Time to Say Goodbye

Hey there everyone, it's your old pal Diary here to admit defeat.  Over the past few months I haven't posted much, read many blogs or tweeted worth a shit.  Things are just too crazy.  So I feel that it's best to fold up camp for this particular little blog concern and think about what might be ahead in the future.

It's not that I don't love to blog, love the community and of course, love to have an outlet through which I can call people out on their ridiculous shit. I certainly do love every minute of that.  However, my life is very full at the moment with a mix of things really good and not so good and this mix of stuff is keeping me occupied.  There is no cause for alarm or concern.  Let's just say that busy does not even begin to describe it.

Before I go, I would like to say a word of love to some of the bloggers that I have discovered on this journey that made a positive impression on me and kept me around for as long as I was.  There are too many to mention individually, but these were among my regular reads.  If you haven't checked them out, you must.  I am too lazy/tired to link to them, but a google search works just as well:


Lin at Duck and Wheel with String
Allison at 400 Wake Ups
The Empress at Good Day Regular People
Wendi Aarons
Smacksy
Surfer Wife
Amy at Goodbyte 20's Hello Botox
Mom of the Perpetually Grounded
Sara Spelled Without an H

That is just a small portion of the list of people that I have enjoyed reading and if your name isn't on the list, know this; if I ever visited  your site and left a comment, I have enjoyed your blog and I appreciate your writing.

So what's next for me?  Other than donning a ninja outfit and running night maneuvers on the PTA,  I am not really sure.  Things have really picked up for my son's band and driving them to shows and going to work will continue to take up a lot of my time.  I really do enjoy being pseudo-roadie, I'm thinking about growing a beard and getting a tattoo of a flaming skull on my forearm, to really embrace the look.

In my heart, I don't believe that this is the end of blogging for me, rather it is more of a new beginning.  There are many possible future concepts out there for me, I just have to get through the craziness of the next couple of months before I reinvent myself.  Perhaps I will lose my mask and come out from behind the shadows of anonymous blogging or maybe I will stay anonymous and tell stories about the unbelievable people that I encounter in corporate America (I swear that one guy is skinning people and wearing their pelts at night).  Whatever it may be, I will be sure to reach out to all of you that have had such a positive impact on me to let you know that I am back.

Hugs, Kisses and Hatred for the PTA.
Your Girl Diary

New Year, New Me. . . not really

Photo Credit: I snatched this bitch from jenbutneverjenn.com. I have no idea where she snatched it from

Hello.  Have you met me? I'm DG at Diary and I am not a "mommy blogger".  I have spent the last three years tippity typing on this keypad, seeking to illustrate how I hate the PTA, would rather be drawn and quartered than carry a Vera Bradley Bag and shoot neighborhood parents with a BB gun when they walk their dogs (OK, the third part is a lie, but some of those bitches make it into my darker day dreams). So why in the name of evil Mother Nature would ANYONE solicit me to hawk their scrapbooking product?

After a long vacation away from my blog, I returned to find an e-mail from some chick that "absolutely loves" my blog and wants to advertise her product on it.  All I can think is, does she love it for my desire to put truck nutz on my Uncle's pick up or for spewing rabid hate about the PTA?  I have never expressed an interest in scrapbooking, wearing sweatpants with words on the ass or any other mommy cliche (apologies if you are sitting on the word PINK as you read this). Not  to say that that those things are bad, they just are not me.

Now, while I may not be a Mommy Blogger, I am most definitely a woman, and what does a woman do when someone professes their love for her?  She tests that love, of course.  So being that this woman has put her love for my blog in writing, I am going to make sure that she really knows what she loves.

This post today is a warning shot of sorts, because in the coming weeks, I am going to go ahead and run her promotion (if she writes back and hasn't figured out her marketing error as of yet).   I don't want you all to think that I have gone soft or commercial or "mommy" once you see me hawking her patchwork rainbow on my blog.  It is more to see if they really pay attention to who they solicit.

Part of this process will be to give away some scrapbooking software, so I will be running a contest.  PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE do not let my bitter words stop you from entering to win the software, wearing sweats or joining the PTA.  These things are not for me, but I do not judge if they are for you. . .unless you live within my school district, then I'm Judge effing Judy.

Legend of the Invisible Blogger

For those of you that may have stopped by over the past month or so, you might have noticed that I'm not here.   You also may have noticed that I have not been around to your blogs either.   I just want you to know that there is no cause for alarm, I am indeed still breathing air and complaining bitterly about the PTA. . .I'm just not doing it on my blog.  

There are a host of reasons for my recent absence and many of them are quite positive.  For one thing, I took another trip to Italy.   For those of you that were reading here last year, you know that I took my first trip in August of '10 and like a jonesin junkie, I had to get back for another fix.   Another thing that has been taking up my time and brain cells was the planning of a pretty big Halloween Party.  Not just any Halloween Party, but an 80's Prom themed Halloween Party.  Needless to say, that was a hell of a good time and if I were not an anonymous blogger, I'd post pictures of myself dressed as Boy George, dancing my face off. Sorry. No can do.  I have a PTA to dis and my mug (although coated with a Tammy Faye Bakeresque coating of war paint) must remain hidden.

There is plenty more at hand, but that's all I'm sharing for now, so I'm checking in and checking out. Not for good, mind you, but for a little while.  I will miss you while I hiatus, but like that other 80's robot, the Terminator, I'll be back (and that's a promise, not a threat). 

Is Fake Singing the Only Thing More Critical Than Global Thermonuclear War? Duh, Obvi.

I might have said once or thirty times that I am not a big fan of our school's PTA.  This is not because I don't appreciate the wonderful things that they do to raise money for our school, I most certainly do recognize and appreciate that.   The problem with our PTA is that it seems to attract a very specific type of woman and this type of woman is not my favorite.  In fact, I think it's fair to say that if this type of woman were a man, I'd punch her in the junk.

You know the type of woman that I'm talking about; the type with too much time on her hands, lots of gossip to spread and just enough of a mean streak to spread it freely. She will  sidle up to Mother A at Spaghetti Wingo Night to mine a nugget of deeply personal information out of her and by the time Family Fun Night comes around, Mothers B-Z have heard the entire story in rich detail. In a word they are cliquey, klatschy, crappy.

Generally speaking, I avoid these women like herpes.  In the beginning of the year, I make a financial contribution and then I lift my giant rock like Patrick Star and I get under it for the duration.   Unfortunately, over the last school year,  I had to interface with these sea hags of the educational system and as usual the experience has left me full of piss and vinegar.  My least favorite PTA moment of the prior school year - Lip Sync Night.

Yeah, you heard me, Lip Sync Night.  Don't look at me with that puzzled look on your face.  If you don't know what that is, you spend more time under your rock than I do.  This is a matter of critical national importance!  It's code red!  It's under media scrutiny! IT'S LIP-EFFING-SYNC!!!!!!!! You clearly don't get the gravity of the situation.  Allow me to illuminate. . .

My daughter has participated in Lip Sync night for past three years and this year, she really didn't want to do it. Unfortunately, one of her good friends insisted that she join and being the 12 year old girl that she is, she caved to the pressure of the queen bee.

When rehearsals began, we received a very detailed, typed schedule of practices, shortly after that, the costume requirements came home.  They consisted of shorts, tank top, black tee shirt, leg warmers,nude pantyhose, gauntlets (fingerless gloves) and black converse sneakers.  This little outfit ran us in the neighborhood of $150.00, but listen up people, IT'S LIP SYNC NIGHT!

As practice wore on, we started to get performance notes home about our daughter's efforts at Lip Sync practice. Apparently, there were some issues with the way she was fake singing. She was behind a step here, she didn't seem to have memorized the words to the second verse, she was moving to the back row a half a beat too soon, etc.  It was about this time that I wanted to call the mother up and say,  "Listen up Fosse, lay off the Dexedrine and lay off my kid!".   But instead, we took the notes and promptly filed them in the shitter where they belonged and never mentioned it to the kid.

Fast forward to Lip Sync night.  As we pulled up to the school, we had to fight our way through throngs of paparazzi and a deep layer of security to get in.  We found our way to our glamorous, gum covered seats in the auditorium and quickly scanned the program to see where our daughter's group was - fifth in a field of 53.  Thanks to the collective deities of the universe for that small favor.  I had sat through all three hours of the past two years for our daughter's two minute performance.  Being the mother of an outgoing 6th grader gave me the gravitas to bolt out under cover of darkness after her performance. I was through being polite.  We left and went food shopping.  We had a neighbor text us when the finale started and we went back and got her.

As we were walking out, my daughter turned to me and said "Do you remember my friend Jamie from Kindergarten?"  "The one whose mother was PTA president?" I replied, trying not to have my voice drip with too much venom.  "Yea, that's her.  Well her mother hired a professional choreographer for her group." Dumbstruck, I failed to respond, I simply stopped in my tracks with my mouth hung open like a trout.  My daughter looked back at me with a devilish grin and a gleam in her eye, knowing that she had stunned the unstunnable.

Early this month I sent my daughter off to Jr High School.  I have my concerns about the next couple of years as Jr High is a time of discovery and experimentation for many teenagers.  It has more freedom , more stress and more homework than elementary school, but you know what it doesn't have? Lip Sync night. I think it's going to be OK after all.

My Bladder is no Longer Strong Enough for My Daugther's You Tube Recommendations

This is undeniably stupid.  Goofy.  Even a little weird.  But as soon as I saw it, I burst into uncontrollable, spasmodic, hacking (just getting over bronchitis) laughter.  I dunno.  See for yourself.

10 Things That Scare Me

Spam - the slimy, gelatinous meat in a can, not the e-mail kind.

PTA Moms - This frightening breed of uber-moms seems to live to gossip and judge and to make absolutely sure that you only get one playbill on LipSync Night. 

Raw Chicken - No, really, I have bad dreams about cross-contamination.

Televangelists - They are a generically frightening bunch, but Benny Hinn's hair is truly terrifying.

Anything that Andrew Zimmern eats.

Radical Vegans - Peace out girl scout.  I am cool with you eating twigs and dirt, you need to be cool with me having a big hairy steak.  Mmmmmm, Flay Steak.

George Michael's Shorts in Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.  - I mean, really?  Wasn't he concerned with VPL (either visible panty lines or visible penis lines - it's your call).

Planking - Seriously,  this is all there is for you to do?  Come to my house and help me paint if you're bored.

Pea Puree - Everyone on Top Chef has parked a protein on top of pea puree.  There was even controversy one season about someone stealing someone else's pea puree.  What is with this trend?  Is this really anything more than runny baby food?  Besides, if you leave the peas whole, they are much easier for me to push aside with blatant disregard.

Absinthe - One time is all you need to know that this is the single most terrifying and volatile substance ever distilled.  Keep your dignity . . .if someone offers you Absinthe, just say no (unless you like wearing a strangers underwear on your head, then, by all means, be my guest).


Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

Odoriferous Chillin

I need to start this blog post with a dedication to hurricane Irene.  Avast ye drunken wench!  You rolled into port, blew everything in site, left our little island broken and powerless and moved on up the coast.  Thanks for the syphilis ya scurvy skank!

OK, now that I got that out of my system. . . I'm really not here to complain about hurricane Irene.  We did lose power for five days and while she may have dosed us with a case of electrical clap, it was our incompetent doctor LIPA that ensured that we kept that case of the drips until we bordered on the brink of madness.  However, we were very lucky as all of our family and pets are safe and there was no real damage to our property, outside of our refrigerator, which suffered mightily.

When the storm was on its way, we filled a big cooler with many bags of ice and then proceeded to fill the cooler with key perishables from the fridge - eggs, butter, milk, vodka. You know, the important stuff.  I also jammed the freezer full of bags of ice to use as a sort of secondary cooler, figuring the power would be back on long before the metric ton of ice that I had supplied would ever melt.  Wrong again Diary. Very wrong.  There was no way to predict the level of chaos associated with trying to work, take cold showers, keep track of children with dying cell phones and check in and out of hotels amidst a widespread blackout.  I totally forgot about the remainder of what was in the fridge.  I forgot for five days.

When the power came back and we finally opened her up, the aroma was what I'd imagine the devil's taint smells like after a tough workout. Or maybe that's not a heinous enough comparison. I dunno. It was BAD.
Not only had I not removed all perishables from the fridge, I left the things that are most likely to stink to high heaven when they go bad; containers of  yogurt, chicken wings, juices and hummus and a variety of cold cuts and cheeses. Did I mention the block of smoked provolone? Yeah, I left that too. It was like the stinky cherry on a gabage pile sundae.

The next 24 hours were dedicated to decontaminating the fridge.  Every scrap of food save for two sealed jars of  pepperoncini and Lemon Curd were pitched into the trash.   We then removed all drawers, shelves and cubbies and scrubbed them twice with soap and hot water.  Anything small enough to fit in the dishwasher, took a ride through the Sterilization cycle and the box itself was scrubbed with Mr Clean until it sparkled like diamond dust.  I then reassembled the shelving and equipped her with two fresh boxes of baking soda.  I felt a tremendous relief to have a clean fresh smelling refrigerator, for about thirty seconds.

As I turned to walk away from my sparkling clean masterwork, I got a whiff of the rotting hell that we had smelled before.  Could it be that I didn't scrub sufficiently?  I inserted my head deep into the freezer and inhaled.  Nothing. Repeated the procedure with the fridge.  Fresh as a daisy.  But again as I turned away, there it was.  Just a whiff, with no obvious location.  From that point, I began sterilizing everything.  The sink got scrubbed with bleach and force fed an entire box of baking soda. The dishwasher got one of those dishwasher spa treatments.  Still, the smell persisted.  Finally, I noticed warm exhaust coming from under the fridge .  It was clear that the smell was riding up on that burst of warm air. It must be the drip pan!

My husband grabbed a flashlight and looked under the fridge and sure enough, there was a drip pan filled with festering water.  The ice in the fridge had been melting down into the drip pan and carrying the aroma of everything that was gradually rotting in the fridge for five days.  We had to clean that drip pan, which meant that we were going to have to move the fridge. The thought of moving the fridge made me very nervous. It had been a while since we had moved the fridge, I fully expected to find a Hobbit community under there, complete with homes, pets and infrastructure. It wasn't quite that bad, but it was a little gnarly.

Between gags, we cleaned and sanitized the drip pan within an inch of its festering life, and voila! the smell was gone.  We then cleaned up Hobbit Town and pushed the fridge back into place all clean and fresh.

Later that evening, I went to target to stock up on cleaning supplies.  As I was checking out, the cashier looked at me sideways when she saw the sheer volume of home fragrance that I had purchased - two cupcake scented pillar candles, a jar candle that smelled like mango and pineapple, three reed diffusers, a cinnamon apple plug in and a bottle of Febreeze.  I looked back at her, giggled nervously, shrugged my shoulders and said "teenagers".  I know, I know, it wasn't true, but I dare you to poke your head into my son's room and continue to judge that response.  It might be a close second to the drip pan.