price at a local Mart. It was the only one available that did not have dangling beads hanging between the cups or a big ol' metal buckle holding the two sides together (Priscilla, thou are shameless!), thus enabling the top to look smooth under said tight SS. My new bikini top is a real throwback to the seventies. In fact, I would have sold my mother to the Ayatollah to possess such awesomeness. Each side has a wing of a pink, metallic butterfly, plus aqua and black accents. Be still my aging teen-aged heart! Of course, under the SS, no one will ever see it, but that's okay because I couldn't find a top one that wasn't PADDED. Now when I saunter out to the pool, I look like I possess an enormous rack. I make shade, people. Of course, I am still a pool Mom and everyone still calls me "ma'am" but, while others barely see that woman who has almost blended into her surroundings like a gecko, I know that I've gone from a McFlurry to a Triple-thick Shake. And I'm the only one who needs to know.
P.S. the long-sleeved SS is very, very comfortable and actually keeps me cool out of the water after a dip!
My good idea was to buy a long-sleeved swim shirt. And that was fine. BUT. But, swim shirts for women (from here on referred to as "SS's"), like their male counterparts, do not have any extra coverage, if you get where I'm going. No? Nip, nip, nippity nip. Got me? There is no extra shelf-bra in which to stow the baggage. You hit the cold water and TA-DA!
Now some might proudly display their peaks of femininity and there's nothing wrong with that. Some might find this freeing or sexy and some might just not care. I am not one of them. Most of my life has been about blending in. When everyone dressed like a preppy, so did I. After that I just tried not to look too disheveled for work, with varying degrees of success. My forays in sexy fashion have been few and embarrassing. Oh, there was that stretch velvet period, but mostly, I've been pretty plain.
True, I have gone braless. For a long time, I wore loose shirts so that I didn't have to feel like I was wearing a tourniquet for a superficial chest wound. I hate bras. But I digress. What is really important about all of this is that I bought a snug fitting SS to help keep me from burning to a crisp, yet I was ding dong damned If I was going to put on a tantalizing show, or more possibly be crushed by the fact that MY milkshake scares all the boys at the pool. I feel I'm on this earth to not traumatize anyone, myself included.
Enter my new bikini top. Okay, so I have a special hatred for the recent trend of selling bathing suits in pieces and charging nearly as much for each piece as one would pay for a one-piece. Thieves. Yet I willing paid for the two parts of my tankini (tank top and shorts bathing suit) as soon as I discovered it. Sure, I could pull off a one-piece, but it would be like Sweeny Todd over here every time I had to do a little edging. Much safer, the tankini.
Anyway, so I had to solve the nip problem of the swim shirt, and for the first time, I was glad that I could choose to buy just on half of a bathing suit. I bought a teeny bikini top for a low-low price at a local Mart. It was the only one available that did not have dangling beads hanging between the cups or a big ol' metal buckle holding the two sides together (Priscilla, thou are shameless!), thus enabling the top to look smooth under said tight SS. My new bikini top is a real throwback to the seventies. In fact, I would have sold my mother to the Ayatollah to possess such awesomeness. Each side has a wing of a pink, metallic butterfly, plus aqua and black accents. Be still my aging teen-aged heart! Of course, under the SS, no one will ever see it, but that's okay because I couldn't find a top one that wasn't PADDED. Now when I saunter out to the pool, I look like I possess an enormous rack. I make shade, people. Of course, I am still a pool Mom and everyone still calls me "ma'am" but, while others barely see that woman who has almost blended into her surroundings like a gecko, I know that I've gone from a McFlurry to a Triple-thick Shake. And I'm the only one who needs to know.
P.S. the long-sleeved SS is very, very comfortable and actually keeps me cool out of the water after a dip!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A list of stuff
1. We were supposed to have visitors this week, but my mother-in-law fell off a chair, so it's a no go. However GameGuy still took the week off and we are having a lazy staycation. I prefer a go-cation, but the freedom was unexpected and, also, Comet has swimmer's ear, so we are laying low (GG's favorite type of vacation).
2. Comet and I were watering the garden one evening and heard something that sounded exactly like gunshots. Shortly after that, a huge ornamental cherry tree just keeled over in the yard. And it looked so healthy. This was before our local "microburst" (mini-tornado), so wtf? Maybe it was the hard winter.
3. I have hopped myself up on caffeine and now do not have the wherewithal to hop myself down. It's the damon Diet Coke, that's what it is.
4. I love our neighborhood pool. Love.It. It's never crowded and I just can't believe that every member isn't there every evening. Maybe they all have swimmer's ear.
5. Just finished "I'm Not the New Me," a memoir by Wendy McClure a writer and blogger (Poundy.com). It's sort of about weight-loss, but it's really more about the antipathy you can feel when you are changing your "self" by losing weight. McClure is thought-provoking and really funny. She is self-deprecating without being self-loathing. It was a good read and it has a section in the middle with photos of horrible 1970's Weight Watchers recipe cards. Fluffy mackerel pudding anyone?! Who can resist it?
6. My garden is growing, but I have some doubts about whether or not it will produce. Someone wrote a book about gardening called "The $64 Tomato." I may be able to top that come harvest time.
Peace out.
2. Comet and I were watering the garden one evening and heard something that sounded exactly like gunshots. Shortly after that, a huge ornamental cherry tree just keeled over in the yard. And it looked so healthy. This was before our local "microburst" (mini-tornado), so wtf? Maybe it was the hard winter.
3. I have hopped myself up on caffeine and now do not have the wherewithal to hop myself down. It's the damon Diet Coke, that's what it is.
4. I love our neighborhood pool. Love.It. It's never crowded and I just can't believe that every member isn't there every evening. Maybe they all have swimmer's ear.
5. Just finished "I'm Not the New Me," a memoir by Wendy McClure a writer and blogger (Poundy.com). It's sort of about weight-loss, but it's really more about the antipathy you can feel when you are changing your "self" by losing weight. McClure is thought-provoking and really funny. She is self-deprecating without being self-loathing. It was a good read and it has a section in the middle with photos of horrible 1970's Weight Watchers recipe cards. Fluffy mackerel pudding anyone?! Who can resist it?
6. My garden is growing, but I have some doubts about whether or not it will produce. Someone wrote a book about gardening called "The $64 Tomato." I may be able to top that come harvest time.
Peace out.
Friday, June 11, 2010
F.U.B.P. or It's a Gas, Gas, Gas!
Firstly, tell me people somewhere are boycotting BP gas stations! Today, I drove by a BP and there were lots of customers. What?!?! I'm still boycotting Exxon because of the Valdez. Would people take action if BP was polluting local rivers? How about swimming pools? BP is polluting the Ocean that belongs to everyone, and they can't seem to stop! Pick up your grudge and carry it, my 'Villians! And BP: Shut it off, clean it up and then find a good use for it! At least, be really, really sorry about it. Until then, I'm giving my business to Chevron. P.S. I'm never buying gas at a BP again unless I have to roll in on fumes, and then I'm only getting a gallon. Furthermore, I hope all the other companies practice good citizenship or I'm going to dig for oil in my backyard to supply my own petroleum needs.
And speaking of, I'd like to point out that I can't stand the smell of gasoline. It makes me sick. I used to be down on bio-fuel because I didn't want to smell like an old french fry. Today, what I wouldn't give to smell like a delicious old french fry. Because! Because I had another gas pump related calamity. I have this tendency to get gasoline on my person every fifth time I fill the car. It is a minor disability and for much of my adult life, I have just refused to pump my own gas. I willingly paid more for someone else to fill 'er up. Then gas got crazy expensive (for the U.S.) a couple of years ago and, when my full service gas station closed, I boldly decided to pump my own. Aside from the occasional tiny spot of gas on my hand or shoe, it was livable. Until today. I'll admit it, I got cocky.
It started a couple of months ago when I realized that you could prop the nozzle open with that little metal thingy, thereby not having to squeeze for a whole couple of minutes. Oh, was I too cool for school! I'm a g.d. genius, I know. I smugly propped and then glanced around to see if anyone was noticing my coolness. Oh, nothing could touch me! Until today. Today, I decided to pump up the volume, as it were. I not only propped my nozzle, but walked away and--drum roll please--washed the windshield! The front went so well, I decided to do the back. As I finished my washing I thought, hey, I'll just pull the nozzle out of the tank before I put the squeegee away. Hubris. Because, I squeezed when I should have yanked and managed to squirt myself with gas from the top of my head to the tip of my shoe. Horrors. A trip to Goodwill for a wardrobe change and a Silkwood shower at the gym and I Still.Smell.Like.Gasoline. Stop shaking your head.
In other news, today is the last day of kindergarten! The teacher gifts are given, the boy has been bringing home truckloads of work pages and art and at 3:05 p.m. he will be a rising first grader! He learned so much, he worked so hard and I am very proud. Now it's Summertime and the livin' will be a little less easy for me, but a lot more fun.
Remember: Boycott BP! It's easy.
And speaking of, I'd like to point out that I can't stand the smell of gasoline. It makes me sick. I used to be down on bio-fuel because I didn't want to smell like an old french fry. Today, what I wouldn't give to smell like a delicious old french fry. Because! Because I had another gas pump related calamity. I have this tendency to get gasoline on my person every fifth time I fill the car. It is a minor disability and for much of my adult life, I have just refused to pump my own gas. I willingly paid more for someone else to fill 'er up. Then gas got crazy expensive (for the U.S.) a couple of years ago and, when my full service gas station closed, I boldly decided to pump my own. Aside from the occasional tiny spot of gas on my hand or shoe, it was livable. Until today. I'll admit it, I got cocky.
It started a couple of months ago when I realized that you could prop the nozzle open with that little metal thingy, thereby not having to squeeze for a whole couple of minutes. Oh, was I too cool for school! I'm a g.d. genius, I know. I smugly propped and then glanced around to see if anyone was noticing my coolness. Oh, nothing could touch me! Until today. Today, I decided to pump up the volume, as it were. I not only propped my nozzle, but walked away and--drum roll please--washed the windshield! The front went so well, I decided to do the back. As I finished my washing I thought, hey, I'll just pull the nozzle out of the tank before I put the squeegee away. Hubris. Because, I squeezed when I should have yanked and managed to squirt myself with gas from the top of my head to the tip of my shoe. Horrors. A trip to Goodwill for a wardrobe change and a Silkwood shower at the gym and I Still.Smell.Like.Gasoline. Stop shaking your head.
In other news, today is the last day of kindergarten! The teacher gifts are given, the boy has been bringing home truckloads of work pages and art and at 3:05 p.m. he will be a rising first grader! He learned so much, he worked so hard and I am very proud. Now it's Summertime and the livin' will be a little less easy for me, but a lot more fun.
Remember: Boycott BP! It's easy.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Monday Erratica
1. Comet and his friend, Einstein, are happily playing a video game in the next room. They.Are.So.Loud. What the hell was I thinking when we bought this open plan house! Why didn't I hold out for a basement rumpus room? My aching head. Sitting outside in the pouring rain is looking mighty attractive. Or maybe I could go sit out in the van...
2. I saw a commercial at the gym today. I didn't have my headphones, so I only got the visuals, but basically it showed this woman in the grocery store looking for something. It turned out to be her two young children who were running amok in the produce section. The next scene is the same woman walking into the house as her small daughter drops a water balloon from upstairs and it splatters next to her small son who is watching TV. It was an ad for an I.U.D.
3. We planted some pumpkin seeds a couple of weeks ago and they are taking over the world. I am having a gardening service come and till a pumpkin patch and it can't happen too soon!
4. Yesterday, my friend and neighbor asked me how I would feel about having animals in our rather large, currently unused dog pen. Livestock. Have I mentioned my formative years spent in close proximity to our bovine friends? She wants to go in on a miniature cow with a couple of people and share the milk. I looked miniature cows up on the internet and they are soooo cute, I would kiss one if it was standing in my kitchen right now. However, livestock is work. There's the poop, and with the poop come the flies. Then comes the milking of the cow and I couldn't help think of a friend who milked her goats and when she strained the milk, there were all these hairs and ickies in the strainer afterward. And what about pasteurization? (I'm a wimp that way.) And cows can get sick and wouldn't it be lonely? Then you would need two. Also, would it "moo" very early in the morning, because I'm not down with that. So no tiny, adorable, sweet little cow in my dog pen. I hope my friend gets a miniature cow and finds a place to put it in the neighborhood so that I can kiss it and give it carrots (or whatever they like). I admire my friend's creative ideas and pioneer spirit, but face it, if I had lived in the 1800's, I would have been the first pioneer buried 'longside the trail. "It was her either her tonsils or the fact that she hadn't bathed in a month that did ol' Gusta in," the hardier pioneers would recall as the shucked and milked and sowed.
4. Today, I had a fortuitous meeting with Impasta and two other friends at the local Panera and joined them for a chat. It was like getting an unexpected present!
5. We are storing our lawnmower in the garage and the stink of the gas and oil that is coming through the laundry room door is nauseating. Maybe *that* can go in the dog pen!
That's it.
2. I saw a commercial at the gym today. I didn't have my headphones, so I only got the visuals, but basically it showed this woman in the grocery store looking for something. It turned out to be her two young children who were running amok in the produce section. The next scene is the same woman walking into the house as her small daughter drops a water balloon from upstairs and it splatters next to her small son who is watching TV. It was an ad for an I.U.D.
3. We planted some pumpkin seeds a couple of weeks ago and they are taking over the world. I am having a gardening service come and till a pumpkin patch and it can't happen too soon!
4. Yesterday, my friend and neighbor asked me how I would feel about having animals in our rather large, currently unused dog pen. Livestock. Have I mentioned my formative years spent in close proximity to our bovine friends? She wants to go in on a miniature cow with a couple of people and share the milk. I looked miniature cows up on the internet and they are soooo cute, I would kiss one if it was standing in my kitchen right now. However, livestock is work. There's the poop, and with the poop come the flies. Then comes the milking of the cow and I couldn't help think of a friend who milked her goats and when she strained the milk, there were all these hairs and ickies in the strainer afterward. And what about pasteurization? (I'm a wimp that way.) And cows can get sick and wouldn't it be lonely? Then you would need two. Also, would it "moo" very early in the morning, because I'm not down with that. So no tiny, adorable, sweet little cow in my dog pen. I hope my friend gets a miniature cow and finds a place to put it in the neighborhood so that I can kiss it and give it carrots (or whatever they like). I admire my friend's creative ideas and pioneer spirit, but face it, if I had lived in the 1800's, I would have been the first pioneer buried 'longside the trail. "It was her either her tonsils or the fact that she hadn't bathed in a month that did ol' Gusta in," the hardier pioneers would recall as the shucked and milked and sowed.
4. Today, I had a fortuitous meeting with Impasta and two other friends at the local Panera and joined them for a chat. It was like getting an unexpected present!
5. We are storing our lawnmower in the garage and the stink of the gas and oil that is coming through the laundry room door is nauseating. Maybe *that* can go in the dog pen!
That's it.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Lady Pain
Okay, so I thought I was just having regular decrepit, aged pain, so I took some Tylenol. Didn't work. Still, I thought, this must just be really, really decrepit, aged pain, and I took MORE Tylenol. Guess what? Didn't work. Then I realized: Oshit! It was LADY PAIN! (Pardon me, non-spousal male reader(s).) And I had already more than wasted my painkiller quotient! If I had only known, I would have gone for the Ibuprofen! What's a girl to do?
Drink Chardonnay, of course. Luckily for me, and those closest to me, I had laid in a bottle of Toasted Head Chardonnay for my birthday (a week hence), and all I had to do was pop the cork. A glass and-a-half later, I am a bit tipsy, but feelin' no pain.
This experience made me realize/remember that I am SO grateful for ibuprofen and those who "fought" to make it and over-the-counter drug. I salute you, whoever the heck you are (were)! You see, before the advent of ibuprofen, I could only alleviate my Lady Pain with alcohol, and I didn't even figure *that* out until my late twenties--way too late. I was the woman whose eyes suddenly bugged out of her head during a work meeting and when asked, "What's wrong?" gasped, "Nothing, WHY do you ASK?" Aspirin? Bwhahahahaha! Tylenol? Don't GET me started! By the by, I'm not so much saluting the Chardonnay-ists, as I will feel this tomorrow.
I'm happy to add ibuprofen to my gratitude short list. I have, actually, tons to be grateful for, and I'm starting a class this week to learn to feel more gratitude. Before the ibuprofen realization, I was only deeply committed to my gratitude to the local trash collection service which now lets me mingle my trash and recyclables! I can't even express the joy that gives me. (And also, that time when GameGuy got the gum out of the dryer when it was totally my fault and my gum...) With me, it's the little things. Always the little things.
So, in my funky little Gusta way, I'm grateful. Also, a bit drunk.
P.S. Apologies to Impasta: "We'll always have the Burrito place..." Sometimes it *is* the hill of beans!
P.P.S. I'm reading "The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" (Michael Chabon) and it's the best book I've read since "The Corrections" (Jonathan Frantzen). GameGuy gets a big ol' "I told you so!" as he's been telling me to read it for eight years and I have been demurring because I'm always sure I'll hate things that people tell me I will love. Silly me.
Drink Chardonnay, of course. Luckily for me, and those closest to me, I had laid in a bottle of Toasted Head Chardonnay for my birthday (a week hence), and all I had to do was pop the cork. A glass and-a-half later, I am a bit tipsy, but feelin' no pain.
This experience made me realize/remember that I am SO grateful for ibuprofen and those who "fought" to make it and over-the-counter drug. I salute you, whoever the heck you are (were)! You see, before the advent of ibuprofen, I could only alleviate my Lady Pain with alcohol, and I didn't even figure *that* out until my late twenties--way too late. I was the woman whose eyes suddenly bugged out of her head during a work meeting and when asked, "What's wrong?" gasped, "Nothing, WHY do you ASK?" Aspirin? Bwhahahahaha! Tylenol? Don't GET me started! By the by, I'm not so much saluting the Chardonnay-ists, as I will feel this tomorrow.
I'm happy to add ibuprofen to my gratitude short list. I have, actually, tons to be grateful for, and I'm starting a class this week to learn to feel more gratitude. Before the ibuprofen realization, I was only deeply committed to my gratitude to the local trash collection service which now lets me mingle my trash and recyclables! I can't even express the joy that gives me. (And also, that time when GameGuy got the gum out of the dryer when it was totally my fault and my gum...) With me, it's the little things. Always the little things.
So, in my funky little Gusta way, I'm grateful. Also, a bit drunk.
P.S. Apologies to Impasta: "We'll always have the Burrito place..." Sometimes it *is* the hill of beans!
P.P.S. I'm reading "The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" (Michael Chabon) and it's the best book I've read since "The Corrections" (Jonathan Frantzen). GameGuy gets a big ol' "I told you so!" as he's been telling me to read it for eight years and I have been demurring because I'm always sure I'll hate things that people tell me I will love. Silly me.
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