History of craft

One of my longer lasting teenage jobs was as an associate at Jo-Ann Fabrics and Crafts. When I started, it was a storefront in the local mall, with little floorspace and jammed with messy fabric bolts - within a month, however, we moved to a huge new space in an older strip mall just a few miles away. I remember how interesting it was to see a retail operation go through such a big project. I also remember inventorying millions and millions of embroidery floss skeins. OK, maybe it was a few hundred...nah, it was millions, for sure.

Not sure if it was my surroundings, or my slight artsy streak (or most likely a combination of the two), but I took a stab at a variety of craft projects during those years. Sewing (yea, I made scrunchies), decorative country wreaths & brooms, little straw hat magnets (which my mom sold at work! They really were cute--for 1992), plastic canvas (shudder), fabric painting, beading, knitting, and a lot of acrylic-stroke-flowers-on-wood-thingies like wee foot stools and miniature useless pine shelves. I could wield a glue gun and tell you what projects would be best suited to a cool setting.

I worked there through my freshman year of college. Since then, I've 'crafted' socially, meaning I've attended friends' craft-nights, and I've pulled off a few minor solo projects, but my desire to do anything on a regular basis has been dead for some time. I've had a a bunch of brilliant ideas, all followed by pitiful starts and quick disinterest. I'd been so blah about craft-based projects that I got rid of most of my craft tools at the yard sale, including dozens of acrylics, paint brushes, one of my glue guns, gesso, spray adhesive, and so on.

A few months ago, I picked up one of those old window panes at the local junk peddler. I thought maybe it could be a project to create for our new bedroom in our new house...I planned to add a different fabric to each of the window panes, but I wasn't quite sure how I'd do it. There are several different techniques on-line, and fearing that I'd frustrate quickly from over-direction, I just winged it.

I sanded off the worst paint chips (but left a little crackle and peel for effect) and repainted the frame olive green. Then I added 3 coordinating black and white fabrics (one being toile)using a bead of glue right around the edges. Easy peasy. I think it turned out well:



My friend Angie is very crafty, and she had a similar project a while back. I thought it was really cute, and it was inspiration.

Of course after I finished, I had some leftover fabric...and I had some Mod Podge. I'd read about Mod Podge, but never tried it. So I decided to see what I could make to coordinate with me new project. I found three random items: an old round box that was collecting dust in a dresser, my brother's 8th grade pottery project, which I'm sure he'd be shocked to know I still have...it's really not that strange--I was keeping sewing notions in it, and finally a cardboard case (good for holding stationery). Here they are before my Mod Podge attack:



After about 45 minutes, I had the first two objects covered. It was incredibly and strangely satisfying. When I realized the hardware on the stationery case was not easily removable, I decided the roses already on it were just fine...



Now I have 2 coordinating trinket boxes to go with my frame. I should have photographed them together for you. I think I'm all crafted out for about another year, with the exception of possibly carving a pumpkin.

The rest of the day was incredibly productive...I'm about to post again in just a bit, and I'll fill you in.

Misplaced criticism shows what a sexist idiot your are

Tiger Woods. Mega-celeb-silver-spoon-athlete-commercial-endorsement-filthy-rich-mogul-with-sex-drive-addiction-issues. Cheats on wife, rather flamboyantly. Divorce. Huge settlement. Totally predictable course of events, and I don't really care.

Ah, but then we have Facebook.

So here's what happened. A friend posts fairly neutral, "Tiger pays $750 million in divorce settlement...wow."

Comments start flying in.

Content of comments get my attention. Suggesting she should be killed? Really?
If anyone really thinks that there are not still deep, patriarchal, dominant-culture, oppressive attitudes that keep women (and countless other groups) down in this country, I have more evidence to the contrary (not that there isn't tons and tons documented out there) and these attitudes aren't coming from some of the usual suspects...they are coming from people I went to high school with - a young, sub/urban hip and supposedly enlightened group of Gen Xers - diverse in gender, ethnicity, color, and class.

Holy crap we are screwed. Here's a few:

From a woman: That's why they say "its cheaper to keep her"!!
From a man: You know all your lady friends on facebook are gonna like this lol

From a man: QUITE SURE HE COULD GET HER "ORENTHAL JAMES-ED" FOR ABOUT $75OO FROM SOMEONE IN THE SOUTH BRONX...

Same guy: ...THAT BROAD AIN'T DID SHIT TO BE PUTTIN HER LIPS TOGETHER TO ASK FOR NO F****N $750 MIL!!! GET D FUCKATTA HERE!!!!!!!!!! SHE USED TO BE A NANNY DOG, C'MON SON!!!!

From a woman: ...she should not be allowed to get nearly as much as she is, he got where he is because of him, she didnt help him get that money, poor guy. i understand he cheated but thats insane to have to give her all that money, stingy bitch. lol


Instead of people reacting to this disturbing sum, like, "wow that dude is rich" because he is able to pay this enormous amount as part of a settlement with little trouble, people jump on the chance to ridicule, blame, and judge the female player in all this.
This is sexism at some of its simplest, and some of it is disturbingly pro-violence and victim-blaming. against women (the one guy alludes, tactlessly, to an OJ-scenario!)

Back to the female player - the wife. That he had children with. That entered into a 'deal' with him. He messed up the deal really badly and pretty much made a fool of himself, not to mention the risks he put his wife at with his wandering wang. He pays. Simple. Why should anyone care where she came from, what she did.

It's gross to imagine this scenario with the gender reversed. If Tiger were female, and she, as a top-grossing famous athlete that cheated on her hubby, agreed to pay out to her ex-husband, in a highly publicized scandalous divorce settlement, people would be happy for the husband and call her the bitch, and say it's just, that he deserves every penny.

So why, then, isn't Tiger getting this response? Because he's got a penis. And his behavior is expected and excused, because 'it's what men do'. And even when women are the victims of men's stupid behavior, they get to be called bitches, stingy, and basically worthless.

Awesome.

Awful words

A partial list of words that I hate. I either don't like seeing them, saying them, hearing them, or a combination thereof:

Tunic

Misanthrope

Queue

Bungle

Affidavit

Juicy

Maggot

Sporadic

Dungarees and slacks

Banal

Beefy

Fluid ounce. On their own, they're both ok. It's the combination.

Wistful

Mongrel

Jiffy


I can probably think of more, but this is a good start. What words do you hate?

If I were

I'm copying this from the notorios A-L-G.

If I were a month...I'd be July
If I were a day of the week...I'd be Thursday.
If I were a time of day...I'd be noon.
If I were a planet... I'd be Mars?
If I were a sea creature...I'd be a mermaid. Hey, this whole exercise is fantasy.
If I were a direction...I'd be unclear.
If I were a piece of furniture...I'd be an armoire.
If I were a liquid...I'd be COFFEE!
If I were a gemstone...I'd be topaz. Cause I like that word. Topaz...
If I were a tree...I'd be a weeping willow.
If I were a tool...I'd be a power drill.
If I were a flower...I'd be a wild one.
If I were a kind of weather...I'd be balmy and 67.
If I were a musical instrument...I'd be a Fender Stratocaster.
If I were a color...I'd be blue.
If I were an emotion...I'd be all of them at once.
If I were a fruit...I'd be a mango.
If I were a sound...I'd be the THX thing.
If I were an element...I'd be Polonium. I just like the sound of it.
If I were a car...I'd be a sweet euro-styled sedan.
If I were a food...I'd be some kind of cheese.
If I were a place...I'd be a well taken care of flower garden.
If I were a material...I'd be cotton.
If I were a taste...I'd be buttery.
If I were a scent...I'd be the beach in the morning.
If I were an object...I'd be a valuable painting hanging in a famous museum.
If I were a body part...I'd be a penis. That would be the life.
If I were a facial expression...I'd be love.
If I were a song...I'd be "Here Comes the Sun".
If I were a pair of shoes...I'd be classic Manolo Blahnik pumps.


What would you be?

Buttercup and baseball

I need to finish the Before and After tour, but I'm bored with it at the moment. Distraction:

Powerpuff Girls. That's right. It was this little 90s thing I'd almost forgotten until I came across it on Boomerang. It was totally stylized and fun, and I was all about Buttercup - clearly because she was brunette. And as evidenced in this picture, the crankiest and probably most cynical. These days I have to point out the total lack of diversity, and the fact that they're created and owned by a stiff white male Professor (and seriously - why o why was he trying to create little girls in his lab before he accidentally added Chemical X which inadvertently gave them superpowers?), but still, Powerpuff Girls were kind of awesomely freakin cute...and Emmy Award winning. I don't know about all that, but there it is. Adorable. And it's funny when they argue because they are literally 6 year olds.

The Yankees made it to the world series - I'm happy because Tim is a fan, so I'm a fan by association - not because I actually care much about any professional sport. And while a certain bloggy friend may not like this, I have to point out that if all else was neutral, and I had to choose between the Yankees and the Mets as my fave NY team...I'd go with Yankees out of sheer style. The blue, grey and white is so classic, and so is the logo. What is up with that orange and blue mess the Mets have going on? No, no, all wrong.

Since I have completely dug myself into a gender stereotype hole of massive depth, I'll just keep going...

I'm having a particularly dramatic cycle this month, and it's finally breaking. The past few days have really showcased my capacity for crank. After I yelled at Tim for 3 dumb things in a row, which I don't remember, but were kind of funny, I smirked and asked him, "Do you think I suffer from PMS?" He opened his eyes really wide and said, "No - I suffer from PMS."

Ha. Ha. Ha.

The Me Day & Decade

I took today off from work, sent the boy to daycare, got out of town and went shopping. By myself. For myself. I spent over 5 hours doing it and savored every single minute of it. Even the fitting room mirrors were kind. I didn't over spend, but I also didn't settle and didn't hurry. Wow. Remember those days, frumpy mommies? Take a Me Day more often and only please yourself. You've earned it a hundred times over.

Eighties' fashions are back in a big way...they've been sneaking in, slowly, for a few years now: colored tights appeared, then skinny jeans started replacing the low-riders (at least we are seeing far fewer muffin tops), followed, inevitably, by the flats. Now the neon, the patterns, the leggings, and the bangles are everywhere. Some of it is actually OK - retro but with a modern twist, there's some new combinations of shapes that are interesting - but a lot of it gives me the willies. I didn't look good in it as a pimply pre-teen, and I won't look good in it as a 30 something-tote-lugging-mom. Darn, I missed out! The skinniest years of my life were spent in the most boring schlumpy 90s clothes EVER.

These days, I admit the clothes in "O" magazine are more appealing to me than the ones in Glamour. Sigh. I never thought this day would come.

I did lots of thinking on my Me Day, and because of all the fab 80s throwbacks around me, I thought a lot about the Me Decade, and what was part of my life back then. I'm not going to make one of those silly lists about growing up in the 80s, but instead outline a few things that were both so 80s and so me at the time:

1. I had a pink radio/cassette player - the shade was very much Pepto-Bismol. Got it in fourth grade. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a boom box, because it definitely did not boom. I used to record Madonna songs off the radio, plug in the headphones, and stand anchored to the dresser crooning "La Isla Bonita." I was wearing my stirrup pants, for sure.

2. I had insanely bad haircuts from 1985-1989. I also experimented with mousse. A lot.

3. I had these cheap little white fabric sneakers from the flea market. Balloons. Anyone have those? I think I bought a new pair every month, cause they just fell apart. I'm sure those thick scrunchy socks were not helping.

4. There was this one blouse...hot pink, with a triangle pattern. Like confetti color Doritos exploded allover it. It came with a black tank top, sewn in. A staple, really. I was so hot.

5. Because of my awful hair cuts, I never could rock the banana clips, but man, I envied those girls.

6. The concept of the 'mixed tape' came back to me. In junior high, exchanging mixed tapes with a boy was a sure sign of everlasting teen love. I love you so much, I made you mixed tape. I think I'm going to make all my loved ones mixed tapes for Christmas. I'll record them off the radio for that authentic sound. Press Play and Record at the same time, and hit the Pause before the DJ cuts in and ruins everything!

7. You know about my recent trip to Rhode Island - well, the last time I was in Rhode Island, I lost one of my jelly shoes at the beach. True story.

What are some of your personal memories from the 80s?

Against Texting: A Polemic

If you recognized my title as biting off acknowledging Kipnis' work, then Good for You, hee hee. If not, that's ok. It's not that relevant here, it's just a good title.
Maybe this won't turn out to be as controversial to some, however, there are those that would roll their eyes. So roll them and enjoy the sensation, cause you're about to get schooled, bitches. I say this with love of course.


First, let's get some things straight:


I don't abhor texting.
I can appreciate its usefulness in a variety of situations, like, for example, when you're in a loud environment and it's hard to hear, or when you're in an audience and can't talk and you need to communicate with someone outside the venue, or just generally when you need (and need is a relative term here) to communicate with someone, and calling them and flapping your gums is just not a good option. I've done it. I do it sometimes.

I'm admittedly not very good at texting.
Part of the reason is that we don't have a text plan, and my phone does not have one of those tiny keyboards made especially for easy texting, so I don't get a lot of practice. Sure, I've received and sent texts, but the whole process is time consuming and dumb to me, unless calling is simply not a good option.


I am not a luddite. Yea, I know my last name might have you think otherwise. Ha-ha. But seriously, I love progress and change and I love new technology. I have a significant on-line presence. Goodness, I like to go into the Mac stores just to cry, people...and, finally, I get paid to work in an on-line environment. OK? Just so we are square.


Since I'm not coming from a place of ignorance or anti-tech, and I do not necessarily subscribe to some of the recent whining out there, I hope you can be open to my forthcoming rant.
Let's start with two situations in which texting is completely and utterly unacceptable:




Texting while driving.
Really, you can call me old or a nervous nelly or whatever, but texting and driving is probably about the stupidest and most irresponsible driving related thing a person can do besides driving under the influence. I can deal with taking calls, or even making one...but texting while driving is Reckless. I don't care if you're an expert stunt driver. Just freakin talk. What's the big emergency? I mean, it's SO important, it came via a text that you have to check while you're going 75...and text back. It's kind of juvenile. You may as well crack open a beer. Hell, why don't you just whip out your laptop and blog?
I have been in cars with drivers checking and sending texts. Constantly. I was so offended, so freaked out...and yes, their driving was pretty damned scary as a result. I didn't say anything, and now I regret it. I don't plan on riding with these particular people anymore, and unfortunately, am not impressed with them.


Texting when I'm fucking talking to you.
I'm not sure I got all the feeling across here...what do you think? It has happened to me. It's offensive. I'm not talking about a casual check...that's not really a big deal. And if you must stop our conversation and excuse yourself? Fine. No problem. I'm talking about someone in my physical presence that is actually reading and actively texting back while purportedly listening to me, saying, "No, go ahead, I'm listening [click-click-click]" Are you kidding me? Inevitably they gloss over with the "uh-huh" and, "I'm sorry, what was that again?" Fuck you, that's what I said.

Phew, that felt good. I apologize for the F-bombs, gentle readers, but they help this girl sometimes.

And now onto the more philosophical argument:

I can understand the temptation to check your phone a lot, especially if it has all the latest apps...but I don't understand the need to text and practically have a side texting conversation when you are with people and the group is talking. Even if no one is talking to you, specifically. You can't wait till you get home? Or until you can step away? Maybe this is the case sometimes...but really? Honestly? You're not the President, and your friends and family aren't either. If you must, just excuse yourself, just as you would if your phone actually RANG and you were going to talk to someone. Let me stress that I am not talking about a quick read/reply, I'm talking about sentences.

To me, the person engrossed in texting is totally checked out and will never pick up on nuances or subtleties of the given situation. Never. And really, that's what it's all about a lot of times, right? How do we get instincts? How do we build trust? Respect? Understanding? We engage and listen to one another, even if we don't want to be there. It's about subtlety and eye contact and nuance. That's how humans relate. It's about being present, as trite as that sounds.

The same argument could be made about someone being on the phone...but there is a difference...people typically know you are on the phone. They can hear you, see you holding it to your ear...there is a consciousness and understanding among others that you are not fully engaged. With texting, it's often kinda sneaky, for example, someone says something rather important, and you realize that a person that's supposed to be part of the situation has been looking down, texting and pretending to listen. It's a little gross. It irritates me and I want to stab them.

Arguments could be made that people who daydream or doodle are not present as well, but this is not the case. Doodling can actually help a person stay focused where they may otherwise drift off. Daydreaming takes you away, but it uses your other capacities, not your left-brain...you're not locked into looking at a small screen, typing and focusing upon another entirely different situation, conversation, and person. And daydreaming doesn't make you look rude.

I am closing this abruptly. No conclusion. This post was exhausting. I wonder how long it would take me to text it.

Sometimes, even I don't get it

It may be shocking to learn, but there are a few things in the world I can't quite explain (don't worry though, I'm sure I can still form an opinion). Fortunately, most of them are far beyond my control and far beyond my little piece of reality, so I don't have to offer any explanations.
Then there's the things that I can control, but for reasons beyond my understanding, I'm completely fascinated and can't look away, even knowing that I should. I really, really should. Take for instance, my being mysteriously drawn to the Vh1 show Real Chance of Love.

It's downright horrible, make no mistake. But there's something really funny about these two, namely, Real and Chance. They are brothers, raised on a horse ranch. I guess that's supposed to explain the Cowboy in Compton get-ups.

Apparently they first appeared on Vh1's earlier train wreck, I Love New York, where the bodacious Miss New York sent them packing. Of course now they have their own spin-off where they are searching for love among a group of uh...ladies - ladies whose number of genital warts outnumber the brain cells they share, and are only rivaled by Flava Flav's cast (where New York first reared her head). I know I'm digressing, but you might remember that Flava's show came out of his affair with Brigitte Nielsen on Strange Love, an unfortunate by-product of the series The Surreal Life. I guess you could say Real and Chance are the descendants of The Surreal Life. We've come such a long way.

I haven't gone so far as to find out when the show actually airs, but I admit that if I'm channel surfing and it's on, I have to stop and stare. Maybe it's Real's soft, flowing locks or Chance's - nah, I think it's Real. He's just fun to look at with the glamazon hair and the cowboy boots and, did you notice that the set is like a dude ranch? It can't get any better.

On the surface, I really want to hate these two, but I can't. I think they are just naturals on camera, and no matter how ridiculous the content is, when someone is just born to entertain, it's hard to deny. I'll offer yet another possible explanation: I think that these guys are aware of how ridiculous they look and they're running with it, subtly mocking the entire show. Maybe I'm giving the show too much credit? Possibly - but it makes me feel better about finding it amusing. And to the naysayers? Clearly, you just don't get it.

Royal Dork

Happy 2009!

Tim and I had a quiet eve on the 31st. Sam was in bed by 8, and we watched M. Knight Shyamalan's The Happening. Though it was a little rough around the edges (mostly in dialogue), it had a good sense of creepiness and a unique plot, so we liked it. Plus, you know, Mark Wahlberg. I realize that's a fragment.

We had planned to stay up to watch the ball drop, so we tuned into CNN around 10. They stuck Anderson Cooper with Kathy Griffin in Times Square. It was funny to watch him squirm at her dumb jokes. It also looks like she's gradually morphing into Joan Rivers. Anyhow, they cut to their correspondent in Las Vegas, who talked about the events planned for the strip, and mentioned that Coolio and Fergie would be there soon.

I turned to Tim and said, "Fergie? And Coolio? That's odd." Tim just looked at me blankly. "I mean, why would the Dutchess of York turn up with Coolio in Las Vegas?" Another blank stare, then he said, "What are you talking about? Who's this Dutchess of York?" I said, "Um, you know, Sarah Ferguson! Fergie? The Dutchess of York? Oh, wait, maybe she's there to promote Weight Watchers for New Year's resolutions!"

Then I saw the look. I've talked about the look before: Mockery and a little pity, with a good dose of omg. He chuckled, "You're an idiot. Not that Fergie. The other Fergie. You know!" I had no idea still, and he said, "From the Black Eyed Peas!" Ohhhhh. OK. Now that makes more sense.

Personally, I'd rather see the Dutchess, so, whatevs. But we had a good laugh at my out-of-touch expense. At precisely 11:08, I called it a night and we went to bed. I asked him to give me a New Year's kiss first thing in the morning, but a little after midnight, he remembered and kissed me (awww).

Christmas Returns

Here's what's on my 'do not buy me' list this year (and likely every year). I don't really keep handwritten wish lists, but I think I might start to pen really creepy ones for fun. You know, everyone needs a few yards of barbed wire, a shovel, duct tape (L.L. Bean has it in plaid), and a few cans of Crisco.

This year, in honor of my renewed Christmas spirit, what's better than putting together a snide, snooty and rather mean list?

Please, merciful Santa, I do not want:

1. A Hummer.

2. Anything endorsed by Rachel Ray (aside from Dunkin Donuts coffee).

3. Any painted sign telling me to "Laugh" or "Love" or "Breathe" or "Believe", or any sign pointing out that I'm in the "Bath", that "Angels Gather Here", or that we're a "Family" living in a "Home Sweet Home" that needs to "Simplify" with "Joy". I will beat you with it, then use it as kindling. You heard me Santa. I'll do it.


4. A crystal unicorn.
5. Scrunchies.


6. Scrunch boots.
7. Anything designed by Jeanne Bice or the Quacker Factory.

8. A large, gilded frame, oil portrait of our 43rd President.


9. A Mountain Dew Christmas Tree.

(By the way, do you see my logical progression of thought from 4-9 in this list? Unfortunately it gets more random from this point)

10. Lemon Meringue Pie.

11. A warm, sensible and hideous parka.
12. Margarine.
13. This blanket.
14. Stripper shoes. If you want to bring me shoes, let's talk first.
15. Frumpy shoes. Birks. Birks and socks. I'd rather wear the stripper shoes. Again, let's talk.


16. Decaffeinated coffee, Dunkin or other.

Tales from the cold

I'm suffering from a miserable cold, passed on from my husband. I even called him a big baby about it, and as karma would have it, I'm about to be the biggest Waaaa this side of the Hudson.
What's not to love about a cold? You sound miserable, so everyone is nice to you. People suddenly care about you getting sleep and rest and eating well. And for the most part, people leave you alone, keeping a safe distance from your germy aura and all your germy possessions.

But alas, lonely and phlegmy is the cold sufferer.

A few observations about having a cold:

It always amazes me that one nostril can be completely clogged, and yet drip.

Burning, watery, and sensitive eyes make you look like you are outrageously high.

I get excited about those few moments in the day when my sinuses break up and I can get a thorough nose-blowing. Feels great for about 2 minutes after, then you clog up again something fierce.

Trying to fall asleep at night is a joke. Somehow, you manage, but it really hurts in the morning.

Blowing your nose in your hand in the steamy hot shower is gross. But it's soo good. You do it too, don't front.

You feel a little like your Great Aunt [fill in old-fashioned name] with all the little tissue wads in every pocket.

I completely lose my sense of smell, and therefore, most of my sense of taste. I know 2 people that claim they can still taste just fine. Freaks! If you are one, reveal yourself...you are lucky indeed...or you are liars.

Lyrical Gangsta

I'm not sure what exactly a lyrical gangsta does, but I think I would like to be one for a day. For solely sheer reminiscing pleasure, here's some of the worst lyrics ever recorded. They're so awful, they're good. Just try to come up with something more fabulously lame.

I'm as serious as cancer when I say rhythm is a dancer.
-Snap!

The west is the best.
-The Doors
*Yea, I know, shame on me for making fun of The Doors. But really, Jim? That line wasn't much of a stretch.

There's not a woman that can handle a man like me - that's why I juggle two or three.
-Gerardo (Rico Suave)

And everything is to the back, with a little slack, and inside out is wiggida wiggida wiggida wack!
-Kriss Kross

Get out of my dreams...get into my car. Touch my bumper, baby let's make a deal.
-Billy Ocean

So your girlfriend rolls a Honda, playin workout tapes by Fonda...but Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda. My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns hun. You can do sidebends or situps, but please don't lose that butt.
-Sir Mixalot
This song holds a special place in my heart. And on my butt.

Feel free to add on your favorites.

Phall Photos

This title just looks more interesting than Fall Fotos. Oh, you know it does. It's more balanced - Ph balanced that is. Don't be jealous of my genius.

Sam is having phun painting pumpkins and lauphing in the pholiage. See?

Now I'm pheeling itchy and pinchy from playing in the leaves with him. Tim just read this and didn't phind it phunny. Then again, I phorgot that he doesn't get it. What a phool. Married to a phreak. It's heaven on earth, pholks.

Ok, I'm shutting this disaster down. Will post more in a couple days.

Blogger's Block.

A dozen weird little things about me:

1. I 'smooth' my eyebrows countless times a day. Can't even handle the mere thought that an eyebrow hair might be out of place.

2. Watch out, I'll smooth yours too if they're in disarray. I'll hold you down and tweeze if I have to.

3. I like to peel off the crimped borders on adhesive postage stamp books and wrap them around my fingers like fabulous rings.

4. Fascinated by the wash cycle in a top loader. I used to open it up a couple times during a cycle to watch the clothes slosh around. We have a front loader now. Sigh.

5. Can't shuffle cards.

6. Possess uncommonly good color memory.

7. I often start reading magazines from the back.

8. I had a nose piercing for about a month in 1996. Took it out after mom cried over it.

9. I smell Sam all day. Sometimes it's a diaper check, but mostly it's just to smell him because his skin and hair have the best scent in the world. I'd guess other moms do this too though. Anyone?

10. This girl sings poorly. Very. Poorly.

11. When I'm on the treadmill (and listening to music) some songs make me daydream that I'm a cool rock star chick in an even cooler band. It could happen. I didn't say I'd be the singer.

12. My friend Alethea and I once fashioned a real mobile out of York Peppermint Patty wrappers. It was awesome.

*Is that you, Carol?

Every now and then, what's usually your humdrum mail arrives with an unexpected piece that livens up the day - a letter, a card, a check for 5 million dollars, and so on. Our mail looked pretty typical yesterday, but as I sorted, a thin catalog caught my eye. It was one of those catalogs hocking hundreds of silly and bizarre inventions like Poop-Freeze and bed skirt pins.

I started to skim through it anyway, expecting and seeing the usual junk. What I didn't expect was a 2 page spread on...um...erotic items. In the middle of the catalog, just randomly in between Household Helpers and Lawn & Garden, there were a variety of vibrators pictured with vivid descriptions. There was also a selection of DVDs, including the titles Totally Nude Yoga and Totally Nude TaiChi, both "sure to get your heart racing." It generally takes quite a bit to shock me, and I don't normally react much to these sorts of things, but I was caught off guard this time. I flipped to the front again - Carol Wright Gifts. I flipped to the back and there she was, part of a little logo, with a big smile and a smart haircut...she's like Betty Crocker. Carol Wright! The Carol Wright that has been selling America its dickies and cat-motif door stoppers for decades! Carol Wright whose biggest rival is the one and only Harriet Carter! At what point did she start selling sex aids?? Oh, Carol.

Adding to all the silly, the addressee turned out to be folks that live few houses down the road, whose last name differs from ours by 2 letters. They own a tree farm, and around Christmas time we get calls from people that mix up our names - unfortunately ours is first alphabetically in the phone book. They're older, more conservative types (as evidenced by their political lawn signage), and the thought of this catalog sitting around their house is forever seared into my brain. I may return it with a sticky note, "I accidentally received your catalog, and didn't realize it until after I looked through it. Really enjoyed pages 13-14. Thanks a bunch!"

Excerpt from NY Times Bestseller List

for September 30, 2026



HARDCOVER NONFICTION

• I Was Right All Along, C. Ludden


• How Our Son Earned A PhD by age 18, Ludden & Ludden


• Handbag Hobags: Inside the Very Bradley Prostitution Scandal, A. Green


• 50+ and Still Getting Carded - The Beauty Guide, Green, Ludden & Partners Press

Back to the present:

I'm planning to take Sam to the Fly Creek Cider Mill sometime this fall. I told him about it tonight after booktime, and how they make apple juice and we could pick apples right from the trees. He added, "and peppers - we can pick the peppers, they are hanging on the trees! And I can eat them!"

He had peppers on his mind because I wore this necklace today - he calls the stone a pepper. He knows it's not really a pepper, but every time I wear it, he says, "That's a pepper. On your neck. I'm gonna eat it!" and he moves in and pretends to eat it.

Hate List for the O-peeps

Top 10 Things I Hate About Oneonta, NY

10) Razzle Dazzle’s hours – 9am to 2pm: seriously??

9) Oh look, another tanning salon!

8) 7, 135 dollar stores and counting

7) An hour from Albany, an hour from Binghamton, and an hour from Utica. Ugh.

6) The Eichler’s Seasonal Country Tree

5) J.C. Mini Penney & The Southside Small

4) Brooks BBQ: you know deep down it’s kinda gross

3) Franklin Mountain, mostly in the winter

2) Walmart Super Center

1) People who call it Onee-Ah-Na

I've ruined it!

Well, not really. It's more like prevention. I was asked to delete my last post about the bologna heist because it's an open case and people (including people who might read my blog) talk...that's what Tim says, anyway. I suppose he has a point, even IF it's a case of pilfered meats. I hate when that happens (when he has a point). If you had a chance to read it, lucky you, but keep it to yourself. The bologna must be surrendered!

Silly Rainy Monday

It has been raining steadily all morning. Sam and I ran some errands earlier (including a stop at my newest corporate enemy, Rite Aid...more on that in a future entry), then we got home and were were like soooo bored. We took some silly pictures, then we looked at them on the computer. Sam likes doing that - we talk about the pictures, what's going on in them, and blah blah. Fun stuff. Plus I sneak in an e-mail and weather check. He's playing in his room at the moment - but don't worry, we're both upstairs, and I check on him between crashing or shattering noises.

Look at our feet. Whose are cuter? C'mon! I know, Iknow, the ones without the flip flop tan lines.

The pics from the playground are from Saturday.