Shenanigans

We were out of the blocks by 7 a.m. since my daughter has a make up test from her migraine day. I had tried to organize myself to make the most of my day so I made a conscious decision to go straight to the grocery store and be able to get home and line up my tasks for the day.

How on earth does one spend $300 Krogering when I'm not even having Thanksgiving dinner at my house this year? What I am having is most of my Chicago gang coming home for the weekend so we have to have plenty of eats and plenty of drinks for the visit. Then again we are having a soiree here on Saturday, so I had to stock up for that too.

This would explain a portion of this mornings bill. I also had to buy supplies necessary to make appetizers for our party. I was intrigued by the Hypnotic, so $25 for a martini experiment came into play. I was checking out by 8 a.m. trying to bribe the cashier to come home to unload my groceries. I promised her participation in my martini experiment, I had her right in the palm of my hand but the boss wouldn't let her leave the store.

Home again home again jiggity jag. Unload groceries, check email, review pertinent articles in real estate news, take a few calls, continue laundry duty bleh, blip some tunes on blip.fm. Which of course leads to some good exercise music. Squats and a lot of dancing around the house pretending I'm Shakira. I figure I might as well get my hand weights out and swing those suckers around a bit. One more thing off of the list, I just need to turn this up a little LOUDER because I have the house to myself.

Of course one thought leads to another. Why am I plowing through my to do list when I could be reveling in my aloneness? It's my last night. Tomorrow the teenies will be home from school and I can force them into kitchen prep and all kinds of slave labor. I am going to watch the last 30 minutes of Too Wong Foo (it's so true only the good die young I miss you Patrick Swayze) while I tweak my Blip.fm play list.

I find some inspiration in my latest Timbaland addition. If you're a veteran reader of this blog you may recall that I consider Justin Timberlake my main man. There's just no help for it, especially after he inspired my most sought after fledging blog post Bringing Sexy Back. But what you might not know is my ongoing fantasy life preoccupation with Justins favorite music producer turned star himself, Timbaland. He's like a musical genius of a pit bull up there on stage. Where as Justin is all long and lanky, with all the energetic moves when performing, Timbaland is just this hunkering solid mass of pure muscle all compacted and surging with raw power.

 The clock is ticking on my shenanigans time. I don't think it's too early to start my Martini sampling. What kind of a hostess would I be if I served new concoctions I hadn't taken for a test drive?

First up is the Hypno-tini. I've never had a blue drink before but I've always found them visually mesmerizing. 2 oz of Hypnotic check, 1 oz of vodka check, a splash of fresh lemon juice and a twist check check. Shaken up and into the chilled glass she goes.

Wow, is that pretty. And a perfect afternoon beverage by which to watch the end of Too Wong Foo, since Patrick Swayze and Wesley Snipes are all dressed up as drag queens. I forgot how much I enjoyed this movie. I may be one of the 5 people who did, but I think it is really sweet. Patrick plays the do good lady so well. It sort of reminds me of the character of Anne, in Anne of Green Gables. Totally misunderstood but making the world better where ever her life takes her.

My fascination with the blue drink thing is over. I have a policy of not ingesting calories I am not absolutely thrilled with, so the blue drink is down the sink drain. I thought about giving it to the beast, but I don't need 120 pounds of gassy dog unable to take himself out to do his business. You know what I'm saying?

I was feeling all let down in my attempt at misbehavior so I decided to add another variable to my martini experiment. I know it's the OCD tendency, but the Thanksgiving weekend beverage should coordinate with my fall colors for the weekend. I think that calls for the classic Cosmo by way of the martini shaker: 2 oz. Absolute Citron, 1 oz cranberry juice, splash of Cointreau and a twist.

You may wonder, why would a straight laced suburban soccer mom even think of imbibing in martinis when home alone in the afternoon? Have you met my middle child, fondly known as the BOW (bitch on wheels)? Well, after enduring her intensity this past weekend, I assure you this martini I am partaking in is LONG overdue. Even she will back me up on that one. If you can get her to stop oneminuteonherwayfromherfriends becasue she is so busy with senior year and all. She had to apologize profusely for her episode when when she made me accompany her to her senior picture session even though she did not want any advice on how to dress, do make up, hair or anything else...

Cosmos. It's true, I've made these before so I'm not really justified in "experimenting". WTH! I'm not driving anywhere. The teenies will all roll in soon and I think we are going to take my Christmas DANCE party play list (does not include any Christmas music) on a test drive before the trip to Chicago for our pre-Christmas celebration with the pastry chef daughter who will be working through all holidays.

OMG, this is why I love Patrick Swayze! We have gotten to the part of Too Wong Foo where Patrick, still in his drag queen persona, kicks Stockard Channing's abusive husband's ass! "Virgil, I gather you like hitting ladies"? asks Vida (Swayze). Virgil: " Some ladies need to get hit". Then Patrick (in drag) says, "uh hum, then conversely some men need to be hit back". How can you not love this part??? Vida (Swayze in perfect drag) proceeds to throw that old Virgil on out of the house. Love It!

For those of you who are ignorant of the Too Wong Foo way of life via the movie I have to let you in on the secret. It includes a Charlton Heston/Spartacus like ending where all the townies who have come to love and respect the drag queens come to their defense against the local pervert deputy who comes a calling.

This has been the best afternoon of guilty pleasures in a long while. How can you top dancing to Shakira, Timbaland and Timberlake, blogging, Twittering, sampling martini recipes and re-watching Too Wong Foo chock full of memorable quotes and rules for life? Yesterday I had an extremely busy day of real estate business and came home to another favorite task which was rearranging furniture (seriously my favorite). So even if I didn't slack off it was terribly enjoyable.

The big yellow bus just rolled by, which means this party is over. We have got a list to attend to, but it has been fun. Not quite as much fun as my last birthday, which featured a day to myself that I spent dancing with Justin Timberlake.

Seriously, the LIST is calling and I've got to switch into overdrive so that my minions and I can get through it. Happy Thanksgiving and safe travels to you all.

Oh Happy Day

Dropped Roberto off at the airport at 6:15 a.m. Typically being abruptly pulled out of bed at 5:37 a.m. would leave me in a somewhat cranky mood. Not today though. Right now I marinating in the thought of having my house to myself for 4 days.

Back at home in my kitchen. Alone. With a Starbucks latte, fixin to eat some toast. It doesn't get any better than this.

Toast is the perfect food, especially if made from a loaf from the bakery that you have to slice yourself. Pop it in the Dualit and twist the knob. It's warm buttery goodness lifts me up. Today it's topped with Blackberry jam. Best of all I'm eating right off the bread board, heathen style.

And for God's sake people use real butter. Just like Paula Dean says. Non of the I Can't Believe It's Not Butter crap, nor margarine in a tub of any kind.

You don't have a Dualit toaster, the premium workhorse of an appliance manufactured by hand in the UK? It's one of the few status symbols I have left in my lost all my money in my real estate investments life.

Sold my lakefront properties, the Audi A8, cashed in my 401K but I am not giving up my Dualit toaster. A big old one horned buck just traipsed through my back yard looking to get food out of my bird feeder. Too bad sucker. Papa's away and the mice will play which means I'm not refilling that feeder. It's one of the few things that is not my job around here and I'd like to keep it that way.

Back to my celebratory morning. Enjoying peace and quiet and buttery toast with only one small interruption. I had to wake up my precious 18 year old BOW (bitch on wheels) to send her off to get her hair cut so she can get her senior pictures taken. I weathered her intensity for the few minutes before she rolled out of here and now I'm getting back in the groove.

My husband's trip was just in the nick of time. After 20 years of him being gone at least half the week, most weeks, his new limited travel schedule is KILLING ME. So I'm going to make the most of it. On my schedule after I write this I am going on over to plop on the couch and watch a list of Patrick Swayze movies without interruption. I have not had the means to pay my respects since Swayze's death so I have an appointment with Too Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything Julie Newmar. 

I know a lot of people don't give it high critical acclaim, but I find it fascinating to watch this hunk of man transform into a woman, right down to the mannerisms of the oh so very femme. Of course I'll have to see Ghost, Road House, Dirty Dancing and The Outsiders too.

At 4 p.m. today I'll leave the house with my little darlings for our girls night out to see New Moon. I know it will be perfect, if they could just find a way to kill Bella off because for one she annoys me. Two, she's just not a very good actress. Unfortunately Bella lives on because we've already read all 4 books so I just live in hopes that Kristen Stewart will be hit by a bus crossing Hollywood Blvd stoned out of her mind and they will replace her with someone more fitting.

Yes our should we see it at the midnight showing dilemma played itself out. Backed up with the advice from my favorite medical advisor, The Mother I shared with my little 14 year old migraine sufferer how that really wasn't the best choice for her to make. Even though she earned it. She agreed, but came home from school Thursday saying, "but so many of my friends are going "(as predicted). I held her to the agreement to wait until Saturday and she moped around so severely she ended up waking up twice that night from....a migraine headache!

I placed my absence call to the middle school recorder Friday since the suffering teen lay balled up in her dark room when the bus rolled by. I gave all the required info and added," and NO we did not go to the midnight movie last night". So, to her list of migraine triggers we will add miring in bitterness, as a causative factor.

No worries. We are off in a bit for our movie and dinner out. I'll have to keep you all updated on what other shenanigans I can manage to pull off while reveling in my alone time the next few days.

Just Because We Can Doesn't Mean We Should

If any of you reading this has any connection with Attorney General Eric Holder or the President himself, Barak Obama, could you forward this little parable to them in light of the recent decision to try  five of the 9/11 terrorists in Federal Court in NYC, mere blocks from the sacred sight of the former World Trade Center.

You could practically feel the breeze on your face and smell the salt spray when scenes of the majestic Pacific Northwest filled the screen while the New Moon movie trailer played in full glory on the Emagine Theatre screen. The typically unflappable Mayor nearly squealed (let me assure you, I’ve never squealed) with anticipation when Jacob bounded out of the house and transformed into a giant wolf mid stride. But my heart raced and I rashly promised my 8th grader that IF she got straight A’s I would take her to the opening showing of this movie.

To clarify, I was agreeing to her proposal that I take her to the local theatre  Thursday, November 19th to wait in line with a hoard of other crazy people for the midnight showing of New Moon. On a school night. Meaning that we would get home around 2 a.m. all jacked up from our exciting outing and attempt to get to sleep before the alarm goes off at 6 a.m. to begin the school day routine. When I made that promise to a child who had struggled in 7th grade to get passing marks in several classes, I thought the chances of having to pay the price of this commitment were highly unlikely.

Well, it’s November 16th and my daughter has achieved her goal, straight A’s in her classes. Being a woman of my word, I have left it up to Ms. S to decide if we are seeing New Moon at the midnight showing. Having years of experience in manipulating my charges into making “their” decisions, I have dangled the carrot of making it a girls big night out if she waits until the weekend. We can go to Benihana’s and then to the movie with whatever concessions she desires. If she decides we shall go for the midnight showing it will be business as usual Thursday evening. Homework, dinner at home, evening free time and going to the movie theatre at 11 p.m. We’ll take bottled water to drink because we have to go to bed immediately upon arriving home.

I’ve also reminded my migraine suffering charge that loss of sleep seems to be a common denominator, that trying to function on very little sleep friday could lead to trouble. Being a teenage girl, who I am sure will get revved up by her peers who are going to the ill timed movie opening, I am not counting on this decision to go my way. A teeny tiny part of me is resigned to making the most of the memories if forced to chaperone this middle of the night outing. In full disclosure, unlike when I had to take them to Disney cartoon movies, I’m sure I will thoroughly enjoy myself. I will only be cursing my lack of productivity on Friday when my aged ass is dragging all day.

I gently reminded her in my great wisdom, just because we can, doesn’t mean we should. I didn’t coin that phrase but  being a mother of 6 I have been known to utter it a time or two (or thousand) but who’s counting?

Why am I relating this lesson in wisdom to the current conundrum created when Attorney General Holder announced that he had chosen to bring the 9/11 suspects to American soil to try them as civilians in criminal court? I have watched and listened as both sides of this controversy get revved up to passionately make their case either in opposition or support of this decision.

You know I am the queen of practicality and I see a lot of issues that could arise and not go the way our esteemed leaders are predicting. The men in power seem to think that we are going to demonstrate to the world the superiority of our legal system by trying this case in our federal court system.Since they are the ones elected to be in power it seems like they can.  

Security costs money and the I can’t imagine a bigger security nightmare than transporting KSM and his cohorts from jail to court everyday in Manhattan. The disruption to the area that is the financial epicenter of our country can’t be good for business. It has taken a long time for NYC to recover financially after the attack on the WTC. I can’t imagine it’s going to be a big draw for convention planners to have to fight the chaos the city will incur during the period of the trials, not to mention potential harm to tourism.

There are a lot brighter folk than I to analyze the risk to Americans that will be incurred with this trial, not to mention further pain and suffering of victims families. I’ve heard supporters make the case for New Yorkers who want the trial here in federal court, saying that it will finally give them closure. I applaud there fighting spirit, but I also think they are being naive to believe this is not going to a freak show of epic proportions.

That brings me all the way back to that concept: just because we can doesn’t mean we should. We could bring these guys back to NYC. We could let KSM showboat, mock us, further terrorize the victims families,etc. But it doesn’t mean we should.

Intellect Protection Services

I’ve been reported to the Intellect Protection Services by my dusty reading list books. The complaint includes neglect and being held unlawfully on the dresser in my bedroom. Upon the IPS’s unscheduled home visit they found these:   

Call me paranoid but I think the blabbermouth Petrushka  doll has been the one ratting me out. The more I defend capitalism and the free market the bitchier she gets. Maybe I can appease her with some beluga caviar or a shot of Stoli. I would throw her in the next bonfire, but Pricess #1 brought her back from Russia, where she lived while studying abroad.

I explained to the Intellect Protection Service representative that I was still actually reading a lot, just more in short story form and that my Internet related activities really are expanding my knowledge base. Do they think mastering the world of blogging, twittering and facebooking is easy for a girl who went to college when computer hard drives took up a whole room in the lab and certainly didn’t fit on your lap?

I'll admit my rate of books read per month has decreased for the past year. If a book doesn't grab me right away it is far too easy to be distracted by the shiny object of stainless steel with the white apple on the cover. So what, I've went from being labeled a voracious reader to a computer slacker. I still have put in a respectable showing as far as books read recently.

One of my favorites this year was Quiver, by up and coming local author Peter Leonard. It packed in the trifecta for my soul: suspense, Michigan locations familiar to me and a sprinkling of NASCAR. I think they should make a movie of it along the lines of Get Shorty which was developed from a novel by Elmore Leonard (Peter’s famous daddy).

Bitter Is The New Black by Jen Lancaster is my bathtub reading buddy and I’m half way through it. But my blogging and twittering have also interfered with my bathtub time, leaning more towards quick showers these days. A book that should have taken me about 6 hours to read is taken me about 2 months so far.

I carry small books to keep me occupied while waiting for all the little things and people I wait for daily. I’m trying to expand my vocabulary with Diane Law’s Dictionary of Bullshit (lexicon of corporate speak) and a more appropriately titled book while waiting in public is David Sedaris’s Holidays On Ice, a cold weather favorite of mine.

I also bet that jealous Russian hussy didn’t produce any of my pictures from this year as I read my way through Charlaine Harris’s Sookie Stackhouse book series upon which the show True Blood are based on. There’s 9 in the series so far. What is more engaging than a story set in the deep South that includes vampires, shifters, werewolves and fairies? OK, so it’s not Tolstoy’s Anna Karina but it is highly entertaining and incredibly stimulating to the imagination.

My teenage daughters goaded me in to reading  Stephanie Myers books Twilight, New Moon and Breaking Dawn last year. I had resisted the whole movie craziness until I finished the first book. I was immediately drawn in by the vampire angle. Unlike the teenage fans I find Bella, the heroine of the saga quite annoying.

You had better believe I am counting down the days to the release of New Moon. I am captivated by the Quileute Indian legend that's featured so heavily in the sequels and I can't wait to see my favorite character Jacob shift into a powerful wolf mid stride.

Anyway I wore that pesky IPS lady out blathering on about wolves, Native Americans, rattlesnake hunting and the North Carolina connection of my family's Cherokee bloodline. Her eyes glazed over and she agreed to check her sources out more carefully in the future.

Where's My Yard Bitch?

Some people have garden gnomes or crafty painted wooden yard signs, I care for none of that. But I am sorely missing my yard bitch.

An actual yard bitch

Our yard has just not looked the same since my son moved away to pursue his career ambitions in the Windy City. My friends used to ask me why I wasn’t bothered when he moved home after college. Are you kidding me? The Prince among 5 sisters, he went to work, did his own laundry, cleans up his kitchen mess, likes to cook and when it came to the cars or yard, would do my bidding.

I have bore 6 children. As in any group dynamic, some are workers and some are not. Growing up with a husband who traveled extensively I was reliant on my minions to pitch in, a lot. Witty language and code words just tend to make the mundane more interesting, don’t you think?

Now when I delegate jobs I refer to them as my .......... bitch. Fill in the blank. If they are on kitchen duty they are the kitchen bitch, when on laundry duty they are the laundry bitch for the day.

On a recent trip to Chicago my sister in law was sitting in the passenger seat. I announced that she would have to act as my toll bitch. At first she looked startled but after a minute started laughing and agreed to be in charge of having money for the tolls ready so we could sail through. If you don’t have an E-Z Pass it’s complicated to have the correct change for tolls ready, willing and able.

When I’m road tripping  the last thing I want to be is delayed at the toll booths because I’m for sure on a competitive arrival schedule. It’s difficult to do without the assistance of a toll bitch. I know this for a fact because my dear sister in law was too hung over and too out of it on the way home to attend to her duties.

Once we arrived for our girls weekend in Chicago I sought out my luggage bitch and my wine bitch. You see there’s no end to this game.

Back to the situation at hand and that is my yard full of leaves and wilted hostas. I’ve been nagging Raymondo for a couple weeks to attend to the situation. I don’t call him my yard bitch because he wouldn’t like that. He thinks it’s crass and doesn’t share my sense of humor. I actually enjoy raking leaves but my allergies have been so crazy this fall that I have avoided getting out there among all the angry spores.

I was inspired today though. I completed my work out with Fit TV,  Gilad’s Body Sculpting that included a concentration of weight lifting targeting the chest and shoulders today. It was sunny out and the yard was getting on my nerves so I got out there raking, carrying debris to the woods, yanking out dead vines.

After showering I headed to Starbucks to reward myself with a latte and some twittering before proceeding down to the imaging center for my annual mammogram. I have lost my grandmother, mother, 2 aunts and a cousin to breast cancer so I always dread the anxiety cloud that hangs over me in this regard. I get a mammogram done every year or so at the same facility so they can easily compare each years films for any suspicious changes.

The technician introduced me to their new mammogram machine. She told me they call it Diva because it’s cutting edge technology but very temperamental.  I’m calling it Clampy. Like a vice clamp. Somebody call the Pentagon, they can do away with water boarding as an enhanced interrogation technique. Just put the terror suspects body part into Clampy and depress the pedal that applies the pressure...they’ll cry for their mama in no time at all. Problem solved. Why didn’t they put me in charge of this in the first place?

I'm a Sexy Bitch

Between Gilad, the yard work and Clampy there is not one centimeter of my torso that is not sore tonight. Me and my best friend Motrin got into a hot bubble bath but my nipples feel like I’ve breast fed triplets today. That is weird in itself since they have pretty much been numb for the past 12 years and they have some how sprung back to life.

Looking out the window, I couldn’t help noticing it looks like there’s a swirling dervish of yard waste forming into a funnel cloud since the wind picked up. All the big piles of leaves I left for my husband to haul into the woods have been reduced by half and it’s not because he did any yard work today while I was being tortured.

My son called on his way home from work. He tends to call when he’s bored looking for me to entertain him. As he shared about his day I abruptly cut him off with the question, where is my yard bitch? The Yard Bitch then assured me he and his sisters would be home for Thanksgiving and promised to attend to the leaves if they were still bothering me.

In honor of Michigan hunting season

Yes, please go