This blog has no purpose, no focus, and is full of completely meaningless content that will make you regret wasting the last ten seconds you just spent using up your eyeball juice to read it.

I’m trying out my reviewing skills. What do you think? Not bad, right?

Er, do reviewers get reviewed?  If not, they should.

Isn’t this photo gross.  How does he do that??  My dad used to do this trick where he pulled up his eyelids and rolled his eyes so his pupils weren’t visible and they looked all white.  Scared the crap out of me….

Now that I think of it, my dad was some kind of sadist.  He used to stand out on the porch during a horrendous thunderstorm and harry me into joining him.  I’d put on my bravado face and throw out a comment on the amazing lightning show until the seconds between light and boom were a little too short.  Then I’d mutter some excuse about having to put my Barbies away and skedaddle.

We enjoyed this same ritual whenever Dad decided to watch a horror movie on late night tv.  This was how my eyeballs were first assaulted by “The Exorcist,” and some weird film about a creepy severed hand that crawled around and attacked teenagers making out in a car.  Don’t worry, I got my parents back by becoming a complete insomniac who would refuse to go to bed and allow them some “adult time.”

My mom informed me years later that my father was probably too chicken to watch these movies alone and needed the company while she pretended to be cleaning up my Barbies.

Sigh …I miss my crazy-eyed, thunder-lovin’ chicken dad.



Once Upon a Mattress…


Sorry, this blog post is about to explode into a temper tantrum……..Um……Ah….Grrrrr……Ooooo……..AGUAAAGOOGOOGAGA!!!


My husband decided to do some spring cleaning which, unfortunately, usually requires my involvement, as in, “Hon, would you help me lug this queen-sized mattress and box spring up 3 flights of stairs, across the swamped out backyard full of alligators, through the four foot high flea-infested front lawn and sling it onto the curb without slamming into the neighbor’s precious BMW or knocking over the Harley that belongs to the friendly but rather raucous crack house across the street?”

So after a few broken fingers, head-rattling concussions, foot-long gashes and loudly murmured “BOB SAGETS!”, the mattress patiently waits for the trash truck to carry it to its final destination.


A few days later, it’s still waiting….


And a few weeks later.  IT’S. STILL. “@ONADGA%#(#*%BOB SAGET!!!!!” WAITING THERE!!!!!!

Yes, we made arrangements with the trash collectors beforehand.  Yes, my husband contacted the dispatcher every day – her name’s, Savannah, and they’re expecting their first baby in October.  Yes, I posted on Angie’s List and gave them an “F” Rating.  Then. Just as I was about to file with the BBB.  The mattress vanished.

Not really sure if it was our official trash collectors, though, because some savvy neighbor got their hands on the box spring a few days earlier.

The thing is, this isn’t just a tale about a mattress.

I wouldn’t have been so upset if I hadn’t just spent the past week dealing with other situations where people either didn’t do their job, messed up the job, or weren’t even available to mess up the job.

Do you see the unwelcome trend here?

Here is my theory, which has prevented me from reaching through the receiver and sadistically plucking every nose hair from the Bungler Du Jour on the other end:

1) Company carries a glut of managerial dead weight and a small set of “little workers” who actually possess skills

2) Company needs to make more money to pay their CEOs

3) Company shuffles around deadweight and dumps more work on little workers without compensation, along with the phrase “Hey, at least you still have a job!”

4) Little Worker tells frustrated consumer on the phone, “Hey, at least I’m still on the line feeding you bull$@(%!”

End of theory and rant.

Speaking of work……….I better get back to my job, before someone tries to pluck out my nose hairs.


What day is it in Beijing?


Good Morning!

Sunday morning….

Reflection Time.Image

When we do attend church, we go in the evenings.  For us, Sunday mornings are not to be rushed events.

I’m a stomach sleeper.  So, I’ll start the day by rolling over and flat lining on my back while entertaining peaceful thoughts and watching the sun rise through my eyelids.

Then I’ll cautiously open my eyes, but only enough to reveal small blurry slits of daylight.  I have to pretend I’m still asleep, you see, so when our daughter wakes up and starts yelling or the boys start noodling around the kitchen for food my husband has to be the one to jump to attention.  It’s also a waiting game on who will be up first to make the coffee.

I usually win.

Except when he wakes up and squeezes my shoulders in a big hug and asks sweetly, would you mind…..?

Grrrr, well played! ;(

Now we’ll see who can hold out long enough to get out of making breakfast, er brunch.

Happy Sunday! (unless you live in China or Korea, whatever, then all my best wishes for a durable, pain-free Monday)

Will Work for Food

I am not a good motivator.

I can’t even motivate myself…have you seen the dates on my last blogs? Of course you haven’t, because I haven’t been motivated enough to network for more readers.

Money motivates me to some extent, therefore I work, but in a very blasé, unmotivated fashion. As in, I work from my bed. I wake up, get the kids to school, then lie on my bed and work on the computer. Sometimes I get dressed.

Hunger motivates me to arise from the bed and shuffle a few steps to the refrigerator, which is only a few feet away in the kitchen right. outside. my bedroom. I AM motivated to do this several times a day, but I’m not sure that bad habits/food addiction/boredom really count as proper motivational tools in the How to Be a Motivator Rule Book.

Soooo….with my point demonstrated and grossly overstated, let me move on to my dilemma over motivating my unemployed husband to arise from the couch.

He lost his job 9 months ago after working for my family’s business that went OUT of business. Same ol’ same ol’ Main Street story in America these days – highly qualified, over-skilled fifty-something competing with entry level college grads for some 70 hr/week understaffed job that pays a little higher than minimum wage. My husband sends out about 10 resumes a day into cyberspace, has received about 5 excited calls about his resume with no follow up calls and NO INTERVIEWS. So, yeah, he kind of doesn’t feel like getting up off the couch.
I’d let him stay in bed, but this is my domain.
Oh, and also, his mom died.
And his dad will probably soon follow, considering he’s on a few borrowed months’ time with stage 4 cancer.

Comcast put out a wonderfully helpful article entitled, “Is Your Job Search Getting You Down?” that suggests the prospective job hunter surround himself with positive motivational people.

I don’t know any Suzy Sunshinesspongebob. Do you?

Excuse me while I put on my slippers and shuffle into the kitchen for a bag of Cheetos.

Living a Joyful Life

I’m not even going to mention or acknowledge the fact that I haven’t written in this blog for over a year (okay, I just did).  Or  give you an excuse on why I haven’t written in so long i.e. the cat ate my zipdrive (oops, I did it again – step aside, Britney).  The point is, I didn’t want my unproductiveness to distract you from the purpose of today’s post….

I wanted to share a new word I’d discovered last night – Acedia.

Acedia, with its Latin roots, describes a state of listlessness or torpor, of not caring or not being concerned with one’s position or condition in the world.  Acedia is an ailment, but not clinical like depression.  It’s considered the same as Sloth, one of the Seven Deadly Sins, but should not be mistaken as a form of laziness or sleepiness (even though these can be two of the symptoms).  By Christian standards, Acedia, is one of Satan’s sharpest tools used against us.  Basically, if you’re suffering from Acedia, you’re in Hell.

I think it’s interesting that I’d learned this term by reading Robertson Davies’ dissertation while accepting his honorary degree from Queen’s University.  Instead of eulogizing the importance of education and intellectual pursuits and the great acheivements they can introduce, Davies throws out a warning about one of the worst, if not the worst, entrapments of adulthood.  Acedia, extreme apathy, an atrophy of feeling, spiritual indifference, death of a soul.  Sounds pretty freakin’ horrible, right?

I wonder how many of us are enduring Acedia.  Is this a constant state of mind, or does it sit in your blood like herpes and flare up every now and then?  I wonder if it’s an epidemic, especially among the middle-aged.  I wonder if I caught this tragic disease.

If so, then I’m kicking it.  Right now.  Yup, I’m crawling out from under the sofa cushions, shaking off the cracker crumbs and spare change, and taking a big gulp of the “Joy” Drug.

See you tomorrow.