Roomie Wanted

So, I’m minding my own business, reading someone else’s blog (I think it was a writers’ agent blog, whose name escapes me just now) when I came across something so funny. Apparently, she thought it was funny too because she had numerous posts on the subject. And what, pray tell, is that subject? Why Craigslist.com’s housing ads for roomies.

I know that in itself doesn’t seem very humorous. Stick with me. The blogger posted a roommate wanted ad from two women who were offering a room “free” of rent, to any physically fit male who would clean house, in the buff, as well as provide, ahem, other services.

Honest!

After laughing myself silly I decided to check my area’s roommates wanted on Craigslist. Below is what I found. Be warned, there are wild things that follow:

I did not correct, clean up, or use a red marker on these ads. They are the original posts in all their glory

The first post I came across struck me, not for it oddity, but for the poor grammar and spelling. See for yourself:

2 women living in a three bedroom 3.5 bathroom looking for third women room mate. we live in a three level townhouse and the bedroom in on the bottom floor with your own bathroom. I myself is in college attending XXX state and the other room mate works full time. we are looking for another female room mate who is dependaple, clean and no drama. we are looking for the room mate to move in may so all you would have to pay is 1st month rent of 350. Untiles are shared amongst all of us and are not more then 65 a month. this is a really good deal so if you have any more question feel free to email me with the information.

I’m glad the person who posted this is attending XXX State, perhaps she’ll take high school English and learn how to spell and use correct punctuation.

This next post is for all you ladies out there. I’m certain none of you could turn down this slick dude:

Free rent for a good looking female,18+ nice upper scale house. I'm a young (39)single male,Handsome . Very clean and honest, all you have to do is take care of the house and me. No rent and a good chance for an awsome relationship. No Drugs or Drama.

Awww, he’s young (snicker) and handsome (note he capitalized handsome), and all you have to do is take care of the house and him. A girl would have to possess a great deal of DRAMA, not to mention a serious dope habit, to move in with this Prince Charming!

As for these next folks, all I can say is I think we lived next door to them a few years back.

Two cool, but not too cool for school people looking for a third to join a household. We dance, drink, smoke cigarettes (outside only), laugh, cook, garden, listen to loud music, etc, BUT this is NOT a party house.

Honest, this is not a party house.

They’re cool, they drink, they dance, they smoke and listen to loud music…but it’s not a party house. Yeah. Right. If any one is interested I have some lovely, CHEAP, beach front property in Arizona. Just respond to this ad, snort.

And last but certainly not least rental ad number four:

LOOKING for: a good vibes sista, ya!! basically it's two guys on the main floor and two girls upstairs (this is where you come in). and a guy (who owns the house) lives in the basement, but he's in brazil right now. so it's 5 or 6 people, but it's not crowded and the rooms are private enough for your own tiny universe. the room available is beautiful and sunny. the upstairs you will be sharing is really sweet space, so it would be cool to have two people up there who have similar energy--just sort of be on the same wavelength so it feels good. ideally, this means someone who is fun to be around, positive, laid back, has some sense of sacred space, light-hearted, good sense of humor, respectful, herb friendly but not obsessed--you know just all around good vibes! someone who has their own groove and also wants to build community with the others would like it here.

Yo, sisata! It ain’t crowded and we is all laid back and herb friendly. We is lookin’ to build a community with good vibes.

So, there you go. The world is a weird, weird place. I have to admit that I looked very lovingly at the cows this evening. The crab grass looked like heaven and that fence that needs repairing, well, gosh, I nearly wept at the sight. Ah, home, sweet, home!

But I do have a room for rent…

Woot!!!

Ring

Ring

“Hello?”

“Hi Annie, this is _________ from Curves. How are you?”

“I’m doing well, thanks. You?”

“I’m great. I wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed talking with you during the interview on Monday. I’d like to extend an invitation to you to join our team.”

That’s right folks; I got the job at Curves. I am sooooo excited.

For me, working as a circuit coach at Curves is such an awesome opportunity.

One of the best parts of owning my own business was working the conventions and talking to other moms. I loved encouraging them. Working at Curves will give me a new way to connect to other women. It’s an opportunity to see others improve themselves and I just love that.

I’m excited about the prospect of working out at a real gym. You see, there’s a little seed in my brain that’s been germinating. I want to run a 10K. I know what you’re thinking, “What about your hip?” Well, I’m hoping the doctor will address that issue on Monday. My plan is to deal with the hip issue, then to start training for a 5K. After I complete that and actually run it, then I want to tackle the 10K. Then who knows? Maybe a marathon!

For those of you who don’t know me, these are truly amazing ambitions. I’ve never been much of an athlete but this desire in me is growing. I want this. I want it because I’m forty. I want it because I never thought I could do it, but now I think maybe I can. I’ve lost 18 lbs so far (woot!) and the more I lose the more certain I am that I can accomplish anything!

Of course, bringing home a paycheck is nice too. Encouraging others, working towards a goal, and earning a wee bit o’ the green. It doesn’t get much better than that.

The only thing I’m worried about is the training. My old brain doesn’t work as well as it use to. I know there will be classes, tests, and homework. Yikes.

But I’m not letting that get me down.

I got the job!

Counting Down

My interview is in an hour and a half. I made the mistake of drinking coffee. Sounded good, but really, not so much.

Apparently I've developed a new super-power. My secret identity has only been known by the fam and a few trusted friends, but it was leaked to the tabloids a few weeks ago and I have since been identified as She Who Cleans When Angry.

I wasn't born with this power, it simply evolved over the course of married life. The family knew that when I started rearranging cupboards, slamming pots and pans, or scrubbing the floor by hand, they'd better stay out of my x-ray eyes sights (mainly because they'd be put to work too). Nothing makes a floor sparkle like anger.

There's been a sudden shift in my powers recently. It may have been that spider bite or the time I was trapped inside a nuclear facility with just my oven mitts and a latte, but things have changed.

I not only clean when I'm angry. I now clean & organize when I'm stressed.

Take today, as an example: Using super speed I went to the track, the post office, the bank, and headed home. Flexing my incredible muscles I cleaned my bedroom (including vacuuming under the bed), gathered things for Goodwill, swept the floors, did the laundry, and then ran to town. I dropped off the donations, stopped at the store, flew into the farm store for fresh local veggies, returned home and cleaned the kitchen.

The only trouble is these super hero tights are really ugly and don't even get me started on the cape.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a job interview to conquer.

Up, up and away!

UPDATE:

I did the presto chango in the phone booth and emerged in a lovely Hawaiian print dress (black with a tan and green pattern). My toe nails were a bold red and my hair…well you know, its super girl hair, so thus it rocks. I was five minutes early for my interview. Perfect.

The interview itself went really well, if I do say so myself. I’m glad it’s over and now I’ll wait for the yea or nay, but at least the hard part is over.

Sick, Sick, Sick

I am sick.

Not sick in a twisted way, just sick.

Not in a stomach flu kinda way. Just nervous sick.

I have a job interview tomorrow. While I’ve done a bit of this and that for the last few years, I haven’t had to interview for a job in…well, in a long time. I’m scared silly. Isn’t that stupid?

This isn’t your run of the mill job either. It’s something I’ve never done before, but I know I’ll be good at it. I know I can do it, if I can just get passed the interview.

I’m going to throw up. Seriously.

Mama Mia: Was this film Bad!

Last night Writer Girl and BFF Teri (click here to read what she thought) invited me to go see Mama Mia. The reviews of this flick told me it was horrible, but horrid in a kinda sweet way.

The story (which apparently is a WELL KNOWN Broadway play that first opened in London in 1999 and hasn’t stopped running since – who knew?) is about Sophia who longs to know who her father is. She’s been raised on a beautiful Greek island by her ex-singer and hippy mother. When Sophia finds Donna’s (Meryl Streep)diary she discovers that one of three men may be her father. Since she’s getting married, she sends each prospective father an invitation…from her mother. The men arrive, mayhem abounds with lots of singing and dancing.

One review said:

“Yet let's give "Mamma Mia!" credit: It's bad in so many ways, yet you can't say that these ladies lack spunk. Their what-the-hell moxie lights up the first girl-power musical to target girls over 50. (And just wait until Pierce Brosnan warbles "S.O.S." You'll laugh. And then you'll be charmed.)”

http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/07/18/ew.review.mammamia/index.html

Frankly, I wasn’t charmed. I thought it was stupid. Stupid on so many fronts that I don’t think I have enough space on this blog to go into it. I admit, I laughed. There were a few scenes that made me laugh out loud, along with the other women sitting around us. The ABBA sound track reminded me that I use to like some of that music. I mean really, who didn’t dance around their bedroom to Dancing Queen?

However, I have been damaged beyond repair. Really.



Pierce Brosnan cannot in any way, shape, or form sing (and yes Teri I get it that he was soooo bad that they made that a part of his character).



Colin Firth (sweet, shy, wonderful Mr. Darcy!!!!) turns out to be gay.

I may never recover...



Watching Meryl Streep, Julie Waters and Christine Baranski act like complete idiots made me want to throw my popcorn at the screen., except I didn’t have any popcorn.

The best thing about last night was spending time with MY bff and laughing. That is always a good thing.

Frankly Scarlett...

I just finished reading Mrs. Perfect by Jane Porter. It’s the sequel to her book, Odd Mom Out. I love Jane Porter’s writing. I love how she captures a woman’s insecurities and desires. Reading her work causes me to think about my life and why I do what I do. I’m not alone. I’ve noted this same reaction in my friends too.

A couple days ago I posted about a comment that was made to me at the BBQ. I shared how I couldn’t shake the words out of my head; that they felt like a festering wound. I shared what was said with two friends, just to get their reaction, because that’s what I do. I wanted to see if the air rushing from my lungs would be their reaction. And. It. Was.

They both gasped, just like I did.

But now, after I finished this book, I’m starting to look at it in a different light. Even though the comment was made in jest and even if the one who spouted such a hurtful sentence meant it, it can only hurt me if I let it. That’s right. I have the power to accept or deny a slam.

And so do you.

We women give too much power to other people. We allow our self worth to be molded by what others say or do. Why? Why do we do that? We allow our mothers, sisters, neighbors, bosses to set the standard for how we feel about ourselves. It boggles the mind. It really, really does.

So let me set the record straight, right here, and right now.

The only who is allowed to judge me is God. That’s it. Not my mother, not my neighbor, not my friends, not my enemies. No one has the right to steal another persons worth. From here on out I am really going to try to not let the ideals or thoughts of others steal my fire. Not another single soul.

The only way to make it stop is to stop listening to the smack. Put your fingers in your ears and sing, but don’t listen. Ignore the jive, the dig, and the half sugar coated remark. Just let it go.

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent - Eleanor Roosevelt

Mid-Life Crisis?

Forty, its middle age, isn’t it? That’s what I’ve been told anyway. The funny thing is I don’t feel middle age. I feel, well, if I may be so bold, I feel young or at least youngish.

I’ve never been bothered by gray hair. Those started appearing at the ripe ole age of twenty-two. My father, much like the father in the movie My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding, sighs and says things like,

“Whatever happened to that nice red color you use to dye your hair? That looked nice.”

On the other side of the monkey bars, I mean family tree, I have a sister-in-law (and her brood) who love to tease me about my gray. They always comment on it and tell me I should dye it. It’s even been suggested that I look, “old” with my streaks of gray.

Then there’s a certain friend and her family who, when we seem them, never fails to point out my graying head. Sigh.

Then there are the wrinkles. Those pesky, tell-tale lines that first appeared on my forehead and now are beginning to deepen around my eyes, they don’t bother me a bit. Thankfully, I’m not a smoker so I don’t have smoker lines around my mouth. I think, for the most part, that I’m aging fairly well. Even better, really, since I’ve started taking better care of myself.

But those words middle age mock me. I despise them. I’m not afraid of death. Well, I’m not afraid to die, I am rather afraid to suffer, however. For the Christian, death is nothing more than the next step into eternity. Yet, the word middle reminds me that there may come a time when I’ll be at the end, which translates (hopefully) OLD.

Am I having a mid-life crisis?

Goal Met...Bout Time!

It happened. Finally. For twelve weeks I have waited, watching anxiously, only to be disappointed time and again. Finally, it happened. I reached my first weight loss goal: 16 lbs gone!

My actual goal was 15 lbs, but a bonus pound isn’t something you just toss aside. No way Jose!

When the Singer phoned today, I answered and she asked to speak to me (obviously not realizing I had answered the phone).
I said, “This is me!”

She replied, “You sound so little.”

I smirked, “Its cause I’m wearing my little clothes”

I feel good in my little clothes, but I cannot wait until these are my “fat clothes”.

In other news:

We, the Boss Lady and I, have located the perfect venue for our big fund raising event in October. Stay tuned. Trust me when I say it’s going to be magical.

And have you ever tried the drink by Naked called Blue Monster? It tastes like sunshine. Honest. Miss C didn’t believe me until she tried it. Now she’s a believer too.

The fitness ball (FITNESS BALL, FITNESS BALL) is still kicking me in the lower quarters, but I was able to complete the entire upper body workout. The abs work is going to kill me though. Nuff said.

And finally, Saturday is blueberry picking day. I cannot wait. I’ve been craving them sooooo badly.

The hotel is officially closed for the season. The Dude, Biscuit Mama, and their brood bid us farewell and headed for distant mountains south. I’ve located the various items that were left in their wake; a hair brush, pillow, diapers, soda pop. The floors are clean, the counters scrubbed and only a few leftover burgers remain in the refrigerator. Yet, there is a nagging voice that lingers inside my head.

A comment was made that I can’t shake. It was said in jest, but it slapped me in the chops like a ball-peen hammer. I’m still reeling from the blow and I can’t shake off the niggling feeling that while the comment was made in good, clean fun, that there is an underlying truth to it. It’s twisting in my gut and causing me to reflect deeply.

This explains why I am baking peanut butter cookies, of which I’ve eaten two and won’t eat anymore. Honest. I bake a mean cookie. I really do. Cooking and baking, as well as writing, are my forms of therapy. My family loves it when I turn introspective because it usually means something good will happen in the near future.

I suppose I’ll have to chew on this comment for a while longer until I can dig its grave and kick it into the pit before tossing dirt over it and jumping up and down upon it to pack it FIRMLY down. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how one little sentence can slowly draw blood from the wound it carved in your back? Nasty, festering, wound.

I haven’t been to the track in two days and am feeling a strong pull from it. I want to run. I want to feel the stress of the past week slide off me while I run lap after lap. I want to feel my heart pounding and hear my Ipod blaring. To feel the cool breeze of morning gently cooling my brow as I run and while I still can’t run, I can walk. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll walk off this hurt and anger.

Anyhow, here are a few pics from the BBQ we hosted for the herd on Friday night.

Idiot Girl Bounces Again

I’ve shared about my rebellious hip and how it’s affecting my life (two Aleve every morning). Even though Patti told me to keep running, I can’t. For most of my life the fact that I didn’t run wasn’t an issue. In fact, if someone had told me last year that I wouldn’t ever run again, I would have shrugged and said, “So? What’s your point?”

But things have changed. I’ve changed. I want to run. When I walked today, walked my two little miles, I felt like running. My hip said, “Girl! Are you some kinda masochist? Cause this ain’t gonna happen!” All the while she was shakin’ her finger in my face and giving me that look. Yes, apparently my hip hails from somewhere in the projects which would explain… Well never mind. Let’s not go THERE.

Anyway, I’m not running. Want to, but shouldn’t. I don’t want to do any permanent damage. Oldness is sucky.

Instead, I went and bought some new, heavier weights and a fitness ball. (Now, remember, when you say FITNESS BALL you must say in your best MONSTER TRUCK voice.) Yes, that’s right, a fitness ball (FITNESS BALL! FITNESS BALL!). Otherwise known as a balance ball or an exercise ball. The last time I saw one of these it had a handle and my wee babies use to bounce around the house on it. That was before they learned that they could sling shot it down the hall and knock each other over…but that’s another story.



I was really excited about the fitness ball (insert echo here). As soon as The Dude and the Brood left for the coast today, I tore the box open and happily hugged my new best friend. The one who was going to whip, I mean bounce, my fanny into shape. I could just see us now; the hours of fun we’d have, the tight thighs, strong abs, and content smile that would eventually take the place of what I now call my body.

It lay there in the box. All I had to do was inflate the fitness ball (echo) and I’d be just moments away from a new body.

I tossed the instructions aside and pulled out the blue tubing, slipped the white inflater spout on the end, grabbed the ball and tried to insert it into the opening.



It didn’t fit

I tried again

Hmmm…I looked at all the parts. Hmmm…doesn’t fit….Hmmm….

“Well, Idiot Girl, you get what you pay for. If you’d just spent eight more dollars you’d have rock hard abs by now!” Mutter, mutter, mutter.

I took out the small compressor we use for the air mattress. It has three attachments, surely one would fit.

Nope

I went back to the original attachment and tried shoving it into the opening. Growling, I pinched the end of the attachment, hoping I could somehow jam it in.

No way was it going to fit

I tried using tweezers, a handy girl’s secret weapon – good for plucking and for squeezing pieces of cheap plastic into a completely different forms.

This went on for some time, maybe five – ten minutes

I’m mad. Really mad. Because now I have to try to find my receipt in the garbage can and then take this worthless piece of junk back to the store, and exchange it for a more expensive ball with a attachment that actually fits the darn thing.

GRRRRRR!

I attempted to refold the deflated ball and place it inside the box. Sure. I am the same woman who has never been able to put anything and I mean anything back into its original box, bag, or satchel. Massive eye roll.

At this point, it’s been nearly twenty minutes. I’m mad, I’m hungry, and I haven’t even worked out yet. I grabbed the instruction manual and was just getting ready to stuff it into the already bursting box when I noticed a diagram outlining the parts that were included in the fitness ball kit.

In black and white I realized just how stupid I am. That white part, the place where I’d been attempting to jam the inflater hose…yeah…it’s the plug.



Brilliant

The Monday Skinny

The Dude and brood will be here in a few hours. Miss C abandoned me to work at camp, attend play practice, hang with her buddy, and go to Bible study. I dropped her off at 7:30 this morning and won’t see her until after 9:00 tonight. Who told her she could have a life?

Master W. spread his cuteness all around, impressing and amazing a vast collection of admirers. He’s a doll, cute as a button and stubborn as a mule. Soldier Girl did what soldiers girls do. That and she was first to respond to a nasty car accident on her way home. We also learned that she may be deployed to parts hot and sandy earlier than we had anticipated. Hmm...

I also learned that I am old and falling apart. It was bound to happen, I know, I know (sadly shaking head) but I wasn’t ready. I’m NOT ready!

It’s my hip. It hates me. It hates jogging. It hates runners stretches. It’s not very fond of Pilates. Anyone have a walker they can loan me? I only want it if it has one of these:



I’ve been putting off going to the doctor. I had a goal I wanted to meet first, but now, sigh, I have to go. Will you visit me when I have hip replacement surgery?

Stinky, Corn Pone, and Saved Princess

Life: It’s a real pickle.

Take today for instance. We are waiting on our stimulus check. They said it would be here today. Actually they said it would be here before the 11th. It’s really important that the check get here tomorrow. I have to buy an airline ticket and you know those nasty things go up every day you put off buying it. Grr!

I’ve got Soldier Girl and Master W arriving sometime this evening and The Dude and Kat arriving on Monday. The house isn’t as ready as I’d like it. I’ve been rushing around doing this and that, but it’s never really clean enough. You know how it is. But what’s really bad and I do mean BAD, is that something died in our chimney.

Do you smell that?

I cannot believe some stupid animal got into the chimney NOW and departed this earth. It left its stinky, decaying carcass in MY CHIMNEY. The smell isn’t overwhelming. It’s more like a gently wafting of fragrance at odd and intermittent intervals.

Isn’t that just swell?

And don’t even get me started on the yard. I’m beginning to feel like Elly Mae Clampett. Oh for Pete’s sake. Okay, it’s more like Granny Clampett, but did you really have to point that out? Geez, some people.

Currently taking up residence in our yard is one sink, one vanity, one water storage tank, a child’s kitchen (left over from the Tiny Tyrants for Master W), a stack of wood (half covered), and a ladder.

Just makes ya hungry fer sum fried chicken and corn pone don’t it?

Shoot me. Just shoot me now.

And a special note to a secret pal –

SavedPrincess, I love you and will always, always, always love you. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, I’ll stick with you through thick and thin. I have no stone to throw. I have no right to throw it even if I had a one. You know that path you need to take. Hold my hand. I’ll walk with you.

I’ll be moseying along now. Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?

Prospective Employees Be Warned

The economy, being what it is, has been forcing me to deal with a growing dilemma: to find a job or not. It’s not that we are destitute, but we’re feeling the pinch like everyone else. It’s reminding me of when we first had babies and I quit my job. We were so broke alllll the time. I still wonder how we made it. I really do.

I’ve been looking here and there at various positions and I have to say I’m shocked at the amount of NON-disclosure that lace the want ads these days. Seriously. I found an ad that looked interesting so I fired off my resume and sure enough received a call the very next day.

When I started asking probing questions, I found that this prospective employer had left out a few major details in their ad. Details like: Must be will to travel, must be willing to work 40 hour weeks which doesn’t include drive time, must be willing to drive own car to job locations (which ranges from 15 minutes from home to over 3 hours) and my favorite: must be willing to forgo lunches on a regular basis.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I could afford to skip a few lunches. The problem is, according to the LAW employees must take a lunch break if they have worked six hours or more. How does this company get away with it? Simply put, because the employee is working on site at different schools throughout various districts, the employer allows the school to set the schedule. If the school doesn’t schedule a lunch break specifically for the employee, no lunch will be given. There was even some doubt as to whether or not the mandatory 15-minute break would given.

Just for the record, I passed on the job offer. I do have my volunteer work that may turn into a paying position but you know how these things work! And I applied to intern with a writer’s website. I’m about as qualified as my cat is, but I have a better sense of humor, so who knows!

In other news:

I’m still waiting on the BIG news. When I know, you’ll know.

The company’s comin’! The company’s comin’!

The bathroom is only missing the new light fixture for the ceiling and a mirror over the vanity. Then, we are finished. The guests will be arriving on Monday leaving this weekend to wrap it up.

I painted one wall of my kitchen/dining room area and love it. I’ll be painting another wall and the cupboards next. Sadly, they won’t be done before company comes.

I jogged 1.5 miles yesterday and walked an additional 1.5 miles. Hoorah me! And I lost another pound. One more pound to go to first goal. (Man this has taken forever!)

This weekend Master W will grace us with all his cuteness while Soldier Girl goes to drill.

Spoke to those two tiny tyrants on the phone yesterday. Sigh. Missing. Them. Lots.

Off to do something productive like clean the house!

Book Review: Wiser than Serpents

I am a book lover.

L.O.V.E.R

Every once in awhile, I receive a book that grabs my attention, refusing to let go. Sometimes the book will have a remarkable (read: make you THINK about the world around you) message as well. Wiser than Serpents is one of them. Written by Susan May Warren, Wiser is an action packed thriller-romance that will keep you turning pages long after you should have gone to sleep (take my word for it!).

The Story

Her sister had vanished, trapped in a human slavery ring. To find her, FSB agent Yanna Andrevka, arranges her own kidnapping into Taiwan’s sex-trafficking trade. And found herself with no way out.

Gripping isn’t it? With a well developed plot & strong characters, this story could truly have been snatched from the headlines of any major newspaper. I enjoyed the mystery and the bravery of Yanna. She’s a strong woman; self-assured, in control, and just a wee bit head-strong. When she finds herself trapped and face to face with the kingpin of a major crime organization, it looks like there’s no way out. Until…

Well of course there’s a good guy! Of course he’ll be in the right place at the right time. But will Yanna except his help? Will she over come her past and let Delta Force captain David Curtiss into her heart? Will David be strong enough to follow God’s leading and not follow his own desires? This is one gripping read and I know (I KNOW) you’ll enjoy it as much as me and my daughter have.

The Author



Award winning and best selling author Susan May Warren and family served eight years as missionaries in Khabarovsk, Far East Russia. She now writes full-time in northern Minnesota. Currently she has over 500,000 books in print.

The inspiration for Wiser than Serpents came from a magazine article on the global slave trade. Susan knew she must do something. She found the International Justice Mission (IJM) and discovered the inspiration for her story, as well as a worthy cause to support. 15% of the royalties from Wiser will be donated to IJM and the rescue work they do to free slaves across the globe.

For more information or to donate to IJM please visit: www.IJM.org

The Contest

Susan is giving away not just a signed copy of this book, but the entire Mission Russia series. All you need to do is visit Scribbles: Susan May Warren’s website (click here) and leave her a comment telling her which mission organizations you support and why.

The highest compliment I can give is to say that when I finished reading Wiser I handed it to my daughter. That doesn't happen very often.

Cue the Music

Today was the day. The gauntlet had been thrown down. I had no choice. Today I attempt three miles or die. Now I realize for those of you who are, shall we say physically fit, that three miles isn’t a BIG deal. It’s just three miles. Something that you could do in your sleep, but for a girl like me, three miles is large. Not huge, not monstrous, but larger than say two and half.

I was pretty darn sure I could walk three miles, but could I run it? Could I run part of three miles? Any of three miles? Would my knee rebel and lock in place? Would my hip suddenly plan a mutiny with my thigh and render me wounded and helpless? Would I lie in a pathetic, crumpled heap upon the black recycled tread of who knows how many old tires? Would there be laughter?

Drum roll please



YES! Not only could I walk three miles, but I could jog nearly half of it.

From goal post to goal post I jogged.

My hip hurt and said, “Hey, Idiot Girl! What do you think you are doing?”

I said, “Shaddup”.

My knee said, “Excuse me? Fat girl? Have you forgotten that fat girls don’t do this sort of thing? Wouldn’t you rather have a nice piece of chocolate? Slice of pizza? Starbucks frappe-dappa-mocha chino?”

I said, “Forgetaboutit”

And when I rounded that final lap (lap 12 if you’re counting) I started to smile. I could hear the Rocky theme in the background. My eyes filled with tears. I’d done it. I’d picked up the gauntlet and ran with it.

I am woman and I jog.

HEAR ME ROAR!

Let Freedom Ring

Patriotism is easy to understand in America. It means looking out for yourself by looking out for your country ~ Calvin Coolidge



I am an American. I am the daughter of an immigrant. I am a conservative. I am a Christian. I am an educated woman. I own a gun. I know how to use it. I am opinionated and more than likely you’ll know exactly where I stand.

I believe you have the right to be a liberal. I believe you have the right to worship whichever god you wish. I believe you have the right, regardless of color, creed, or religion, to an education. I believe you have the right to own or not own a firearm. You have the right to your opinion and to share it.

And I have the right to disagree with you. That's the beauty of the freedom.

I love this country and what she stands for. If you disagree, you’re free to leave it or you're free to stay and complain. That’s what freedom is all about.



Today, of all days, I thank those who have served and currently serve as a soldier in this country’s service. You are my hero and I am forever in your debit.

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY

Nothin' But Notaro

I shaved my legs

I spent more than five minutes on my hair

Make-up – check

Jewelry – check

Comfortable clothes – check

Nervous/excited attitude – check

The day had arrived. I couldn’t believe it. When I got the post card last week informing me that one of my favorite authors would be speaking and signing books at Powell’s downtown, I was beside myself with excitement. I am, after all, I card carrying member of the Idiot Girls Club, so when I learned that the original Idiot Girl herself was going to be in town, nothing was going to keep me away.

Not teen drama

Not public transportation

Not a scary walk 10 blocks (Teri said 8 blocks, she lied) through Portland in sandals. Ouchie mama.

Not the crowd of 30 to 40 Asian men who hustled me up the stairway, then paused to snap photo’s of the Notaro crowd. Go figure. It would have been hysterical if I had thought to take a picture of them taking a picture. Sigh. Idiot Girl.

Nothing, baby

And I was NOT disappointed

Laurie Notaro first blazed on the publishing scene with, The Idiot Girls Action-Adventure Club: True Tales from a Magnificent and Clumsy Life (Villard, July 2, 2002). Because of Laurie, I survived eleven months (eleven!!) with those two tiny tyrants who were determined to suck the life out of me or murder me in my sleep (either way, they were out to get me.)

Laurie made me laugh. Laugh as I have seldom laughed in my life. She’s funny, seriously, dangerously, drunkenly (in her younger days) funny. Her newest book, The Idiot Girl and the Flaming Tantrum of Death: Reflections on Revenge, Germophobia, and Laser Hair Removal (Villard June 24, 2008) promises to be just as side splitting funny.

And, she’s hysterical in person too. For nearly two hours she kept her fans rolling with laughter. She also had prizes and who doesn’t like prizes? I am tickled to share that I won a shower cap from Trump International Hotel in Chicago. Dude! It’s as close to Trump as I’m ever gonna get. I plan on leaving this golden prize to one of my children in my will. (Note to kiddies: bribery and other forms of flattery will sway me – be ingenious).

It was uber fun to meet Laurie and get my book signed, although I think I offended her when I refused to eat the chocolate Twizzler she continually waved beneath my nose.

Thanks for everything Laurie! Keep making us laugh.



Yep, Laurie was asked to sign a bra...I love my fellow Idiot Girls




Note the Twizzler in Laurie's hand. Sadly, I look like the ultimate Idiot Girl meeting my hero (gush, stammer, stare). Maybe I scared her and she was actually attempting to use the Twizzler to draw my attention elsewhere.


Click here to go to Laurie Notaro's Site

Barrie Summy invited me to join her recipe round up for the 4th. So, here ya go!

Layered Chicken Salad

4 to 5 cups shredded iceberg lettuce
1 med. cucumber, thinly sliced
1 cup fresh bean sprouts
1 can (8 oz) sliced water chestnuts, drained
1/2 cup thinly sliced green onions
1 pound fresh pea pods, halved
4 cups cubed cooked chicken
2 cups mayonnaise
1 T. sugar
2 tsp curry powder
1/2 tsp ground ginger
Cherry tomatoes and fresh parsley sprigs, optional

Place lettuce in the bottom of a 4-qt. glass salad bowl. Layer with cucumber, bean sprouts, water chestnuts, onions, pea pods and chicken. In a small bowl, combine mayonnasie, sugar, curry and ginger. Spread over top of salad. Garnish with Cherry tomatoes and parsley if desired. Cover and chill several hours or overnight. Yields 8-10 servings.

Frozen Key Lime Pie

For the crust:
1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs (10 crackers)
1/4 cup sugar
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, melted

For the filling:
6 extra large egg yolks, at room temperature
1/4 cup sugar
1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk
2 tablespoons grated lime zest
3/4 cup freshly squeezed lime juice (4 to 5 limes)

For the decoration:
1 cup (1/2 pint) cold heavy cream
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 tsp. Pure vanilla extract
Thin lime wedges

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

For the crust, combine the graham cracker crumbs, sugar, and
Butter in a bowl. Press into a 9-inch pie pan, making sure the sides and the bottom are an even thickness. Bake for 10 minutes. Allow to cool completely.

For the filling, beat the egg yolks and sugar on high speed for 5 min, until thick. With the mixer on medium speed, add the condensed milk, lime zest, and lime juice. Pour into the baked pie shell and freeze.

For the decoration, beat heavy cream on high speed until soft peaks form. Add the sugar and vanilla and beat until firm. Spoon or pipe decoratively onto the pie and decorate with lime. Freeze for several hours or overnight.

If you have concerns about raw eggs, combine the yolks with 1/2 cup of the lime juice used in the recipe in a double boiler. Whisk constantly over medium heat until the mixture reaches 140 degrees. Use in place of the raw egg yolks, remembering to add the remaining 1/4 cup of lime juice to the filling mixture along with the condensed milk and zest.

Serve Frozen

Click here to visit Barrie Summy's 4th of July Recipe Round-up

Dear Sweet Sixteen,

There are many things I would like to be: published, award winning, author tops the list. However, there are other things I’d like to be too. I’d like to taller, leaner, with upper body strength. I’d like to be less afraid of scary things, like roller coasters and the ocean. One thing I would never want to be? Sixteen. I would never, ever want to be 16 ever again! Never!

We had a little teen anxiety here yesterday and frankly, I believe that teen girls are far meaner than teen boys. With boy, things were pretty simple. He and his friends got along –or- they shoot each other with Air Soft Pellets. Simple. Effective. End of problem.

Girls are different. They say hurtful things, they cry, they vow they’ll never be friends again. Sigh. Massive eye roll. Groan.

Watching the drama unfold I couldn’t help but remember me at 16. So, I decided to write a letter to my 16-year-old self, cause it’s my blog and I can.

Dear Sweet 16,

Honey, you really need to calm down. Honestly. You take things far too seriously. I know it’s hard to believe, but things are going to turn out pretty good for you.

I wish you’d be nicer to Chris. He’s got problems, problems you don’t know about and he’s doing the best he can with what he’s got. It’s not easy to be mentally handicapped in public high school and he’s the brunt of a lot of jokes. Don’t laugh when the other do. Be the bigger person.

I’d like you to see the guy, you know, THAT guy, for what he really is. He’ll break your heart, trust me on this. I know he’s cute. I know he says and does the right things, but baby, he’s a jerk. Dump him. Dump him now. You’ll thank me later. There’s someone else who’ll come along in a few years. Someone you totally won’t be expecting. Just wait and see.

Dani is your best friend. She is. In a year, things are going to go south for her and she’s going to need you to be supportive. Be the friend you want to be. Don’t worry about what other people think. After high school all that popularity crap is just that, crap.

I know I’m tipping my hand here, but you need to know this, don’t believe every hurtful thing that one family member says. You know who you are and where you are going, it’s great, be true to yourself and your dreams. Don’t let anyone steal them away.

And one last thing, I know you wonder about God a lot. I know you want to know if He’s real, if He cares about you and what you do. I can still hear the thoughts that bumble around in your head about life and death. In a few years you are going to figure this God thing out and it‘s all going to make sense. Hang in there, you’re gonna love Jesus in a way you never thought imaginable.

I’ll see you in a few years and I don’t want to scare you but, you’re going to look more like your mom than you want to. Take care of yourself now and avoid some of the hassle later babe.

~Me