Friday, April 30, 2010

Adventures in Bad Pet Parenting

I ran out of dog food this morning. All I had in the fridge that had any protein at all was some leftover pasta. Brownie's breakfast? Spaghetti with garlic, oil, basil and chicken. She asked for some grated cheese with it, so I guess she liked it.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Arrgh! The Pirates They be Bloggin

For those of you that read yesterday's Post It Note Tuesday, you were alerted to the fact that my daughter had hacked my Blogger account and posted the following comment under my ID:
"My daughter is epic and amazing and you should all adore her as much as I do :) "

Now this is cute and undoubtedly funny, but it is not her first hack. Long time readers will recall that she hacked her father's business AIM account and changed his status to "I can't chat now, I'm shaving my toes." and changed her brother's Facebook status to "Busy poopin'".

From a strictly external view (ie. if this were not MY child and MY blogger account), I would worship this as an act of evil genius and wonder why I myself did not think of doing it. But as I have a maternal relationship to this social networking guerrilla, I must admit to getting my knickers in a bit of a twist about it. She has been warned about people's privacy and the importance of respecting someone else's space and property.

Generally speaking, she is a good kid. She has an offbeat sense of humor and steers clear of foul language and any improper material for her age, which I love. She is also a great student and cares about doing a good job in school. Yet somehow I can't curtail the cyber pirate in her. It's almost like there is an "anything in the name of funny" rule in her head that supersedes her sense of right and wrong on this topic.

Here is an excellent example of her offbeat sense of humor. She followed my husband and I around the house insisting that we watch this YouTube video. When I finally gave in, I was so weirded out by it that I had to watch it three times. Ultimately, it made me laugh so hard I choked on my oatmeal. I guess she just beat me to the punch with that comment.

Disclaimer: Depending on your sense of humor, I am either sorry or you're welcome. Just bear in mind that this is the same kid that made us watch "Sittin on tha toilet". You have been warned:

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Post It Note Tuesday

It's time for Post It Note Tuesday, hosted by Supah Mommy. Go here to link up and join in on the fun.

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Friday, April 23, 2010


I am not proud of this fact, but I have a very loud voice and an even louder laugh. As a matter of fact, my laugh is so loud and so cackling that if I am outside and I get to laughing, I check the skies for fear of drawing seagulls. That being said, it is a MAJOR pet peeve of mine if I say something that is not heard because there are only two reasons for not hearing me - 1) not listening 2) deafness.

Obviously, you can't be angry about the second one, unless that person REFUSES to do something about it (ie. hearing tests and hearing aids) and you have to hold all of your conversations with that person at a shouting level that borders on violent and draws stares and dirty looks.

Such is the problem with my Uncle Ronnie and most of the parental generation of my family. They are victims of what my brother likes to refer to as ears that are "strictly ornamental". In the case of my Uncle Ronnie, the years that he spent with his head under the hood of a car, running a pneumatic drill and filing down metal parts has left his hearing at (my estimate) at about 25%. It has been failing gradually since his 50's, when he could still hear our pleas to have it checked and to do something about it.

This year, about a week before Easter my mom called him and invited him to dinner at 3PM on Easter, which he enthusiastically accepted. On Easter Sunday, we pulled the ham out of the oven and looked up at the clock. It was 3:15. Where was Ronnie? It was not like him to be late.

At 3:30 we picked up the phone and called his house. Not there.
What to do? Was he asleep? Did he forget? Was he OK? By 3:45 it was clear that he was not coming and we sat down to dinner.

After dinner was cleared away and the kids had found their eggs and opened their baskets, we sat down to dessert and made another call to Ronnie. This time, he picked up the phone. My brother asked "Ronnie? Where are you?". In a bit of a tizzy, Ronnie replied "I sat and sat in front of your house and tried the door and the bell, but you never answered.". My brother shouted into the phone for maximum volume that no one came to my mother's door at any time during the day. At this point Ronnie realized that he wasn't talking to his brother, but his nephew. Seems that when my mom called Ronnie to invite him, he assumed that it was my father's wife Sandra. And since my mom hasn't had her ears checked either, she missed it when HE said "OK, see you Sunday Sandie".

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Post It Note Tuesday

It's time for Post It Note Tuesday, hosted by Supah Mommy. Go here to link up and join in on the fun.

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Friday, April 16, 2010

I Don't Think This is What Ethel Merman Had in Mind. . .

I recently developed a strange obsession and it is starting to worry me. It's more an irrational fear than an obsession, really. I have developed a fear of gypsies.

Why, oh why would a tech savvy (I have a blackberry AND and direct deposit yo!) individual like your girl Diary be concerned with an old fashioned and irrelevant notion like gypsies? I'll tell you why. . . because I have been warned - not once, not twice, but thrice (yup, it's a word, look it up).

Now here's the big reveal (not that telling you that I have an irrational fear of gypsies is a small reveal) - I have a thing for the number three. It is my FAVORITE number and I prefer things in threes. Not so much in an OCD kinda way, but yeah, sorta in an OCD kinda way. So if I hear a rumor three times, then I start to believe it. It is my magic number. And once I started telling people that we were considering a trip to Rome, I started getting warnings about gypsies. The third warning plopped me directly on the bus to crazytown.

Rome, the eternal city. Home to some of the most famous sites and landmarks known to man - the Coliseum, the Forum, the Trevi Fountain and apparently, to gypsies.

The area that seems to draw the most gypsy warnings is the Trevi Fountain. I was all excited to have a little La Dolce Vita, but with all the warnings of marauding bands of gypsies on the hunt for tourists at the fountain, it kind of pops a hole in my daydreams.

Initially, I thought, BFD, I'm city savvy. If I can hang in NYC and if I understand the street rules there, then how prone am I on the streets of Rome? But it's different, because NY thugs only have guns, knives, darts and hypodermic needles. Gypsies have magic powers.

Because of this and my rule of three, I am now obsessed with gypsies and I see them everywhere. I was shopping up in the Poconos last weekend, and I could swear I saw gypsies in the paint department, but I think it was just the "People of Walmart". And tonight, while grocery shopping, a woman in a long flowing skirt and dangly jewelery bumped into me as her cart passed mine in the cereal aisle. I snapped my head to look at her and just as I was about to scream "Be gone you dirty gypsy. You're not ripping me off tonight!" I got a better look at her. She was clearly more of a furry legged, granola crunching, women's lit professor than a thieving gypsy. Thank god I didn't open up a that can of gypsy whoop-ass that I have started carrying around. I am just paranoid and keyed up enough to go a couple of rounds with an unsuspecting Phish fan. Hell, any woman in a broomstick skirt is immediately suspect to me. My fightclub strategy for the first gypsy that runs afoul of me is to pull her long skirt up over her head and hockey fight her.

At this point, we are only in the investigative stages and no official trip has been planned. It is looking like it is going to require a lot of time off work and a lot of money to make it worthwhile. So in the mean time, I will dream of La Dolce Vita and have nightmares about Esmerelda. Between now and then, the gypsies better steer clear of me. . .oh, and I'm puttin out a notice to the tramps and thieves, too.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Post It Note Tuesday

It's time for Post It Note Tuesday, hosted by Supah Mommy. Go here to link up and join in on the fun.

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Friday, April 9, 2010

Poor Potty Ettiquette and Some Reposted Potty Drams

Good morning, fine people of blogland. I have a thing to do this weekend, so I will be out of touch for a few days. I will be back to your blogs and back to posting early next week.

In the meantime, I need you all to know that my adventures in witnessing tactless bathroom behavior continues. One day this week, some ridiculous asshat was listening to music through the speakers on her IPhone in stall 1. If I wanted to be serenaded on the toilet, I'd hang my ass over a gondola at the Venetian Hotel in Vegas (so much for what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas).

So in honor of or disgust over yet another display of poor bathroom ettique, I share with you my first post on the subject. Perhaps I'll be back next week with a story of someone cobbling shoes or making a sandwich on the bowl, we'll see . . .

This Post originally ran on 5/17/09-


I know that in my last few posts I have been a little bitchy. Unfortunately there is a brief time each month when my usual saintly demeanor (insert husband's eyeroll here) skews more toward Genghis Khan (insert husband's nodding in agreement here) than Mother Theresa. It's OK, I own it. I can recognize that it is bigger than me and that I must bow to its superior fire power. During these, umm, "edgier" moments, my blog takes on a slightly antagonistic tone, like this Mall Madness or this Home Sweet, Sticky Home or today's post for instance. I am admittedly not feeling so generous of spirit these days. So like an exorcism, the demon attitude must be purged and the more I write, the more I purge and the more my family can stop hiding the sharp implements. It's gotten so bad that my poor husband can't find any of his Phillips head screwdrivers.

So what's on my last nerve at this very moment? Bitches that talk on the cell phone in the bathroom stalls at work. If I wanted to know that your baby-daddy didn't give you money for formula this month or that your sister is being such a bitch about not wearing the purple shoes that you have dictated for your wedding or that you're so totally going to see the new Star Trek movie when it comes out, then I would knock on the stall, interrupt you mid-stream and ask you. Because that's what you're doing to me and I have no say in the matter.

Bathrooms are meant to be bastions of privacy. Their very design makes sound amplify within its walls, so your vapid chatter reverberates and gets all up in my business (ahem, figuratively speaking). And when you're finished with your toliet-bound chatter, please wash your hands and exit the room. Don't stand in front of the mirror, smoothing and patting your hair a thousand times while staring intently into your own eyes. Your 'do looks exactly the effing same as when you walked in, so by my estimation, you just wasted ten minutes of valuable sink time for those of us that actually want to wash our hands and get the F out. What's next, a sandwich and a laptop?

Personally, I find public toilets so gross that a swift exit is imperative. I don't want to hang out there. What's the draw? The bland decor? The foul odor? The constant influx of new people to overhear the crushing boredom of your life?

There, I feel better now. Please be sure to tune in tomorrow when the kinder and gentler Diary returns from her hormonal exile. She's excited about her comeback and has been considering posting about rainbows, puppies and the exciting world of cookie baking.

With hope for tomorrow,

- Diary

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Post It Note Tuesday

It's time for Post It Note Tuesday. Go visit Supah Mommy to link up and join the fun.

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Sunday, April 4, 2010

What I ate For Easter Breakfast - Redux

This post originally aired on 4/16/09 and while I am not the biggest fan of leftovers, there is simply too much holiday cooking to be done for a new post. I know, wha, wha, wha. Quitcher belly achin because by the time this day is over, you will have a real belly ache -just like you did last year.

All the best to you and yours, whatever today's celebration may be.

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Cheese Strata, bacon, cornbread, peeps and rice crispie treat bird's nests filled with jelly beans. I won't even get into what we had for dinner as I don't enough strength to type out the entire Magna Carta length list. Too tired from my epic sugar crash.

Here it is, Thursday (4/16) (though this will backpost to Easter onna counta cuz that's when I uploaded the pics to the draft. Curse you foul blogger! Curse you!) and I am limping through another post-Easter glycemic meltdown. I had posted a comment on *The Letters That I Wish I had Written that I would need a Keith Richards style bloodwashing after my Easter debauchery was completed. I think I am there. Who am I kidding? I am so there.


* I iz a mo-ron end dunt no how 2 put a link in my blog entrie. So here iz a kut end payst becuz I R 2 incompitint to do it the rite way.