Monday, July 30, 2012

Guns and roses, hold the roses.

So, here’s how I feel about guns.  I don’t personally get the appeal of them.

I respect that they are useful for shooting and killing things/people.

To that end, they are a tool.  And I don’t get obsessed about tools.  Like, I enjoy having a screwdriver to use when I need it, but I don’t spend a lot of time talking about, thinking about, researching screwdrivers.

Look at the torque on that thing, baby! Yow!!!

I have a lot of friends and family members who enjoy guns as recreation and again, that’s their thing.  I appreciate that they enjoy it, but I don’t see the appeal.  I don’t see the appeal of playing golf either.

I’m not anti-gun, at least, not inherently.

What I am is anti-violence.  So, when people use guns to hurt other people, I have a problem.  I mean, I’m anti-war, so that makes sense (I am pro-troops, though).

I don’t think that people should have semi-automatic weapons for recreational use.  Those are for killing things/people quickly – and that’s not sport, that’s violence.

I told a friend the other day, you buy a semi-automatic, it’s because you have a tiny penis and can’t afford a sports car. I don't have empirical data, but that feels true.

So, I don’t know – I respect the constitutional right to bear arms.  I don’t want to bear my own arms, and I feel pretty sure that our forefathers basically meant for us to protect ourselves, but not get douchey about it.

That’s what I think.

Also, I think shooting the hell out of lots of people in a movie theater isn’t in keeping with the general pursuit of happiness.

I have a lot of feelings about guns, violence and stuff.

I’m still working through them.

But yeah – shooting deer, shooting targets – fine.

Shooting someone who is coming at you and threatens to hurt you…OK.

Having a gun for either of those occasions – OK, that’s your choice – I don’t want one, but that’s fine if you do.


Sunday, July 29, 2012


So, I've been under the weather for a little over a week, and yesterday, I got aggressive about getting better.  And that, combined with passage of time has me feeling a good bit more like...normal.

We're taking it easy today, as evidenced by the fact that it's 2PM, and I haven't even gotten close to de-pajamfacation for the day.  I need to make a little nosh for lunch, first. 

I did a little cleaning, I've done a ton of laundry - my next move is to put some away.

We'll eventually head to Academy Sporting Goods to look at their clearance stuff.  And maybe I'll get dinner somewhere for us.

I could actually use a nap, but seeing that I just got up for the second time today, maybe I could stay upright for a bit.

The theme of my day is lazy.



Friday, July 27, 2012


So, two weeks from now, I'll be in the Pine Tree State. Seriously!

Quite a flag, you have there, Maine.

I was talking to one of my friend/co-workers about my trip and he asked if I was going up to do work, or to chill, or some of both.

I explained that I'd made a business case to go, and that I had plenty of things planned that were work, or work-adjacent, but that my reason for going was (and brace yourself for this):

I was on a mission to spread some goodwill.

I thought he would laugh in my face, and he could have.

But he got it,  or at least, he pretended to.  I'm pretty sure he believed me though.

The thing is, I'm not Santa Claus.  I may bring a few treats for my hosts of the Goo Goo Cluster variety, but it's not like I come in largesse.

Although, given my non-compliance at Weight Watchers, I come with a little larger ass than I'd prefer.

But enough of that for a moment.

What I do have, by the boatload, is charm, energy, enthusiasm, jokes, smiles and laughter.

So I was telling my mother a few days ago that my plan was to be an ambassador.

I know, I know it sounds arrogant as hell.  Because, it is.

 But here's the thing - I had two conversations today alone that make me think I can do it.

Conversation #1:  As I was leaving for lunch, one of our recent hires introduced herself to me, and I realized after we parted that I'd never told her my name.  I found her after I came back and sheepishly apologized.  She said, "Oh, I knew who you were - the lady with the leis."

Conversation #2:  As I was coming back from lunch, I rode up with a colleague who complimented me on my work emceeing the quarterly meeting a few weeks ago.  He said they should make that my full time job - sort of permanent court jester.

I should explain that these two conversations refer to the company-wide meeting where, this quarter, I wore a grass skirt, gave leis to all the speakers and sang an impromptu serenade to our new hires.  Which I made up.  Not the tune, the lyrics.  The tune was "Here She Is, Miss America".

So, it was a good day.  Did I mention that my work husband's nickname for me is Attention Whore?  I think I've mentioned that.

Only like a bajillion times, though.

So, good people of Skowhegan, I come in peace.  I come bringing sunshine and (metaphorical) lollipops. 

I found out that while I'm there, both the Maine State Fair and the New Balance Tent Sale will be in full swing.

And my friends have been kind enough to offer their companionship and hospitality.

Maybe they're the ambassadors, and this trip is so that I can refuel my tank.

That's probably a better, truer way to look at it.


Tuesday, July 24, 2012


So, I have a little something going on.

It's a cold or sinuses or something.  But I have a cough, my lungs  and it sucks.   I went to see the doctor, she gave me an inhaler and suggested Mucinex and fluids and rest.

Which... it's fine.  But I need to get better.

I have big plans.

There's a huge Zumbafest at the YMCA on Saturday.  8-11.  The question is, how long can I last?  I like my odds, if I can clear the crud.

And then, I've been given the clearance to go to Maine - the question is whether I go before NY or after.  After feels more organic.  We'll see.

I can't wait. 

But again, if I can clear up the crud, lose the low-grade fever.  Maybe...

And with that, I have nothing more to tell you.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Sometimes, I get on a little musical kick...

One of my colleagues and I were having a discussion about...well, I don't remember entirely, but it was about a topless doughnut shop in Portland, Maine.  It doesn't exist any more.  Well, that evolved into a discussion about Americans being uncomfortable with sex but not violence.  At some point, my colleague quoted a line from the musical 1776 basically saying, "We're not all from Boston", that is - we don't aren't all so liberated.

As it happens, I've never seen 1776, but I'm compelled now to rent it.  Back during my satellite radio years, though, I got familiar with the songs, and for the rest of that day, "He Plays The Violin" was on endless loop in my brain.

Cut to a few days later, I landed in Philadelphia.  Where, of course, it is set.  And I couldn't stop thinking of the line "It's hot as hell in Phila-DEL-phia."

So I downloaded both songs, plus, "But, Mr. Adams!"

I think it's time to share:

I love this.   I love that at 41, he still has his virilty.  And he can romp through Cupid's Grove with great agility.

But life is more than sexual combustibility.

Just listen.


Thursday, July 19, 2012

Who are we boycotting now?

So, to everyone's surprise but maybe mine, Chick-Fil-A's president, Dan Cathy has spoken out about his company's stance on gay marriage.  Not only is he against it, apparently his waffle fries aren't having it either.

These fries are faaaaaabulous!

My friend Paul has been trying to get me to stop giving money to their company for awhile, and I resisted.   It sucks, because I think their politics are terrible, but their food is good, it's healthy and the kids working there are polite.  But you know, Dan Cathy is being a dick.  I was willing to overlook the closed on Sunday bullshit, this may be a little too much to overlook.

I guess it's time to kick that habit to the curb.

The CEO of Pinkberry beat up a homeless dude - so that's out as well.

I'm still going to eat at Cracker Barrel, because even my gay friends admit to needing the occasional biscuits and gravy fix from there.

Please, Sonic - for the love of all that is holy, don't make any rash political statements.  Ever.


Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Call me, maybe?

So, I've made no secret over the years that I have basic social anxiety.  Parties are terrifying to me even though I love throwing them.

I had a panic attack on the day of my wedding shower.  The day of my actual wedding, I was cool as a cucumber.  Go figure.

So, here's what's crazy.  Even though I get nervous before I have to train, I have no problem getting up in front of my company to host an all-hands meeting.

And I have no problem deciding halfway through the meeting that I'm going to make up fake words to "Here she is, Miss America" and sing it while they run the slideshow of new hires.

And so that's what I did today.

Because it's what makes me feel alive.

My friend Jim calls me "attention whore".  He's right.  Totally.

Meanwhile - I sent my colleagues in Maine some of the preserves I made in April - they were happy.  I love feeding people.  That too makes me feel alive.  One of my new teammates even sent a nice e mail to introduce herself because my friends up there "speak highly" of me.  Sweeeeet!

Tomorrow, I am taking the day off.  I need a little mental health break.  I scheduled a massage, I'm having lunch with a friend, I'm going to the radio station to tape a promo about the 2012 Jack's Day Off contest.   I may do some shopping.  I'll hit a class at the Y.  I might go sit in a coffee shop.  I just don't know.  I do know it'll be awesome.

Speaking of Awesome:

I got back last night from Atlantic City.  Two amazing things happened.

1.  I walked the boardwalk, where my colleague Greg took a photo of me with Barry Manilow's handprints:

Music and passion are always in fashion.

2.  I played a slot machine called Kitty Glitter (it took me two days to pick up on the pun) and won $100.20 -  technically, I won $95.20, having put in a $5.  Still.

It's actually more awesome than it looks.

So, yeah, kind of a great time in AC.

The point is, I have fun.  Because I hunt it down, grab it with both hands and wrestle it to the ground.  I advise you to do the same.


Sunday, July 15, 2012

Open Angry Letter

Dear Women's Clothing Retailers,

Look, I know like many women out there, I'm in a double digit size.  Not such a high number that I have to shop out of tent and awning catalogs, but definitely have to venture into a "specialty" department from time to time.

I need to ask you to take my advice.

1.  The vast majority of women, and in particular, larger women, do not need to be going sleeveless - and cap sleeves aren't any better.

2. Pockets over each breast are ridiculous.  Especially when they have flaps and buttons.  I don't need any more attention to my ample features.  Don't get me started on fake pockets over each breast.

3. You seem to think that my life has three or four clothing needs;

  •  Being very overdressed for a Joan Baez concert.  Sequin/chiffon peasant tops, glittery broom stick skirts, gauzy blouses embellished with beads.
  •  Lounging with the intent to exercise Overworked lounge pants, velour tracksuits, brightly colored polos and knit pants. 
  • Resort wear.  White capris, 3/4 sleeve blouses in hot pink, lime green or nautical/equestrian themes.
  • Club attire.  One shoulder tops in spandex meshy hoochy mama prints and cuts.

I appreciate that you think my life is more interesting than it is, but really I need about three things:

  • Work clothes.  Pants and skirts in normal cuts in brown, gray, black and navy.  Blouses to go with them.
  • Play clothes.  Fun, casual tops and jeans.
  • Special event clothes - club attire, but not too hooch.  Something that says, "I'm fun, but not a whore."

I have money.  I'd be happy to spend it.  But help me help you!


Slip slidin' away...

Every year, we go on an annual water-inspired trip with some friends - many were former co-workers of Matt's from his days in news.  One of the ringleaders joined Matt at his new company last year.  The roster changes some year over year; prior commitments, new girlfriends, late additions, plus or minus a dog or two, and so on, but there's a core group of us that have hit a river of some kind for seven years.

Yesterday was our annual trip.  We were set to canoe the Harpeth River, then do an overnight camping trip.

But the weather said, "Aw hell, no!".  Thunder and lightning aside, the rain was causing the river to rise.

And, as a side bar, the originators of this trip, Tracey and Robert, had their house destroyed (and ultimately rebuilt) when the Harpeth River, which is in their backyard, crested in the Flood of 2010.

So we were wary.  The Foggy Bottom canoe people settled it by calling off the trip.

We headed back to Tracey and Robert's house to make lemonade out of lemons.

We took three rolls of tarp, 25 feet each and attached them down the hill in their backyard.  Added sprinklers and hoses and made a slip 'n' slide.

And spent the rest of the afternoon throwing ourselves horizontally down the side of the hill.  I had grass and mud all over me.

I also laughed til I hurt.

We found a neighbor's missing dog who came to see what we were up to.  She fell in love with Matt.

If you're checking out my ample cleavage (and how can you not?) you'll see the embedded dirt and grass.

For about three hours, we had sun.  So we took our coolers and went to the neighborhood pool, where we told jokes, listened to music and got a little epidermal vitamin D.  Then another line of storms came through, and we hightailed it back to the Slip 'n' Slide for round 2

We drank beer, ate the food we'd gotten for the trip, and after the sun went down, we went inside and played Apples to Apples for a few hours.

Matt and I finally made our way home at midnight.  Sunburned, heartburn, exhausted and completely happy.

Honestly?  One of the best canoe trips we've ever had.

It's not about the paddles, the life jackets or the beer.

It's the friends that make the happy memories.


Sunday, July 8, 2012

It's all good. In the hood.

I had the best long weekend.  It wasn't long enough, but it was certainly lots of fun!

I spent time with my parents up at the cabin.  It was good to get back up there.

I saw some of my favorite friends, ate some great food, and now I'm back in Music City.

Tomorrow, Chicago.  And I have plenty on tap.  Plenty.

I should go to bed sooner rather than later, but as you know...

Sleep is for the weak.

Here's a self portrait of yours truly at the cabin.  Note how healthy and happy I look:

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Good morning, America. How are ya?

So, the 4th of July was a success.  I made this:

Heirloom cherry tomatoes marinated with homemade vinaigrette and green onions.

And this morning, I leave for Atlanta.  And in fact, I'm going to go get a shower, hit the grocery store, pack my bags and I'll check back with you Sunday.

Wish me luck.


Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Three to be you and me...

So, let's see...

I am officially on vacation until Monday morning, 8AM.  I am so excited.

Tomorrow morning, there's an Aqua Circuit class at the Y at 7AM with Julie.  She's the hardest freaking water instructor, and I am going to be there. BOOM!  Unless I accidentally sleep in, but let's face it - I wake up of my own accord every morning by 6:30, so I think we're good.

I definitely want to hit up the Farmers Market again.  If I could find another quart of blackberries, I'd snap them up in a second.  Although, I let the peaches go bad, and I can't seem to finish off the cantaloupe, so maybe I need to Ix-nay the Ackberries-Blay.  I don't know.  We'll see.  If the Amish folks are there, I'll buy flowers and take them to the party I'm going to tomorrow night.

Yep, big to-do down in Franklin - our friends are hosting and you can see the fireworks from their deck.  I'm taking potato salad.  Because I can.  And because in checking with other friends that are going, desserts appear to be under control.

I'd like to get in a matinee of Moonrise Kingdom.  Because I love Wes Anderson.  And because it's playing at our local arthouse cinema - The Belcourt - and they are awesome and deserve our patronage.

I have to pack for Atlanta.  And while I'm at it, Chicago.  No stress.  Actually tons of stress.
The Atlanta trip is causing me tsuris - the weather is going to make the annual picnic in the mountains hot, hot, hot.  And my parents are concerned about the heat and their pugs.  I get it, but that's the price you pay for having heat intolerant flat-faced trailer trash dogs.

Maggie, tolerating the heat.  Just barely.

I kid.  I call them that because they're brachycephalic - no real snouts.  Makes them likely to overheat and it's harder for them to breathe.  See also bullies and Bostons.

Anyway, Lola's not especially heat resistant.  She's thirteen though.  I think we'll be fine, and if not, we'll go back to my parents' house.

Lola.  Hot, and can't be bothered.

Aside from the annual meeting and the picnic up at the cabin, my agenda, in re: the mountains is mostly my own.  I want to be up to my neck in the coldest waterfall I can find.  And that's not a hard get.  I want to take photos.  I want to take naps.  Maybe even drink a beer.

I want to measure for a television, because I'm going to buy one for Dad.  Late father's day present.  That's how I roll, bitches.  Don't freak - it's not like we're getting him a 60" mammajamma.  We think it won't be any bigger than 32" and should run well under $300.  Which I can do, and will.

Now, on Sunday, I head home and start worrying about the Chicago trip, and that's the real concern.  It has the potential to be a Charlie Foxtrot.  Yep, it could go Tango Uniform in a heartbeat.

Rent this movie (The Last Detail) immediately, if not sooner.

Bravo Yankee, Bravo Yankee.

But you know, it's all good.  Really and truly.

I'm on vacation!


Sunday, July 1, 2012

And now for something completely different.

Last night, I had the best dream.

I was in my parents' garage, where they were keeping all these gorgeous brown tabby cats.

Like Whiskers here.

And Trixie...

And Wilford Brimley.  DIABETUS!

And Dad was with me and said, "You should hear them purr!"

Turned out, to make that happen, we had to sing to them.  We sang "Some Enchanted Evening" from South Pacific.  And so Dad and I were there in the garage, trying to out-Ezio Pinza each other.

And I woke up laughing.  Who can explain it?  Who can tell you why?  Fools give you reason, wise men never try.

Now, back to those typical airport security dreams.