Back from Blogger's Coma..."Octomom and the Stimulus Package"

Beep!....beep!....beep! Wait, I can HEAR that beeping....sounds familiar.....sort of like all those goofy sounds they dub in to the TV medical shows....when somebody's being monitored in a hospital......yeah, that's it. Beep! And there's some movement....oh, that's just me. Wait, I can see! There's light....the room is coming into focus.......hey! I'm back! I'm alive!

Okay, so I've been a little negligent with my poor little blog, but The Rubber Room is populated once more and I'm clearing out the cobwebs. It's been so long since I wrote anything that there is now this large backlog of topics - the new President and his Stimulus Package (yeah, um, I'm a small business owner who's not feeling very stimulated about this plan), then there's always the economy (going from bad to worse as each week brings new revelations of fraud and recession sliding towards depression threatening global markets.)

Of course, I could write about "Octomom" and her significance as a poster child to the rest of the world painting Americans as self-indulgent, illogical, irresponsible, self-aggrandizing, morally-reprehensible, ....wait, was I talking about Octomom or the Stimulus Package?

Seriously, we've all just embarked on the first few steps down the yellow brick road....and somewhere in the Emerald City, Obama is orating his heart out, "Pay no attention to the many generations of tax hikes and spiraling deficits behind the curtain!"

Apparently, if you are a successful American, who's worked hard to support yourself and your family without relying on government assistance, you are now to be penalized for your success. Your hard-earned money will be taken so that the burgeoning Federal government can spend it to help those "less fortunate." Hmmm, I think I've read this story before, too, but Robin Hood was stealing and redistributing *actual* ill-gotten money, not borrowing mythical trillions from future generations.

I know my sanctimonious sarcasm is dripping a bit more freely than normal in this post, but this hastily-thrown together plan scares the bejeezus out of me. Don't get me wrong, I pray every day that somehow this will all work out for the better for the economy and our country as a whole. But then I also pray every day for the advancement of our society...and then there's a story that grabs headlines for weeks about an unemployed, single mother of six children, living on disability and welfare who SOMEHOW manages to persuade a medical doctor to impregnate her yet again, resulting in the birth of octopulets...... And who is paying for that selfish bit of morally-lacking irresponsibility?

I have to say, my faith in our society is weakening every day. And I don't see a bail-out in sight....

On Getting 'Cowed!'

This New Year's Eve marked a milestone in my life - I turned 40, but even more auspciously, I got 'cowed."

You see, there is a tradition in my small suburban neighborhood that apparently began a decade or two before my family's arrival. On momentous birthdays (usually your 40th), a very large black and white plywood cow appears in the yard of the birthday boy or girl, and is usually painted with a witty saying such as: 'Holy cow! (Name)'s 40 now!' or ' Lordy! Lordy! (Name) is 40!'. You get the picture.

Sometimes the cow is fully dressed - mine sported a grass skirt, a straw panama hat, and a glittering boa. There were also helium-filled balloons flying from the cow, my mailbox and front porch. Last year, I also saw the cow on other lawns; once dressed in a hard hat and pocket protector, standing in the middle of a decorative graveyard complete with tombstones sporting black crepe streamers and black balloons. I've also seen the cow decked out in nurse's garb with so many balloons attached I thought it might fly away. But no, there it was on my lawn in all it's glory the morning of my birthday.

I have no idea who started the cow tradition, or how many lawns it has graced over the years. All I can tell you is that it makes me smile. To think of the effort it takes .... I mean, first the cow must be located within our subdivision's club house, or at the last recipient's house. Then it would have to be painted to cover the last message and re-painted with the new message. Just imagine lugging a wooden cow across a lawn, coaxing it to stand, accessorizing it, and trying to be stealthy about it, to boot.

It's not so much the cow that makes me smile. It's the gesture. The friendship. It reminds me just how blessed I am to know that I have people who care about me enough to go to the trouble. Spreading the love my friends, one cow at a time.....

I love the holidays....no really!

Okay, so from my last entry, you might get the impression that I don't enjoy the holidays. But that's not really true. I love the holidays. I'm just not very good at the whole holiday "thing."

I'm not the domestic kind of chick. I mean, I keep my house maintained at an acceptable level of cleanliness, but I'm just not really concerned with eradicating every last dust bunny and bacteria from my living space. When I was growing up, my Mom kept a clean house without the use of antibacterial soap and wipes and sprays. And we all survived.

Then there are all the other feminine pursuits of domesticity that take such a central role in the holidays - the cooking, the decorating, the gift wrapping. I hate to cook. I'm really not that good at it. But it's probably because I'm supremely not interested in doing it. It's just not fun to me. I mean, I do cook for my family, I'm not an ogre about it or anything. And most of the time, it's edible, but it's never anything mind-blowing.

I caught an episode of Martha Stewart once and endured about three minutes of condescending prattle about how easy and fulfilling it was to prepare...well, whatever the hell she was preparing. She mentioned that it was only an hour's worth of preparation...but of course, it would look so easy on TV when you have people to do all the shopping, selecting, chopping, dicing, measuring, gathering, etc. before you walk int the room to throw it all together. It takes me an hour just to get everything together that I need to START cooking. Then there's all that aforementioned chopping, slicing and sauteeing. By the time I'M finished with a meal like that, I'm covered in whatever I'm cooking, have three burned fingers, and a kitchen that looks like a bomb hit it - every pot, pan and utensil I own strewn about on every available surface, dripping various parts of the dish all over the stove, counters, floor, sink, refrigerator and sometimes even the ceiling. And then my family doesn't really like it anyway.

So yeah, cooking is just way down on my list of life's priorities. I should own stock in Pizza Hut and my local Chinese delivery.

The decorating? Another thing I'm just really not that "into." I love the look and the feeling an elegantly-decorated home imbues. I mean, I love looking at it and experiencing it. But again, not being good at that kind of thing, it takes an entire weekend of back-breaking work to exhume all the decorations from the basement, garage and attic - go through it, untangling garland and lights from last year and figuring out where it's all supposed to go.

Then of course, there's the gift-wrapping - for me a hellish several hours of back-breaking wrangling, and paper cuts. And after all the time you put in making the gifts look so special, they don't really get a cursory glance before the ripping and shredding begins. Overall, a holiday prerequisite I could just do without.

While all this could probably be construed as pure laziness, that's not strictly true. Yes, I admit to being a somewhat lazy creature overall, but my aversion to decorating is actually rooted in the (miniscule) part of my brain dedicated to practicality. Seriously, it's just a LOT of time, work, and financial resources poured into decorative trappings that the retail industry has evolved over time to part our hard-earned cash from our wallets.

So all that said, what DO I like about the holidays? I love the gathering of family and friends. I love the good-will that many people find in themselves around the holidays. I love the excitement and wonder in childrens' eyes. It's all the warm FEELINGS that the holidays invoke that I enjoy. All the material stuff just really isn't that important to me. It's the people, the sharing, the charity and the uniting of humanity in a common cause of goodness that I really love. Something I wish we could hold on to long after the last pine needles are vacuumed from the corners.

I really do love the holidays. And I sincerely hope that this year, you rediscover the mystery, the wonder and the awe that is pure love.

Happy Holidays from the Rubber Room!

Jingle Bells, Batman Smells

So my last post was complaining about it being November already and now, BAM! Christmas is staring me in the face.

'Tis the season to turn all manic, right? What with the endless gift lists, party lists, cooking, entertaining, decorating, wrapping, who has time to feel any cheer? So I thought I'd share with you my own twisted version of Christmas From the Rubber Room.

To the tune of "Jingle Bells"

Jingle bells, avoid the sales,
the traffic, and the crowds.
Shop online, with a glass of wine
singing carols much too loud. Oh!

Jingle bells, the tree just fell,
and I'm all bound in tape.
I'm trying to wrap, but now there's sap
and the kids are all agape. (but not helping, of course)

Dashing through the store,
in sweats and tennis shoes,
gotta find an hors d'ouevre in time
but I think I'm gonna lose (my mind). ha! ha! ha!

Doorbells' constantly ringing,
it's the UPS guy again.
More crap to wrap, I mean gifts to share
hey, there's those cards I forgot to send.

Oh! Jingle bells, that garland smells.
Where'd we store it since last year?
These lights won't work, I'm going berserk,
and don't you call me, "Dear!" Oh!

Jingle bells, I look like hell,
don't feel like spreading cheer.
Where's that wine? (or is that 'whine?')
I'll be fine some time next year!

Happy Holidays from the Rubber Room!

Wow! I can't believe it's been a month since I posted anything. Apologies to all my peeps out there who USED to read my whiny, pretentious little blog. But, you wouldn't have wanted to be in my head for the past few weeks. It's not been a pretty place.

First, there was the crazy election which, results be damned (politicians ALL stink), was a wonderful thing for the American people in that at least our pathetically apathetic society finally got off it's over-entitled rump to get out and vote in record numbers. Of course, I am disappointed that so many only got out to vote for further entitlements promised from a candidate from the far-left. Let's hear it for the new Socialist Republic of America! Gosh knows it's worked so well for Russia and China and .....well, I could go on, but I won't. Sour grapes only make vinegar, right?

And I also lost a member of my family last week. My 20 year old cat, Ashley, was finally called home. She was my first daughter and our loyal companion for two decades and she'll be greatly missed.

And there's been many other minor tragedies that, you know, just happen in every day life. But I don't want to start another whining session...oh, poor pitiful me. Who the heck wants to read that crap?

What I DO want to write about today are the many, many news reports and op-ed articles I've seen in the last couple of weeks surrounding the election that insist on bringing up racism. Are there REALLY people in this day and age who would cast a vote for President of the United States based solely on skin color?

That question notwithstanding, I'm really becoming increasingly annoyed with how far in the other direction we've allowed the pendulum to swing since the birth of the civil rights movement. Please don't get me wrong, I am wholeheartedly against racism. I was brought up to believe that we're all humans regardless of what color, religion, creed or culture we are. But more and more, the very people who were the biggest victims of racism in this country are now openly perpetrating the very actions that they fought so hard to overcome.

What do I mean? Well, like voting for a mixed-race candidate solely on the basis that his father was African American. Like feeling it is perfectly acceptable to call me "honkey, cracker, whitey..." but if I mouthed a slanderous word against an African American, or a Mexican American, or an Arab-American, or an Asian-American....well I'd be racist. And what the heck ever happened to just plain old Americans?

It occurs to me that as a caucasian woman, I don't have a "White History Month" to celebrate. Nor do I have any Affirmative Action laws that would ensure my success over other candidates who may have more experience or better credentials. I don't have a "White College" to go to, nor do I have any Rhyming Reverends who will come and publicly, loudly take up my cause if I'm wronged by a person of another race.

Could you just imagine the public indignation if I announced that I was starting a Miss White America Pageant? Or organizing a Million White Woman March?

It's okay for marches and speeches to be heard from every corner of the nation about black pride and latino pride and whether you're brown, yellow, orange or purple, it's okay for you to proclaim your pride in your race. But what would happen if I proclaimed my white pride? I'd be a racist, right?

Wrong. I'm a caucasian. I'm a female caucasian. A wife. A mother. An artist. An independent. Many other labels I and others could slap me with. But I'm not a "white American."

I am an American. There's only one kind. A patriot of this country and what it stands for. For the freedoms that were bought by the blood of my ancestors and of those of many others who served, and still serve to protect my right to the freedoms I enjoy.

If your African hreitage is more important to you, then go to Africa. If your Mexican heritage means more to you than the laws of this country, feel free to go to Mexico. And if you feel that your Muslim religion is being slighted by other religions in this country - there are many other Muslim countries that would welcome you.

This is America. A nation built on a set of morals and ideals that all true Americans should still hold tightly to our hearts before we lose it to political correctness.

We are very politically-correctly dividing our nation into separate cultures instead of embracing the melting pot that made this country great. So if you want to be a citizen of this United States and benefit from the freedoms and opportunities inherent with that, then you are simply an American. No hyphenates. No apologies.

May God bless the United States of America.

You Only Live Once

When I was twelve years old, walking down the hallway of my junior high school, I saw a poster that someone had taped to the wall between two of the classrooms. It was a beautiful photo of the silhouette of a person diving gracefully off of a cliff into the sun-dappled ocean below. The caption read "You only live once, but if you live right, once is enough."

Obviously it made an impression, as I can still recall it in exact detail decades later. So, as corny as it sounds, I got my life's motto from a poster on a wall. But I do actually quote it all the time. In my late teens and early twenties, it was my daily mantra as I woke each morning determined to go out and make my mark on the world. It was responsible for most of the truly reckless decisions I made in my youth. But it was also responsible for most of the more amazing actions I've undertaken in my life. And the older I get, it reminds me to slow down every once in a while, and take time out to do something just for the fun of it, just for me.

It doesn't have to be anything crazy, like say following the sudden childish impulse to kick off your pumps in the middle of the mall and go wading in the fountain for just a moment. (But it was really a hoot watching the astonished faces of passers-by.) It could be just a whim - something spur-of-the-moment like turning around to go back to the Dairy Queen for some ice cream on the way home from running all those errands. Or deciding that the huge blanket fort that the kids are building in the dining room is just so much more fun and will be much more memorable than the china and antique furniture that is in imminent danger from little hands and pillow fights. I can always buy more china - and the antiques were already scratched when I got 'em.

So much more precious than the material accumulation, is the life - the memories, the laughter and even the tears that define who we are, who we were, and who we want to be in the future.

I can't say that I remember that every day. But I try to remember it as often as I can. So that usually, when given a choice between spending a Saturday running errands or spending a Saturday driving through the moutains, finding a trail and striking off to see where it goes for a few hours.....well, the grocery shopping can always wait 'til tomorrow.

I try hard not to think of it as being irresponsible or immature. It's just that I really want to be that smiling, batty old woman some day, cackling away as I tell my grandchildren about some of my more infamous exploits. I always want to be able to look back on my life - as I do now - knowing that I wouldn't change much, even if I could. Knowing that there were those times when I chose the less-travelled path, the riskier route and did those spontaneous things...not because I could, but because I felt like I should. If we do only get to go around once, I'm gonna make damn sure that I had a hell of a good time.

So raise your glass in solidarity. Go directly outside in bare feet and scrunch through the fallen leaves and chilly dew of October. Run around the yard, dance through the trees, sing in the rain, and don't give a thought to who may be watching or judging. Where will those judgements be at the end of your life? Will it really matter what anybody else thought of you?

For me, it'll come down to my family and closest friends - they're the only judges that truly matter to me. And I don't have any family or close friends who don't already accept me for the warped individual that I am.

So what are you going to do just for yourself today? After all, you only live once. But if you live right, once just may be enough.

ROTFLMAO

Okay, I just HAD to share.....

I have a news headline ticker thingy that scrolls the latest AP news headlines on my computer's desktop all day. I have to admit, I haven't paid much attention to it in a long time - too much doom and gloom just isn't good for you.

But I happened to glance up at it this afternoon and as God is my witness, this was a real AP headline scrolling by:

"Woman in Cow Suit Arrested for Running Amok"

I burst into hysterical giggles immediately.....no, I don't know exactly why. But the visual image I got in my head of some silly woman running amok in a cow suit just tickled my funny bone and I had to share. I'm STILL ROTFLMAO (Rolling On The Floor Laughing My -posterior region- Off).

I don't know if it's the cow suit or the 'running amok.' Amok is such a funny word.....

Cow suit........amok.........snicker, giggle, snort...........

Lumpy Butt and Football Crack

So it’s Tuesday night and normally I’d have taken back control of the big TV in our den, IF the big TV in our den wasn’t still broken, awaiting parts for yet another week. You see, on Sundays and Mondays, control is given over to The Man and the myriad of NFL channels showing games on those days.

I like watching the occasional game, especially if it’s a close one and the little guys on the field are really digging in, fighting for every inch. Of course, I don’t always mind the regular games that aren’t that exciting either….it just takes a little extra imagination. For instance, sometimes I find out which team The Man is pulling for and then I’ll loudly pull for the opposing team the whole game. If it’s a really boring game, we’ll put a wager on the outcome. If my team wins, HE gets morning bus stop duty for the next week so I can sleep in.

On other occasions, I start giving the players my own little nicknames – like “Lumpy Butt” and “Tattoo Guy.” Drives The Man nuts. But on those days when it’s a good game, I can just lie on my husband’s comfy lap and cheer along with him – at least until a big play causes him to involuntarily leap into the air with a savage cry, dumping me on the floor in the process.

But this year, that won’t happen. You see, this year, The Man finally made the perilous leap into Fantasy Football. It’s kind of like Football Crack. (As in the illicit drug, not what you see when that really big “Balloon Butt” guy bends over the scrimmage line.) Yeah….it’s a whole new ball game.

Now, instead of being content to simply watch a game and yell at the TV, he sits, remote in hand and laptop computer on his lap alternately flipping channels between three or four different games and following the points on the I-don’t-know-how-many Fantasy teams he’s created as he duels with various of his buddies to out-play them. Or something like that.

Yeah…it’s bad.

And I WOULD make more fun of him as he watches, gripping the arms of his chair, grabbing the laptop to jump up and cheer or drumming his legs uselessly against the recliner’s raised footrest to urge a running back to new speed. But then I remember…

He usually doesn’t say a word the rest of the week when *I’m* jumping out of my chair and shouting about how Gabby’s just not as funny playing a pregnant mother of two girls, or when I’m jubilant that Christina finally has a love interest and we can listen to somebody else complain about their love life besides Meredith. He doesn’t even mind when I’m comparing the pros and cons of McDreamy, McSteamy and McArmy-Guy. Oh, and don’t even get me started on what the heck they’re thinking when they try to woo Sylar to the good Heroes’ side. And Clare just needs to stop whining, too. Jeez, you’re freakin’ indestructible…waah waah waah.

Ummm…what was I talking about again? Oh yeah. Fantasty Football. So anyway, if you’re ever wondering what would be a good day to come hang out with me when I’ve got nothing else goin’ on, Sunday and Monday are a good bet. Just call ahead….I’ll save you some wine.

Vote MOM Party 2012!!

I've gotten lots of great comments about my various ramblings on this new-born blog. Some were posted to the blog and many more were verbal or emailed. Thanks for dropping by and sharing in my insanity! And for those few blogger colleagues who so generously gave me encouragement - thank you!! As soon as I can figure out why my comments won't post on your blogs, I'll get back to you!

Some updates since I last rambled.....

"Z" the spider is no longer a fixture on my front porch. (Yeah, I'm callin' her just "Z" now....as in "Hey Z! How's it hangin'?) She met an untimely demise when 'Terminix Dude' came for the occasional scheduled inspection. To combat my outright terror of anything with that many creepy little legs, I had begun telling myself that she was a spirit guide come to bless my house with good fortune. Sounded good.

So while Terminix Dude was proudly telling me how he'd dispatched the big spider by my front door (and scraping the evidence off the bottom of his boot all over my front porch), I was wondering what that might mean for my Karmic future. (Oh, and confusing the heck out of him when I wasn't very enthused by his heroic efforts.) Rest in peace...pieces....Z.

I've gotten lots of really entertaining name suggestions for my new car! Yay! I was going to list them on here, but I'm afraid I'll miss someone's suggestion and I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings. I'll have to do some research through all the comments, emails, and remembered conversations and get a list on here. So that's coming soon. (I know you'll be waiting with bated breath, right?)

Probably the most commented-on post to date is the MOM Party (Maternal Organization Management) - seems to have struck a chord. As a result, I've thought some more about it, too...

One conversation I've had revolved around the ability of a femlae candidate (and yes, this would be a question for any female candidate - no partisanship) to have a family and successfully run an administration at the same time. My answer? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!!

Here's my assessment of the gender war as relates to holding political office: MOMS rule, politicos drool. Why? Seriously, who do you think dressed, nursed, supported, fed, raised the families and took care of everything behind the scenes of every male candidate...ever? Have you noticed that almost all politicians are married? Of course they are - because they know they couldn't do it alone.
It takes a MOM to make sure everyone gets up, brushes teeth, gets dressed, has a good breakfast and gets where they're going on time and prepared. And then she takes care of the kids, the house, the yard, the pets, the class projects, the PTA fundraisers, coordinates all the extra-curricular activities, the doctor visits, grocery shopping - and in today's world, all that is done in the spare time she has in between working to supplement the household income.

Now, I do have to take a step back and tell you that the above paragraph wasn't describing ME. Yes, I'm busy and I work from home, but I am blessed with tons of help - from my robot vacuum, my really, good-guy husband to my saintly in-laws. Seriously, my hubby is very supportive of me and my in-laws are incredible. They live close by so they help with everything from my laundry to chauffering my kids to their various extra-curricular activities. Anyway, I stress that the super-MOM I'm describing isn't me - but you know these women. Many of you ARE these women.

And the ones I know could solve the current financial crisis, negotiate a peace setllement in the Middle East, and balance the Federal Budget somewhere in between PTA and piano lessons. (Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit.....it might actually take until after dinner to really complete all that.) And I mean a sit-down, home-cooked meal by the MOM in question, too - no pizza hut delivery allowed.

As a MOM, who knows many other MOMs and the intricate details of the reigning chaos that they whip into order every single day, I speak with factual assurance that any member of the MOM party would be highly qualified to represent the rest of us.

Any takers? VOTE MOM PARTY 2012!!!

Calling All Mythical Creatures....

WARNING: More venting ahead....

Okay, so I still have a dark, silent hunk of TV hanging on my wall. The amigos at the authorized TV repair shop won't call me back. It could have something to do with the overly-frustrated, sarcastic tone of voice on the messages I've left for them.....or maybe they're just on siesta. But either way, why is it that I should have to BEG someone to let me pay them?

Seriously. I need a service. They provide that service. I will pay for the service. Who's gonna turn down money? (Besides the amigos at the TV repair shop....) Unfortunately, lots of people. For example, I pay a lawn service to mow my grass, trim the hedges and take care of weeds and fertilizing....not because I'm that lazy, but because I'm so exasperated that what takes me three days of back-breaking labor, they accomplish in ten minutes and are off to the next house. I'm willing to pay for efficiency. But while I did finally find a company who actually shows up every week and they do mow and clip and sort of trim......well, I've asked many times for them to do some extra work that I was willing to pay them extra for. But will they do it? Um, of course not. They ignore those requests.

And then there's the phone company, and the cable company, and the many plumbers, fix-its and contractors who you'll call....and call again....and wait, and email and text and call some more.........um, am I not the one waving a fistful of $$ in the air? And then when you DO get hold of them, they'll give you a three-day window of when they might show up. Because I should stop my life to wait for them....and then pay them exorbitant amounts of cash for the privilege. sigh....

So without TV, my daughter has got me reading the "Twilight" series of books by Stepehenie Meyer. To her unending amusement, I'm actually enjoying them a lot. I'm totally sucked in, completely nostalgic for that teenaged girl genre. They're actually pretty well written, though completely predictable if you've ever read the classics...but an enjoyable escape just the same. So I've decided that what I need is a vampire or a werewolf to hang around me, making sure service people (and others I can think of) actually live up to their commitments. If I don't like the response....send out "Toothy" to hypnotize them to my will. And if I don't like the quality of the work, or the price....call in "Wolfie" to help in the negotiation.

Oh, I know I could just hire some normal, human "heavies" to throw some muscle around. But where's the fun in that?

Also Sprach Zarathustra

I've been remiss on my posts - life just gets in the way sometimes (and drowns out the voices in my head temporarily.) But I'm back to share some of my latest musings.

About a week ago, a very large, menacing looking "writing spider" took up residence just outside my front door. One of my mortal fears is spiders - even dead spiders give me the creeps and I won't go near them. So I entered and left my house by other doors for a couple of days, thinking the spider would move on. But no. She's still there. Spins a new, more intricate web every night with that funky white zig zag pattern down the center. I say 'she' because she really is quite a specimen as spiders go. No guy could look so .......regal. Unless it's a metrosexual spider, but I'm getting sidetracked.

Anyway, the spider has been there so long now, and I pass it so frequently on my comings and goings that I felt I should give her a name. And the voices in my head came up with Zarathustra. (I don't know why, I don't question the voices.) But before you think I'm a complete goober, you should know that "Also Sprach Zarathustra" is a very striking musical piece by Richard Strauss. You probably know it best by the version they used as the theme to the movie "2001: A Space Odyssey." ...... crickets........I'm a goofy goober, yeah! So, anyway, Zarathustra the spider is now official.

It's really not that strange if you know that I also call my robot, Roomba vacuum "Fred." Fred is a name that just stuck with me from somewhere in childhood. I had lots of Freds - from the small, green plastic turtle that I built houses for out of shoeboxes, to an unfortunate plant that died a lingering death in my bedroom, and a robot that I built in 4th or 5th grade out of cardboard boxes, tin foil, a string of christmas lights and an old tape recorder. I know what you're thinking.....yes, I built a robot. Why? Because I thought it was funny. And if you'd seen the routine that Fred and I presented to my elementary school class, you'd be laughing too. But I'm off on a tangent again.

I name lots of things - there's two bats that fly over my house every evening named "Spunkernickel" and "Bob." ......I know, right?

And my last car was named Lucille. She followed Esmerelda, Dottie and Lucifer in the automotive history in my driveway. All stories in themselves. But the naming of Zarathustra made me realize that I hadn't yet chosen an appropriate moniker for my new car.

I don't often call these things by the names I've given them out loud, you see. Well, except for my Roomba vacuum.....my whole family calls it Fred. Mostly the namesI give to random objects are between them and me. Oh, and you, now that you've read this. So the next time you come to my house, there's a stick propped up in the right hand corner by the door. It's so you can ring my doorbell (toward the left corner of my door) without disturbing Zarathustra. And if you have any suggestions for car names, well, the voices apparently burned themselves out on "Zarathustra," so let me know what you think.

Unless you just think I've crossed way over the line in my little rubber room. But just remember, you liked me okay before I named the stupid spider........I'm just sayin'.

Whack a Mole...

SIGH!!! Sometimes you have one of those days when you just seem a little "off" and things aren't quite going your way. Then there's the days when the Gods are laughing at you and seem to want to challenge your sanity.......and every once in a while, you'll have a day that leaves you stalking around your house with a maniacal grin and a baseball bat in your hand, just daring the next @%&$^!# thing to go wrong. Yeah. I'm there.

So last night our 50" plasma TV made a lovely "popping the champagne cork" sound and summarily died. My husband and I just looked at each other and sighed resolutely. It's just a Stupid TV after all, and something breaks or goes catastrophically wrong in our household at least once a week. No, I'm really not exaggerating.

And in yet another "they don't make 'em like they used to" moment, we realized the Stupid TV is just a little over two years old....and just out of warranty. Of course.

It's actually not even the Stupid TV that we originally bought. Oh no. When we first bought this house, the furniture layout in the family room was such that only a wall-mounted plasma TV would fit. Or so we told ourselves. It was a great excuse to buy what was then a brand-new phenomenon. (the flat, wall-mounted TV was still rare then) So we happily plunked down an exorbitant amount of money and enjoyed 2 years of plasma TV bliss...until the Stupid TV made a lovely sizzling noise and summarily died. Of course, it was just out of warranty then, too. Oh, and whatever it did to itself, it couldn't be fixed. It had to be replaced. But after weeks of days-long calls with Circuit City (heartless bastards of the universe), they finally agreed to replace the TV.

Our replacement TV was from a completely different manufacturer and was of significantly less quality than the one we'd bought. Not to mention that it cost $6,000 less than the TV we'd originally been sold from the heartless bastards of the universe. But we sucked it up, admitted we'd bought in too early and paid too much, and hung the new, replacement piece of crap on the wall.

Now, just two years later...again...we have no TV. And of course there's no warranty left. And the manufacturer won't touch it. All they will do is to give me the number of a local "Authorized repair shop" - whose answering machine message is in Spanish, by the way.....ummm, no habla espanol, amigos. Come fix my TV. Now.

Meanwhile, my wireless internet router seems to be on the fritz, my 20 year old cat has alternately pooped, peed and puked in my dining room - always waiting for me to get the carpet steam cleaner 2-ton machine put completely away before letting loose the next bout of bodily fluids. I've logged three calls from clients whose websites I built, and whose websites chose today to start acting up. Oh yes, there's more, but I'll spare you. Perhaps I should get some cheese to go with my whine.

Besides, holding up this baseball bat in between my chin and shoulder as I type this post is getting painful.......is it too early for wine? I think it'll go great with my new, rousing version of "whack a mole".........