Four jobs you've had in your life:
-baby sitter for rod laver's baby
-waitress at ed debevic’s in phoenix, az.
-production assistant for a weekly television series
-admin for an insurance company. Boring, I know, but it pays the bills
Four movies you could watch over and over again:
-Legends of the Fall
-National Velvet
-Braveheart
-Mars Attacks
Four TV shows you love to watch:
-Grey’s Anatomy
-Desperate Housewives
-Myth Busters
-Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends
Four places you've been on vacation:
-Venice, Italy
-Sprucedale Guest Ranch, Arizona
-Agra, India
-Sun Valley, Idaho
Four websites you visit daily:
-foxnews.com
-stevemartin.com
-realsimple.com
-newyorker.com
Four of your favorite foods:
-waldorf salad at cpk
-the napa coleslaw at tap’s
-calamari at scott’s seafood
-salmon with mango salsa at duke’s
Friday, January 20, 2006
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Tivo and the Dude
i’m so glad i’m getting Tivo.
After 4 (yes FOUR) attempts to have DirecTv do a professional (read, not slip shod, crappy, wires showing all over the place) installation, i have bailed on my previous satellite vendor and have joined forces with Dish Network. They are supposed to arrive tomorrow morning to do the installation. This will be my fifth torturous Saturday in a row (minus Christmas Eve, when i i spoke with several neighbors in my new hood and they’ve all confirmed that their installations went smoothly. i’m cautiously hopeful that after 6 weeks, i will actually have working televisions. And just in time, too, because i am about to reveal my secret celebrity crush: Steve Martin.
My man, Steve-o, is going to be hosting SNL on February 4th (with Prince, who's no slouch, but i've never had a big interest in him or his music). Yep, i’m looking forward to watching SNL, but I will probably fall asleep prior to the 11:30 p.m. pacific standard start of the monologue. Hence, the tivo will be needed. Oh, and did i mention that the Dude knows me (Steve, not Prince)? Well... kinda, not really, but sort of.
Good ol’ mckay frequents his website and when i choose to say something profound or half-wittedy regarding his Steveness, i usually make up a name for him. Calling him ‘Steve’ is too personal since i’ve never met the man or shared spit or any other such nonsense. ‘Mr. Martin’ makes him sound like a high school science teacher, so that’s just too boring and formal. Anyways, on the website message board (i know, i’m pitiful) i’ve been known to refer to him as ‘Dude’, just because it’s goofy enough to not be taken seriously.
Anyways, his faithful followers were begging for a new message from the Stevester, as he hadn’t posted one in quite a while. i egged people into a contest to see who could guess the date of the Dude’s next message. Wellllll, a message didn’t come. Wasn’t posted. Nothing. Nope. Nada. We all went without. Until…
He was on the David Letterman show one evening, and guess what? He gave everyone a message: it was perfectly goofy and weird and as the gospel singers (yep, you read that right) sang of Steverino’s latest doings, they sang the lyric, “The Dude’s still playing his banjo”, which surprised me all to heck that he worked 'Dude' into the lyrics, and to be truthful, it gave me little warm fan fuzzies. or maybe it was a coinkidinky and i need to get out in the real world more, which i know i do, but such is the life of a divorced mom who choses not to date (much) and spend all her free time with her son, whom she adores all to pieces, but i digress.
(deep breath)
So, now you know, the secret is out. i’ve admitted my weakness for quality wit, charm and humor, in the form of one Steve Dude Martin. i truly feel he’s an artist of the highest caliber: author, playwright, comedian, actor, philosopher, prankster and smile maker. All good stuff.
Thanks, Dude.
(like he reads my blog. as if.)
After 4 (yes FOUR) attempts to have DirecTv do a professional (read, not slip shod, crappy, wires showing all over the place) installation, i have bailed on my previous satellite vendor and have joined forces with Dish Network. They are supposed to arrive tomorrow morning to do the installation. This will be my fifth torturous Saturday in a row (minus Christmas Eve, when i i spoke with several neighbors in my new hood and they’ve all confirmed that their installations went smoothly. i’m cautiously hopeful that after 6 weeks, i will actually have working televisions. And just in time, too, because i am about to reveal my secret celebrity crush: Steve Martin.
My man, Steve-o, is going to be hosting SNL on February 4th (with Prince, who's no slouch, but i've never had a big interest in him or his music). Yep, i’m looking forward to watching SNL, but I will probably fall asleep prior to the 11:30 p.m. pacific standard start of the monologue. Hence, the tivo will be needed. Oh, and did i mention that the Dude knows me (Steve, not Prince)? Well... kinda, not really, but sort of.
Good ol’ mckay frequents his website and when i choose to say something profound or half-wittedy regarding his Steveness, i usually make up a name for him. Calling him ‘Steve’ is too personal since i’ve never met the man or shared spit or any other such nonsense. ‘Mr. Martin’ makes him sound like a high school science teacher, so that’s just too boring and formal. Anyways, on the website message board (i know, i’m pitiful) i’ve been known to refer to him as ‘Dude’, just because it’s goofy enough to not be taken seriously.
Anyways, his faithful followers were begging for a new message from the Stevester, as he hadn’t posted one in quite a while. i egged people into a contest to see who could guess the date of the Dude’s next message. Wellllll, a message didn’t come. Wasn’t posted. Nothing. Nope. Nada. We all went without. Until…
He was on the David Letterman show one evening, and guess what? He gave everyone a message: it was perfectly goofy and weird and as the gospel singers (yep, you read that right) sang of Steverino’s latest doings, they sang the lyric, “The Dude’s still playing his banjo”, which surprised me all to heck that he worked 'Dude' into the lyrics, and to be truthful, it gave me little warm fan fuzzies. or maybe it was a coinkidinky and i need to get out in the real world more, which i know i do, but such is the life of a divorced mom who choses not to date (much) and spend all her free time with her son, whom she adores all to pieces, but i digress.
(deep breath)
So, now you know, the secret is out. i’ve admitted my weakness for quality wit, charm and humor, in the form of one Steve Dude Martin. i truly feel he’s an artist of the highest caliber: author, playwright, comedian, actor, philosopher, prankster and smile maker. All good stuff.
Thanks, Dude.
(like he reads my blog. as if.)
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
what the???
A comment on a blog read, "I am an investor in an adoption company that matches lesbian couples with Russian babies.... I feel like I’m doing my part in helping lesbians form a normal family unit."
a normal family unit? the little Russian babe grows up watching mommy A and mommy B smooch?
The dictionary says: Normal
noun. 1. Something normal; the standard:
adjective 1. Conforming with, adhering to, or constituting a norm, standard, pattern, level, or type; typical: normal room temperature; one's normal weight; normal diplomatic relations.
how is a mommy + mommy + baby = normal family unit??? In who's world is that normal? Not mine. Do I want to stop lesbians from adopting? Nope, but don't call it normal. It was ‘Ozzie and Harriet’...not ‘Harriet and Mable’. Has our world changed so much that people are losing a sense of what's right and wrong; what’s a normal family unit vs. ….alternative life choices? Just because someone wants it, does not make it normal.
Please don’t think I’m being a lesbian basher. I’m not. My family unit isn’t normal either. I’m divorced. Twice. My daughter lives in a different state and my young son is getting ready to do the every-other-weekend-with-the-dad thing. That’s not normal. Wanna see what’s normal? Check out Jamie Dawn’s blog. Check out Beck. They're normal. Normal and maybe a bit weird, but still normal American families.
Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go watch Will and Grace. Gay sitcom humor: Now that’s normal. Sheesh.
What I'd much rather watch is Pleasantville, one of my favorite movies and a great example about understanding that what "was" and what "has always been" changes. Change is normal. Perhaps change is the only thing that's constant and normal...
a normal family unit? the little Russian babe grows up watching mommy A and mommy B smooch?
The dictionary says: Normal
noun. 1. Something normal; the standard:
adjective 1. Conforming with, adhering to, or constituting a norm, standard, pattern, level, or type; typical: normal room temperature; one's normal weight; normal diplomatic relations.
how is a mommy + mommy + baby = normal family unit??? In who's world is that normal? Not mine. Do I want to stop lesbians from adopting? Nope, but don't call it normal. It was ‘Ozzie and Harriet’...not ‘Harriet and Mable’. Has our world changed so much that people are losing a sense of what's right and wrong; what’s a normal family unit vs. ….alternative life choices? Just because someone wants it, does not make it normal.
Please don’t think I’m being a lesbian basher. I’m not. My family unit isn’t normal either. I’m divorced. Twice. My daughter lives in a different state and my young son is getting ready to do the every-other-weekend-with-the-dad thing. That’s not normal. Wanna see what’s normal? Check out Jamie Dawn’s blog. Check out Beck. They're normal. Normal and maybe a bit weird, but still normal American families.
Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go watch Will and Grace. Gay sitcom humor: Now that’s normal. Sheesh.
What I'd much rather watch is Pleasantville, one of my favorite movies and a great example about understanding that what "was" and what "has always been" changes. Change is normal. Perhaps change is the only thing that's constant and normal...
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Did you see this one today??
here's the funniest article i read on the net today: what a hoot, ...er, squawk!
Quick, stuff that dumb bird's mouth with crackers!
A blabbermouth parrot named Ziggy squawked "I love you, Gary" — spilling the beans to his owner on his girlfriend's affair, according to the BBC.
According to reports in the British media, Suzy Collins had been shacking up with a former co-worker, "Gary," for about four months in the Leeds flat she shared with boyfriend Chris Taylor.
After Ziggy chirped "Hiya Gary" one time when Collins answered her cell phone, Taylor reportedly staring suspecting something was up.
Whenever the TV sounded out the name Gary, the blabbermouth bird apparently made little "smoochy" sounds.
The 30-year-old computer programmer confronted Collins, whom he'd lived with for a year, and she confessed to the affair under pressure and moved out, according to several different newspaper reports.
Sadly, after the 8-year-old African Grey parrot kept on calling out Gary's name — along with different embarrassing phrases in Collins' lilting 25-year-old voice — Taylor was forced to get rid of the stool pigeon.
"I wasn't sorry to see the back of Suzy after what she did, but it really broke my heart to let Ziggy go," Taylor told the BBC.
"I love him to bits and I really miss having him around, but it was torture hearing him repeat that name over and over again," he said.
Collins said she's embarrassed by the bird-brained revelations, but the relationship was already troubled.
"I'm not proud of what I did but I'm sure Chris would be the first to admit we were having problems," she told the BBC.
Named after rocker David Bowie's alter ego Ziggy Stardust, Ziggy now has a new home after being relocated by a nearby parrot dealer.
Quick, stuff that dumb bird's mouth with crackers!
A blabbermouth parrot named Ziggy squawked "I love you, Gary" — spilling the beans to his owner on his girlfriend's affair, according to the BBC.
According to reports in the British media, Suzy Collins had been shacking up with a former co-worker, "Gary," for about four months in the Leeds flat she shared with boyfriend Chris Taylor.
After Ziggy chirped "Hiya Gary" one time when Collins answered her cell phone, Taylor reportedly staring suspecting something was up.
Whenever the TV sounded out the name Gary, the blabbermouth bird apparently made little "smoochy" sounds.
The 30-year-old computer programmer confronted Collins, whom he'd lived with for a year, and she confessed to the affair under pressure and moved out, according to several different newspaper reports.
Sadly, after the 8-year-old African Grey parrot kept on calling out Gary's name — along with different embarrassing phrases in Collins' lilting 25-year-old voice — Taylor was forced to get rid of the stool pigeon.
"I wasn't sorry to see the back of Suzy after what she did, but it really broke my heart to let Ziggy go," Taylor told the BBC.
"I love him to bits and I really miss having him around, but it was torture hearing him repeat that name over and over again," he said.
Collins said she's embarrassed by the bird-brained revelations, but the relationship was already troubled.
"I'm not proud of what I did but I'm sure Chris would be the first to admit we were having problems," she told the BBC.
Named after rocker David Bowie's alter ego Ziggy Stardust, Ziggy now has a new home after being relocated by a nearby parrot dealer.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Rainstorms and Apron Strings
Last night I had my first nightmare in months. My ex somehow got inside my home and was taking my son. The dream kept repeating. The home wasn’t mine. My subconscious had warped my home and made up some strange indoor/outdoor maze of a building that was supposed to be my house. It was raining. The house leaked. Vulnerable. Unprotected. He wasn’t supposed to be in my home. He had no key. There was a restraining order being ignored. He was taking my son…
* * *
This weekend will be the first time my son spends the weekend at his dad’s house. Three years of courts and lawyers, psychologists and social workers. Almost $80 grand in fees to protect my son and this weekend my son is going to his dad’s home and will probably wake in the middle of the night and climb into his dad’s bed with his new wife.
It gives me nightmares and my son is okay with the upcoming ‘sleepover’, “I like my dad. My dad’s the best dad in the whole world. And you’re the best mom in the whole world.” I smile and agree, “And you’re the best son in the whole world.” I play it cool. I don’t make waves. I keep my fears to myself.
I’ve been praying for his dad for three years; longer, if you count the times of prayer during our dating and marriage. I’m betting on that his dad has changed and all is well. A little apron string is being cut this week and it hurts.
* * *
This weekend will be the first time my son spends the weekend at his dad’s house. Three years of courts and lawyers, psychologists and social workers. Almost $80 grand in fees to protect my son and this weekend my son is going to his dad’s home and will probably wake in the middle of the night and climb into his dad’s bed with his new wife.
It gives me nightmares and my son is okay with the upcoming ‘sleepover’, “I like my dad. My dad’s the best dad in the whole world. And you’re the best mom in the whole world.” I smile and agree, “And you’re the best son in the whole world.” I play it cool. I don’t make waves. I keep my fears to myself.
I’ve been praying for his dad for three years; longer, if you count the times of prayer during our dating and marriage. I’m betting on that his dad has changed and all is well. A little apron string is being cut this week and it hurts.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
My Life as a Battery
My life is positively and negatively charged. Sometimes I’m full of energy and other times I’m all out of juice. I knew moving during the holidays would be a challenge; one I could handle. We’ve all made the move, and although it was difficult on several levels for all concerned, we’ve all adjusted. After one month has passed, my three year old’s nightmares have subsided and the dogs have stopped their frantic barking at all hours (the bark activated ultrasonic dog-hating sound box I bought yesterday may have helped a bit)…the cat just seems to be irritated and is eating more.
I was fortunate enough to ‘unofficially’ be given a set of keys to my new home several days prior to close of escrow by the sellers (they were a kind, young couple who had some very questionable decorating tastes. I’m looking forward to pulling down all the cutesy country wallpaper in the dining room). On December 9th I bought a Christmas tree and set it up in the little living room, knowing that once I was in move-mode I wouldn't have time to go do the Christmas tree thing. On December 10th, the movers showed up three hours late with a truck that was way too small. After two round trips, the furniture was finally unloaded at 2:30 a.m. All that was left to do was go back to my old house in the morning, do a final clean up and vacuum, put the dogs in the back of my SUV and get back to the new home in time to shower, dress and head out to my company’s holiday party that I was chairing, oh, and swing by a gift shop to pick up some last minute raffle prizes for the party.
By Sunday evening I was going on three days of no sleep and the dogs were going berserk. I called my former dog trainer and shipped the pooches off to doggy boot camp for a week to learn some manners, give my family a chance to sleep and my new neighbors a chance to not hate my guts.
I bought a pottery barn kitchen table at a local consignment shop, spent a chunk of change on planters to cheer up the patio, and with a generous gift card from my realtor I bought the coolest brushed chrome trash can I’ve ever seen.
I’m still surrounded by boxes, but the Christmas stuff is now packed away, which makes for a great improvement in the clutter department. My male dog peed on the Christmas presents and the cat coughed up a nice hair ball in the laundry.
Whenever we hear the train pass by I get excited and tell my son, “There’s our train saying hello to us!” I think I have us both fooled that living close to the train track is a cool thing.
My son helped me replace the football and baseball cabinet knobs with cut glass and brass knobs. He loved the “diamonds” so much I bought one extra for him and he thinks it’s marvelous to own such a thing. I thanked him for his help making our new home nicer and he's thrilled to be on the home improvement team. Lord help me when it comes time to paint!
I’m still without satellite tv or internet service, and I really don’t miss them a bit, but I hear once I get Tivo I’ll never want to live without it.
We say our prayers every night and I thank God for our little cottage, the tiny commute and more time with my son. That’s what the move was all about. It puts everything in perspective to be able to have a sound roof over our heads, a nice meal on the table and extra time for playing chutes and ladders in front of the fireplace at night.
I don’t miss the 90 minute commute or the huge quantities of gas I used to buy. When I start to miss the big house and the panoramic view, I turn and look at my son’s smile and all is well. Then the dog chases the cat up the stairs and life goes on.
Batteries somehow charged and smile shining bright.
I was fortunate enough to ‘unofficially’ be given a set of keys to my new home several days prior to close of escrow by the sellers (they were a kind, young couple who had some very questionable decorating tastes. I’m looking forward to pulling down all the cutesy country wallpaper in the dining room). On December 9th I bought a Christmas tree and set it up in the little living room, knowing that once I was in move-mode I wouldn't have time to go do the Christmas tree thing. On December 10th, the movers showed up three hours late with a truck that was way too small. After two round trips, the furniture was finally unloaded at 2:30 a.m. All that was left to do was go back to my old house in the morning, do a final clean up and vacuum, put the dogs in the back of my SUV and get back to the new home in time to shower, dress and head out to my company’s holiday party that I was chairing, oh, and swing by a gift shop to pick up some last minute raffle prizes for the party.
By Sunday evening I was going on three days of no sleep and the dogs were going berserk. I called my former dog trainer and shipped the pooches off to doggy boot camp for a week to learn some manners, give my family a chance to sleep and my new neighbors a chance to not hate my guts.
I bought a pottery barn kitchen table at a local consignment shop, spent a chunk of change on planters to cheer up the patio, and with a generous gift card from my realtor I bought the coolest brushed chrome trash can I’ve ever seen.
I’m still surrounded by boxes, but the Christmas stuff is now packed away, which makes for a great improvement in the clutter department. My male dog peed on the Christmas presents and the cat coughed up a nice hair ball in the laundry.
Whenever we hear the train pass by I get excited and tell my son, “There’s our train saying hello to us!” I think I have us both fooled that living close to the train track is a cool thing.
My son helped me replace the football and baseball cabinet knobs with cut glass and brass knobs. He loved the “diamonds” so much I bought one extra for him and he thinks it’s marvelous to own such a thing. I thanked him for his help making our new home nicer and he's thrilled to be on the home improvement team. Lord help me when it comes time to paint!
I’m still without satellite tv or internet service, and I really don’t miss them a bit, but I hear once I get Tivo I’ll never want to live without it.
We say our prayers every night and I thank God for our little cottage, the tiny commute and more time with my son. That’s what the move was all about. It puts everything in perspective to be able to have a sound roof over our heads, a nice meal on the table and extra time for playing chutes and ladders in front of the fireplace at night.
I don’t miss the 90 minute commute or the huge quantities of gas I used to buy. When I start to miss the big house and the panoramic view, I turn and look at my son’s smile and all is well. Then the dog chases the cat up the stairs and life goes on.
Batteries somehow charged and smile shining bright.
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