In Response To Your Google Search Query #6

Dear Person Who Found My Blog Via The Search Query "response to being called a monkey's uncle's aunt",

Really?

Aw Sweetie, if you were insulted by this enough to Google for a snappy come back then I'd say you're a tad bit on the sensitive side. Also I think maybe you are too late and the moment has passed and best to just let it go. If you hunt down the person with a come back at this point in time they will think you even more of an inbred simian. It's all right Darlin', let it go.

Besides, coming to my blog for answers may have been a big mistake as I am likely to call you much worse.

Just what kind of backwater, inbred clan of gypsy hillbillies do you live amongst? I'm not saying that as an insult, but more rather wondering if perhaps we are related. You aren't by chance from Kentucky too are you? And if so, what holler? Tell cousin Buell that Lady says, Hey!

Anyhoo...

Having such a strange and yet too familiar brew of DNA, no wonder you weren't able to think quickly enough of a snappy come back.

If you've got an extra chromosome or 3 and someone has insulted your family heritage, I think your best course of action, boring as it may be, is to put down that banana, stand erect and ignore them.

Chin up, head back. Stand proud. Don't let those knuckles drag the ground darling, it's bad for your posture and it'll ruin your manicure.

Yes. Take the high road, don't beat your chest and throw poo. That would just be playing into their game and you shouldn't give them the satisfaction, and besides just who is going to clean up that mess?

If they insist on calling you names, you can always kill them with kindness or a blunt instrument. But if violence isn't your style give them a pie:

Everyone Loves Banana Cream Pie
Ingredients:
1 cup low-fat chocolate wafer cookie crumbs (from about 3 cups cookies)
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 teaspoon instant espresso powder, dissolved in 1 tablespoon water
1 teaspoon canola oil
2 bananas, sliced
2 tablespoons banana liqueur
1 cup prepared marshmallow cream
7 ounces non-fat whipped topping, thawed
1/4 cup semisweet chocolate shavings

Make cookie crumbs by processing chocolate cookies in a food processor until they yield a fine crumb. Add brown sugar, espresso, and oil and pulse until blended. Press mixture into the bottom and sides of a 9-inch pie pan and set aside.
Peel and thinly slice the bananas. Toss banana slices with the banana liqueur and set aside. In a large bowl, stir the marshmallow cream and whipped topping together. Fold in the banana-liqueur mixture. Spread topping over crust and smooth. Garnish with chocolate shavings, if desired. Refrigerate until chilled, at least 30 minutes.

If they are still mistreating you after eating this then write me back and I'll call in cousin Buell to give them a little talkin' to.

Kindest Regards & Best Wishes!
The Lady


Dear Person Who Found My Blog Via The Search Query "my ankle has been hurting is that a sign of cancer",

How the fuck should I know dickhead? Go to the doctor.

The One That (I) Didn't (Drive) Get Away

I've been reading posts by Killer of Killer Rants about his (hilarious)experiences with online dating, which inspired me to rummage and rummage through my desk drawers in search of the only emails I ever printed (and bothered to save) between me and MDH when we first met 8 years ago on Match.com.

Yes. We are one of those revolting "success" story couples like you see in the commercials.

My handle was "Smarty Pants" but I can't tell you his because he still uses it in his professional endeavors and as an internet politico/pundit/mouth off. Can you believe it? He still has been using the same email address/handle for like 12 years.

I don't remember my exact profile, but it didn't contain a photo or any sexual content whatsoever. The only allusion I made to my looks was to say that I had all my own teeth, had blond hair and green eyes and that I could both see and touch my toes. I mentioned the importance of dental (making sure not to use the word "oral") hygiene and the regular flossing of ones teeth as a requirement to responding to my profile. A hopeless romantic, that's me.

At the time I was over the whole internet dating thing, having tried it vigorously the previous year. Although I'd had a lot of fun and met some interesting and really terrific men folk (an attorney, an English prof, an Historian who had recently published a cool book), I was not too keen on dating anyone because I was busy with school and enjoying an unencumbered lifestyle. I was merely dabbling in order to help a friend who was in a dating slump in order to show her how easy and fun online dating can be. I set up a profile so that she and I could peruse (and giggle over) the profiles of local men in order to (hopefully) prove there were some decent ones out there.

His profile was not impressive to me and seemed really goofy. It mentioned Elvis, a love of Guinness and "Ganja", international travel and being a "Corporate Slug". He wrote to me because my profile came up in his list of possibilities and I lived within a 10 mile radius of his apartment.

Anyhoo...

I'm going to reprint an email that I finally found in my messy desk, that I had written to him after we had corresponded a few times. After a few witty email volleys, I liked him and his writing style, but the email he had written to me prior to the response below contained a lot of sexual innuendo, which wasn't kosher or appropriate given the stage at which our correspondence was developing. I considered myself a real pro at dating, online or otherwise by this time, and knew that I wanted to meet and get to know a real person and not just have some slobbering fool for a quick hook up. I was then and remain, a lady after all.

It's very personal, but what the fuck? You guys know most my business already.

From: autocc@match.com
To: anon.futurehusbandofthelady@match.com
Subject: WTF - Round the Mountain of Passion?? Jesus.

Dear Sir,

What's up with all the "mountain of passion" talk, horndog? Settle down man for god's sake. For all I know you look like Jesse Helms and clean your ears with your car keys, so chill out wouldja please? Besides you're making me blush and go all giggly.

Meanwhile for the less "touchy" topics (he had asked me about musical preferences and clubs I liked): I used to go to Blah Blah (a club he mentioned that he liked) when it was called Blah and located further north across from the Blippity Blah (a crappy diner). As a matter of fact, I used to live right behind it and went there all the time. I've seen so many shows there and the best thing about that place is that it's so small you may get to talk to the band later. I've seen Psychic TV there, They Might Be Giants, Throwing Muses, and many more! But as I'm sure you can guess from that line up, it was quite awhile ago. The last show I saw period, was Squirrel Nut Zippers at the Rhythm & Food Festival downtown, last summer. (Turns out MDH was at the same show and we were only about 10 feet apart.)

What did I read when I was at the lake? A biography of Sara and Gerald Murphy called Everybody Was So Young: A Lost Generation Love Story, and I also re-read a sci-fi selection of short stories by John Varley called The Ophiuchi Hotline. Yes. I'm a geek and I don't care who knows it. The houseboat trip was relaxing, private and secluded and the water was so clean I could see my feet when I was swimming. The water didn't smell like bait either.

What's your story? You seem to be putting down my town (Columbus) all the time, where are you from that's so great? Hmm? (Boston)

What kind of corporate slugging do you do? Do you have one of those weird important sounding titles that doesn't really mean anything and no one is really quite sure what you do? Like Vice President of Bean Counting, Rubberband Balls & Acquisitions? AND do you enjoy whatever it is that you do do?

Where have you done all of this traveling you go on and on about bigshot?

Pets?
Siblings?
Miracle Whip or Mayonnaise?
Coke or Pepsi?
Carpet or hardwood floors?

Who the hell are you anyway? Tell me some personal stuff and lay off the sexy talk.

As far as movies... there are a ton of (hopefully) good ones coming out this fall. Mumford is lookin' pretty good also Fight Club, Inside (or is it Being?) John Malcovich, American Beauty. Anyway, I tend to think movies are a bad idea for dates because you can't really talk, but it's a sure fire way to shut me up for a couple of hours.

I just re-read this one last time before hitting send and I'm hoping that I'm not coming off sounding like Alice from the Brady Bunch. Well, whatever, I'm much cuter than her.

Sincerely,
Ms. S. Pants

The Lady Who Doesn't Eat Dinner

I may soon have a new moniker since my new almost job is a weird shift, noon to 8:45pm.

I'm feeling all weirded out, because I've been job hunting for so long and this is the first time I've had a second call back for anything. Things are moving really fast too. The possible boss dude called me Friday to interview yesterday and then called me again 2 hours after my interview to come back in today to meet with the rest of his team and sit in and observe some of the work they do.

Noon to 8:45pm.

I'm trying to reconcile this shift. It's non- negotiable and it's not rotated with any of the other team members.

Why it may suck:

• I won't be able to cook dinner every night.
• By the time I get home it will be almost time for bed.
• I won't be able to do stuff in the evenings on week nights, like go to the theater or out to dinner. (Yes, because we do these things sooo frequently now...)
• It's kind of a step down career wise from my previous job.
• I will be kicked back out into the world and forced among people again.
• I will no longer be a lady of leisure.
• I will have bathe and put on clothes every day.
• Since I would be surrounded by other people, I will no longer be able to amuse myself by farting and belching really loud whenever I feel like it and then giggling to myself. Technically, I suppose I could still keep doing it, but I would really like to be a team player and for the other people to like me.
• I'll have to shave my legs sometimes.
• I will have less time to spend with MDH.

On the bright side:

• I will have to spend less time with MDH.
• It's a job.
• The money is very good and in fact much better than what I was making before when I was traveling all over hell's half acre.
• I'll get to sleep in my own bed every night.
• We may lose weight since I'm not cooking dinner every night.
• I'll have time to work out every day before work.
• I'll have the option of sleeping in should the mood strike me.
• I won't have to deal with rush hour traffic.
• Showering and getting dressed every day and not giggling at my own loud flatulence may improve my sex life.
• It seems like very easy work compared to what I was doing before.
• I will be forced back into the world and out among people again, providing me with an never ending supply of blog fodder.
• It's a job.
• I can buy shoes again. (DSW, here I come!)
• I can buy potions again. (I'm sure Lancome and Keihls have missed me.)
• We can finally get a goddamn house keeper.
• We're finally going to buy some living room furniture.
  
  

I'm almost not wanting to publish this for fear I will jinx myself. It would just be so perfect to not get the job after having raved, worried and typed out these idiotic lists like a big jackass. Please remind me that I'm not superstitious, but keep your fingers crossed that I get this stupid job. Lady would like to buy some shoes.

The Bickerson's Get a Tree

We were all set this past Saturday and had planned for weeks to drive to a place about a half an hour from our house and cut our own tree. As we were getting ready to leave, hacksaw in hand, I looked around our living room, and remembered the last tree we had in 2004 and I got really sad and changed my mind.

I was sad because my old Ollie cat died (above are two pictures from our last Christmas with him - he loved me and hated that damn train), sad because there won't be any presents to put under a tree this year, sad because Aunt Jessie died, sad because the train set is broken, sad because there is a treadmill in the middle of the living room now and putting up a tree would be a terrible pain in the ass. Just sad.

And then today when I was writing this post, not even really planning to publish it, just feeling sorry for myself, I had a change of heart, and made my grumpy old husband get his ass off the sofa, put on a hat and take me to get a tree.

I felt kind of bad at first, because he is the frequent victim of my precarious mood swings, but then I was simply annoyed.

He groaned when pine needles got all over his car. He complained when we brought the tree into the living room and huffed and puffed as I was still deciding where I wanted it to go. He snarled when pine tar got all over his hands. We turned into the Bickersons again.

Him: This is such a pain in the ass. Why are we doing this? Saturday you said you thought it was a pain in the ass too. Why are you doing this to me?

Me: Are you quite through?

Him: I just don't see why I have to do this stuff when this whole thing is your idea...

Me: Can you just shut up and do what I tell you to do?

Him: We're not even Christians. (It's true, we're not, but I love Christmas.)

Me: I don't care.

I made dinner (roast chicken and mashed potatoes), had a glass of wine and we watched the news before I went to the basement to fetch the box of ornaments and lights. Turtle made himself comfortable in the tissue paper as I decorated.

When I was finished decorating the tree I made MDH come and check my work, expecting a grunt and more grumpy attitude but he totally suprised me when he sniffled, misty-eyed and said:

Him: You're just determined to make me love Christmas aren't you?

Me: I thought I told you to shut up.

He loved it and so do I.

Then I made him take all the empty boxes back downstairs and vacuum up the pine needles.

That's our tree in it's new spot next to the fireplace with a little reminder of old Ollie on the mantle.

Into Each Life a Little Indoor Rain Must Fall

Our kitchen sink sprayer broke on Thanksgiving day at the climax of our cooking extravaganza, just before dinner was served. Dan and Stephanie had come all the way from Ohio to hang with us for the holiday. Steph and I spent a good part of the day in the kitchen cooking, chatting and having a great time.

We were almost ready to put dinner on the table when the little handle you press on got stuck and I couldn't turn it off so random, errant streams of uncontrolled water spouted from the nozzle and shot across the room every time I turned the water on, which on Thanksgiving day is quite frequently. Unfortunately when we discovered the problem Steph was in the path of the water stream and I soaked her pretty good.

It is quite shocking to be quietly minding your own business, chopping vegetables or what have you, indoors no less, and suddenly be drenched in cold water. More shocking still to look over at your friend you have driven 7 hours through horrible snowy weather to come and visit and see her holding a kitchen sink sprayer with streams of water shooting out of it, pointing it at your head.

I stunned her further by hitting her with a short blast of high pitched screaming. She stunned me by screaming back.

It's awfully difficult to try to investigate what might have gone wrong with a broken kitchen sprayer without squirting even more water everywhere and making a huge mess. I'm one of those people that has to learn by doing and I learned this: Do not look directly into the kitchen sprayer when you suspect it is broken or point it anywhere but back into the sink.

MDH, apparently unalarmed by all the screaming and arm flapping, finally came to the rescue when I demanded that he get up off of his ass and come help me. He took the thing apart and stopped the water from squirting out every time I turned on the tap, which left me with no sprayer for the kitchen sink and dammit I love that thing.

Yesterday after my job interview I went out to do a little shopping and my last stop before home was Lowe's to buy a new sprayer.

The whole point of this post when I originally thought of it had nothing to do with me spraying water all over my house guest and into my own face. But this is my blog and my brain and my stories can be as disjointed as I want.

The original point of the post was this: I hate shopping in Lowe's the same way my husband hates shopping at Target.

My Target Experience = His Lowe's Experience:
I look forward to shopping at Target/Lowe's. It's fun. I usually go with a specific shopping list, but end up meandering through the aisles looking at things we don't really need. I like to take my time and visit the end caps and see if there's anything good on clearance. I always come home with way more stuff than I intended to buy and tend spend way over budget.

My Lowe's Experience = His Target Experience:
I loathe shopping at Lowe's/Target and only go if my spouse makes me. I put off going as long as possible and when I finally get there I stomp into the store like a big sour puss, go to exactly where those items are, get them and march immediately to the checkout and leave as quickly as possible.

Shove Your "Ears" Mickey

My blogger friend at Warped Viewings waxed nostalgic about her childhood, Disneyland and coveting mouse ears. Well, it reminded me of this gem of a photo from my childhood. This is for you SRU.

The photo of my parents and I on a beautiful sunny day in front of Cinderella's castle demonstrates (extra emphasis on demon) why I didn't bring home any mouse ears from our 1973 trip to Disney World.

I was furious, outraged and heartbroken when I realized that the castle was nothing but a big fiberglass prop. My six year old mind believed we'd be dropping in for a visit and maybe having some tea and getting a house tour. I thought me and Cindy would hang out and have a chat. My dreams were dashed.

I was an evil little brat when I didn't get my way, and it seems obsessed with all things purple as witnessed by my purple striped Garanimals ensemble and desire to only eat and drink things "grape" flavored. Yes, that's a grape juice I'm holding in front of my sour little scowling face that my father scoured the theme park to find to try to appease me after the shock of the phony castle.

And then they expected me to smile and have my picture taken in front of this so called castle. I wasn't having it.

I spent most of our day at the Magic Kingdom acting like a little asshat. My mother had apparently taken to wearing a disguise so as to easier deny any responsibility for me.

I'm a whiz with bedsheets. I mean spreadsheets. I meant to say spreadsheets...

I came home from my interview and immediately started cooking. Well, I hung up my suit, put on my home clothes (slippers, fleece pants and a sweater) and started braising the lamb roast that has been marinating in some rosemary and olive oil in my fridge overnight. I sliced some onions, minced some garlic, jimmied a very dry cork out of a bottle of Shiraz, and then I deglazed my pan.

If you want me to relax, don't send me to a massage therapist, give me a recipe and hand me a knife so I can start chopping onions.

The house smells really good.

I forgot to call MDH because the cooking vibe was so intense. Sorry Babe.

The interview went great and the receptionist fussed over my outfit the minute I took off my coat, "Ooh I love that color combination. You look so polished!" She made me feel like a million bucks, so it was a good way to start the morning.

And now we wait...

Meanwhile I'm chopping and mincing and braising and mulling over every single word that came out of my mouth and trying not to worry.

At one point, near the end of the interview, the man pointed to the paper I'd handed him earlier with a list of all of my personal and professional references on it, and he said, "If I were to ask any one of these people, to sum you up on one word, what kind of responses would I get?"

The people on my list of references are mostly of a professional nature, as you may expect, but there are some personal references on there too. I have known some of the folks on my reference list for a very long time, throughout my adult life and the various stages of my somewhat disjointed career path. I would imagine (and certainly hope), if called upon, they will say great things about me, because any one of them on that list has serious unpleasant dirt they could say if they were feeling the least bit ornery.

All of them have seen me cry, and most of them have born witness to my various states of psychopathic infuriation and use of the most horrid language unbecoming to a lady, on multiple occasions. Well the foul language is an every day occurance. A couple of these people have seen me totally wasted, obnoxious and have even held my hair back while I puked cheap beer. I've had sex with one of the people on this list, multiple times.

So let's hope if asked to sum me up on one word, the people I've used as personal and professional references do not say things like:

• Moody
• Crybaby
• Enraged
• Frightening
• Lush
• Irrational
• Pothead
• Pottymouth
• Horny

I responded to the interviewer's question by saying, Smart, Honest, Loyal, and Funny. Terrific. Fabulous answer if I was applying to be someone's date to the movies. Idiot.

I'm trying not to beat myself up for not saying things like, Professional, Hard Working, Detail Oriented, Excel Goddess, etc.. I should have used more hirable sounding adjectives. Anyway, since I didn't do such a great job with this question I have something to say to some of the people who may be on that list of references and reading my blog - take good care of me and I'll make you a roast lamb.