Friday, June 30

There really is a job for everyone...

For my Honey's birthday, we went to an arena football game for our local team. HE is into everything but nascar and televised golf (thank God), but his primary loves are Football, and baseball. I am a casual sports fan, at best. Baseball is okay IN PERSON ONLY. Football is okay on TV as long as you don't expect my full attention throughout. I tend to drift away...

Our city has really stepped up in terms of minor league teams, and when baseball tickets are available at work, I'll snatch them up in a heartbeat--just for something to DO. Football tickets have never been made available, so I bought the Honey 4 tickets. He could take the family, he could take the boys, I didn't care. What a good guy he took me, and his nephew who's football crazy. He wanted to take Big O, but O declined, I think because he and the Honey clash on big occasions. Now I wish we'd forced him.

It was so much fun! We had great seats and a lively crowd. But the best part was the stadium rabble rouser, who apparently works for the arena, because the Honey says he works the hockey games, too. This guy has turned his drunken college frat boy days into a career of sorts. He just wanders the crowd with his fourteen t-shirts worn one on top of the other, looking for slugs and quiet areas. He rouses the crowd by stripping off t-shirts and throwing them into the crowd. People are thrilled to get the sweat soaked tee shirt from this mad man.

This is probably standard in any major sports arena, but it was a revelation to me. They told me drunken frat boy was not a marketable job skill. Who knew?

He is my new sweaty hero.

Thursday, June 29

Excuse ME? American Psycho?

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Black Comedy

In your life, things are so twisted that you just have to laugh.
You may end up insane, but you'll have fun on the way to the asylum.

Your best movie matches: Being John Malkovich, The Royal Tenenbaums, American Psycho

Quick! Eat them Up!

Tomorrow I do the most obscene thing I have ever contemplated. I begin a weight loss competition at work. I have never dieted before. Ever. I have paid attention to what I ate, and I have half assed thought abut portion control, but an actual thought out diet? never. Wait, did I say thought out?
Because I'm sure if I had thought this out I'd never have agreed to a public weigh in, or I'd at least have an idea how I'm going to go about this.
But since complaining about my ever increasing gut has not reduced it's size at all, maybe shame is the answer. I often refer to the wobbly part of my underarms as "teacher arms" in reference to my 9th grade algebra teacher. As it turned out she was part flying squirrel, so she had an excuse. The other day my Honey (and I use the term lightly) agreed with me about my teacher arms and says "What are you up to, fourth grade?" Bastard.
It's ON now.
Your beer belly vs my teacher arms.

I AM anal retentive.

We have a very sweet older gentleman who works for the company. He does a little of everything in terms of maintenance and deliveries. I don't know if the guys in the back look down on him or are jealous of the (in theory) cush job he's got, but he sort of becomes the fall back guy for any time the drivers completely flake. Call Frank, He'll get it.
So the nicest man in the world does not have a space that is totally his own, but he comes in every morning and sits at the table behind me to do his paperwork. On his table, he has had these two photos crammed in a frame for years--a 4 x6 of his son, with a beloved dog that had to be put down, and a wallet sized of his first grandaughter. Anytime anyone asks about his pictures he just beams, and tells you the story of the dog that had to be put down. But you could never see the dog, because the grandbaby covered it up.
I admit that I am obsessive about pictures. I have pictures of my kids everywhere, and I want to be able to see each and every one. So Frank's covered dog killed me. I finally brought him in a cool, thick, acrylic frame without an edge, in a lovely 5 x 7 size, so both of his pictures could float unobstructed in their little plastic block. It looked fabulous.
Until he brought in a picture of the grand canyon to add to it.
It's a snapshot, and it has been cut down, and it would fit, except that his granddaughter, lying in a bed of roses in her diaper, gets stood up. The picture of the baby, LYING DOWN in her bed of roses, gets stood up. By standing her up, he COVERS the picture of the grand canyon with the exception of a strip of blue sky--and leaves a small square of clear plastic in the corner, where his granddaughter's head ought to be.
If she weren't standing up.

It kills me. My co-worker (the four year old from WTF Weds) finds it hysterical that he brought in this picture and did the same thing. I can't even look at it. I want to lay that baby down SOOOO badly.

My name is Jennifer, and I am anal retentive. Mildly Martha.

Wednesday, June 28

Happy 20th Birthday, Super-K!

Happy Birthday to the queen!
Don't let the Man (or the bitches)get you down!
You are a hero to more than you know!

WTF Wednesday

So my co-worker, one of my favorite people, brings in one of her favorite CD's. How perfect, it's the Beastie Boys, Licensed to Ill. I have not heard it in years. Since High School. Then she turns to me and says....

are you ready?

"I just realized that this CD came out when I was four years old."


You are so wrong to say that to me! I am OLD. Older than I even knew. Four. Almost the age of Little O.

She was four.



Tuesday, June 27

Tasty Tuesday!

Did your mother make you eat brussel sprouts when you were a kid? We had them every once in a while, and they came frozen in the little white waxed box. They were slimy and reeky and were like eating large green balls of something the cat regurgitated. Needless to say, I was a big fan. Imagine my joy when my brother announced he was making Brussel Sprouts for dinner.

Wow. Fresh brussel sprouts are a whole different animal. er, vegetable.

I was able to re-create this one pretty easily, too. You chop bacon and fry it until it's about to be crisp. Do not cook it all the way (Like I did). Cut your little brussel sprouts in half lengthwise, and boil them for 4-5 minutes, then drain and plunge into ice water to stop the cooking process. Drain off all but a little of the bacon grease, and throw the sprouts in with the bacon, with some slivered almonds. Now my brother has chile oil to throw in, but I just used crushed red peppers--the little flakes like you use for pizza? yep. Sautee until the bacon is done and serve it up!

Okay, I know, ANY vegetable is going to be better fried with bacon and almonds. But these are brussel sprouts, people. I burned the bejeezus out of the bacon, and it was still tasty! Amazing.

Monday, June 26

Would You Like to Touch My Monkey?

So my little monkey has been here a while, now, but I wanted to say for the record, that he had a name and was purple, but my techno ineptitude extends to things like links and templates, and somebody's hubby had to put it on for me. I HATE being the dumb girl who cannot figure something out. I will learn this stuff if it kills me. really. But thanks for the monkey, Dick.

Did I say 109?

I meant 114. This could qualify as a WTF wednesday topic, but then again, so could my typing skills...jsut and teh are my FAVORITE typos.

back to the matter at hand...114. Did I mention that my parents' funky house has no A/C? mmm....good times.

Friday, June 23

Support Our Troops and Remember.


This is a purposely blurred picture of my nephew, who spent his time in Iraq, and came home safely, Thank all the gods. I found the blog of a soldier working in Kuwait assisting the soldiers who were not so fortunate. His pieces about work are very powerful.

 Posted by Picasa

Oh dear God...

It's hot.

F*ing hot.

We are going to Redding and beyond, and it's supposed to be between 107 and 109 degrees. What a great idea this is. Big O will be with his dad, so it's just the honey and Little O trapped for hours in the hot, hot car. Oh, I have air conditioning, but not 107 degree worthy air conditioning.

But it's Friday and I took off early from work, so we'll wait for the sun to set and drive for hours in the dark. oooohhh... spooky!

Hopefully I'll have something interesting to post by Monday, even if it's jsut what new pancake my mother is experimenting with. The lemon ricotta ones were good....

AAArgh! part 2

The MAN has given us the corporate bitch slap. My division of corporate America has been red flagged for excessive internet use. We can blogsurf no more. ARGH!

Did you ever see the episode of Will & Grace where Grace and Jack go on the antiques roadshow? Grace can't wait to make the losing face, eyes scrunched shut, mouth a perfect "O" of despair.

That is me.

In all fairness, we were stunned that we were able to blog for as long as we did, and we knew the end would come. But it hurts me. Really. If my posts look wierd, it'll be the fabulous email feature. no surfing.

Thursday, June 22

I am the Queen of...

I frequently refer to myself as the Queen of the Worst-Case Scenario. This is thanks to my dad. My parents are both nurses, but my father specialized in Emergency medicine. Our house had lots of black, gallows humor. For much of my life I blithely told people that my father scraped people off of the street for a living, and only as I entered adulthood did I realize how disturbing this could be to hear. My wanna-be english major father, who got into nursing to support his family and found a vocation, would bring home these stories of epic stupidity. He would turn it into a game of "where did they make the wrong decision" and illlustrated very clearly how a seemingly harmless prank could (sometimes literally) blow up in your face. I probably missed out on some great mindless fun as a kid. But here are the two stories that stick out in my mind even now, brought to me by my father:

1: The kids in the midwest who found (or tipped over themselves?) a railroad taker with chlorine. They saw the cloud of chlorine gas and thought it would be a hoot to drive through this cloud. They thought ahead and rolled up all of their windows, and were going to drive through as fast as they could. Why did they all die?

2: One of my father's close friends was working as an ER doc the night of a horrific car accident in which the driver was essentially decapitated. He recognized a birthmark on the thigh, it was his youngest son. I used to drink with this guy. But he was cRaZy, and I was a little too sane. He was apparently drunk as f* that night and just drove off the road. His father was unable to work in the ER after that night and sort of became an empty husk for then next decade. I will never willingly put my dad in a position like that.

Wednesday, June 21

Apparently I am a Considerate Leader?

Another test shamelessly stolen from Casual Slack...


I am sort of lost without a book. They truly are my escape. The problem is that I am a voracious reader, and can plow through a cheap thriller or a romance in a few hours. I think that's why I love Sci-Fi/Fantasy sooo very much. I have to stop and think about the other-worldly aspects and how they work, so it slows me down in my reading, and for me, that's a good thing. I am a former Bookseller, so I'll generally use sci-fi as a generic term because it all gets shelved together. I like everything, but over the years I have found that Strong female protagonists are often (but not exclusively) written by women. If you ever run across a book you think I'd be interested in, by all means send me a comment, and if you read something I've talked about and have an opinion, I'd love to hear that, too. (Do I miss the bookstore? absolutely.)

I am currently reading the third in a series by Lois McMaster Bujold, not a Vorkosigan novel, but fantasy. I just lucked into it in the new paperback section at B&N. I love the miles Vorkosigan Sci-fi, and am excited to find fantasy by her, but have realized that once again, I am reading the third. now I'll have to go track down teh first two. But at least they are recent! More on books from time to time...

hmmm...this is a little scattered, but this started out as a thank you letter to my honey, who is not a reader, but has borne my disappearing act with good grace. I'm almost done with my book, hon.

WTF Wednesday

Shall we create awards for the deserving? Is there someone you'd like to nominate for the WTF Wednesday Bitch-Slap? Please feel free to leave a comment. Today I have two issues...

What is the mental block that bank managers have when it comes to scheduling personnel on a Friday--you know, Payday? I've managed retail establishments. When you have an established traffic pattern, you schedule accordingly--unless you manage a bank. One of my sisters-in-law manages a bank, and I love her dearly, but I don't go to her bank, because I don't want to ever have this conversation with her. Two tellers at lunch hour on a Friday. WTF?

Okay, we've already established that my MIL speaks no english. I do not have a problem with non-native speakers. But I'd like to nominate the manager of the local jack in the crack for a WTFW Silver Bitch-Slap for making some poor Latvian woman-- who clearly did not know the language OR the register-- work the drive-thru. That was a great use of my lunch hour. really.

Happy Birthday,Jen #2!

These boys would trade all of their baseball cards if only they could have friends as cool as you. Have a Great 25th Birthday! Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, June 20

Idiot Box

Okay, I like t.v. and I know that I'm supposed to be above it all, listening to public radio- only watching educational shows with my kids, but I love TV. Last night we watched Hell's Kitchen. The fact that they managed to find a way to get the girls into bikinis on a cooking show--okay, it IS television. But did the girls have to be so F*ing STEWWWPID and get all giggly about Gordon Ramsey* (aka Chef)? Ya like him? Think He's hot in a scrunchy englishman way? so be it, but show some freaking dignity! I'm pretty sure it's a direct quote:
"Hmmm...I wish CHEF was here to rub some lotion on."

*insert intro to bad seventies porn here*

This was followed by simpering giggles of agreement. Then they get back to the house and suddenly one of them is upset about the chauvinist comments made by the guys. To be fair, I don't think the angry feminist (heather?) was the one who made the comment while they were bikini clad. But come on!
The other day I was reading a blog, and I'm sorry I can't find it--he was dade something or something dade, and he was going off on girls who pimp drinks. It was beautiful. I'll try to find it to link...

* I have no problem with Chef, and he seemed very pleasant when not paid to make the entire staff his bitches on national television. My tastes run elsewhere, but this comment was not meant to imply that he's trollish. sorry.

Tasty Tuesday...

This is my new guilty pleasure. I would happily give up sodas for this. Okay, technically, it's jsut as bad as soda, but I like it better than the dark fizzy goodness of your typical cola. Very refreshing... Due to my technical ineptitude, I have been unable to get a photo of it FROM the web, and had to resort to taking my own picture. sigh. I'll give you a better foodie-type thing next Tuesday, but you needed to know that this was out there. But find it on sale. Posted by Picasa

Monday, June 19

Your results:
You are Supergirl

Iron Man
Green Lantern
The Flash
Wonder Woman
Lean, muscular and feminine.
Honest and a defender of the innocent.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

I can live with this...Robin as runner up is scary, though.

Sunday, June 18

Happy Father's Day!


This is one of My favorite Pictures...It's my dad and my Big O going fishing out the back door of my parent's house. (A very out of character activity for them both, I must say.) I am taking this opportunity to give my father a gift, although he has no idea what a blog is.

I have to go back to school.

*Somewhere in Utah, where my father is currently golfing, he just got a chill, and looked around to see what just happened.*

I say this frequently in my home (and whenever I open a paycheck), but I am putting it in my blog to make it a little more concrete. My honey looked at me strangely the other day (After I'd said it out loud yet again), and said "Okay."
"Okay what, hon?"
"Okay, do it. You talk about it all the time, Why Don't You Do It?"
"er, um, well we couldn't afford it!"
"We'll stop eating out. If you'll cook, it would save us plenty of money. We'll have to cut back, but we just piss away our money now, anyway. The only way we're going to get ahead is if one of us changes up."
This is true on so many levels, and if I were home after school, would my son be a happier, more grounded child? He is struggling so much right now, and I feel like he gets one eighth of the attention he deserves. He just always seems lonely and unhappy and it makes my heart ache to see him isolated from his classmates and peer group in general. I was an odd child, and I know what that was like, and I wish I could help him, but I am at a loss. We put him into Karate to give him a physical outlet, and a peer group outside of school. If it does not involve a favorite video game, he doesn't know how relate to it. I have somehow given him a beautiful smile and no social skills.
Going back to school would enable me to spend more one on one time with him, help him re-focus his study skills (me, too!), and help me reign in my deplorable housekeeping. Maybe this would be good all around. When Little O goes into Kindergarten, I could be home for the half day, and Put my new fancy paperwork to work once she's in school.
The trick is, what would I go back to School FOR? I was always going to be a teacher, but B&N cured me of that. I think I'd kill the parents. But it would be a very kid friendly way of life... Nursing is the family profession, and I could talk to the fam about it all, but the nursing program down here is done by lottery. Once all of your pre-req's are done, you are chosen at random to get into the program. If I moved to the Frozen North by my folks, in the sticks, Dad's hospital will hire you as an LVN and pay you fulll time wages to work part time and go to school part time to get your nursing degree. But Big O could not go with me, his father is down here. As is all of my honey's family. No one moves away from home in the Honey's family. Literally. Two of his siblings live on the same block as his mom. No one has ever left town. MY family takes it as a given that we'll move where the job is, and all stay in touch, and just drive to see each other. No big. I've lived up and down California, as a child and as an adult, following better paychecks and better living conditions. I am officially anchored here in Central California now. Wierd. So what should I major in? Education? The problem is that I really like small kids. So does every other barbie with rocks in her head and no clue why she's in school. (WHOA! I KNOW there are fabulous first grade teachers out there with big gnarly brains and inspired creative teaching skills, but you. know. barbie. is. teaching. our. babies. too.)
The jobs and the challenges would be in older kids (I always thought fourth grade was the highest I'd want to go). I'd like to be a journalism teacher. That was a fun class and helping them with the yearbook would be a good outlet for my more creative side. Or I could forget teaching and go

I have to go back to school.

Happy Father's Day, Papa-san. I hope you get a hole in one. Posted by Picasa

Friday, June 16

Mom Moment 2

My kids are so different. Big O (my boy) was into EVERYTHING. He analyzed everything mechanical and took everything apart.
When he was two he locked himself in the bathroom with the with the water running in the sink so he could stop it up and play. I didn't want to panic him when I couldn't get the door open, so I just kept talking cheerily to him as I unscrewed the doorknob. Naturally, the doorknob fell off the other side, and the stupid door stayed locked. I eventually had to chip away at the solid core door (and doorjam) with a hammer and screwdriver until I could get the damned thing open. We had just moved in, and my brother always shakes his head and wonders why I didn't call the fire department. They are for EMERGENCIES, life and death, not stupidity and lack of foresight. (Aren't they?) My hallway was flooded in about two inches of water. We had to have the bathroom floor ripped out. It was a lovely way to begin our tenure as homeowners.
When he was four he went out into our childproofed (HA!) back yard and flipped the breaker for the house. I was thirty before I touched one!
But that's Big O.
Little O is going to talk me to death. At three and a half, her bigest joy is roleplaying like a chipmunk on speed. okayyoubeBeauty,andI'llbeBeastOkaynowI'MBeautyandyoubetheBeast. YoubethemamaandI'llbethebabynowyoubethebabyandI'LLbethemama.
Little O, It is now 11:30. Please go to sleep. Please, please go to sleep. She has not taken anything apart, unless you count my sanity. I relay this to my mama-san and she laughs. One of my strongest memeories of childhood is sitting behind her in the car, and she always said the same thing.
"Jennifer, I want five minutes... Five minutes of Complete silence. Not a word, not a peep. No. Shhhh..." I averaged about two minutes before I felt compelled to argue the fairness of this sentence or spotted a license plate that everyone needed to see, or wondered why we had TEN toes, not twelve.
Aaah, payback.

Happy Friday!

I no longer live the kind of life that includes hot plans for a weekend, but I am giddy at the thought of meeting my mama-san at IKEA for a leisurely stroll...

#1 My Parents live many hours away, so getting to see them is a treat.

#2 While I'd like to be hip and cool enough to sneer at the mention of IKEA, I'm not. It's like Christmas. I understand that people DO sneer at IKEA, but I'm not convinced that they've BEEN to IKEA. Maybe they are bitter about their inability to use an allen wrench? I luuuuv dishes and gadgets and clean simple lines. Much of what I love about Target has been distilled into it's finest and placed on the shelves of IKEA. That, or Target has shamelessly modeled themselves on the Swedish Superstore. If so, I'd like to thank them for making good clean lines and design available to those of us who'd rather not endure the gauntlet of Wal Mart. I don't care what my budget says.

#3 If I'm lucky, my brother will be home and I'll get a gourmet meal out of the deal--He's a firefighter, but could get a second career as a Chef easily. I always come home with a new recipe to try out. But that's another blog...

Thursday, June 15

I miss that...

T-shirt! I had a great T-shirt in high school (Oh, dear God, could it have been almost twenty years ago?) ack. It was Son of Reaganstein. It showed the first Bush as frankenstien complete with lovely green skin and bolts and had his greatest hits as the movie poster teasers. I think my mom threw it out when I moved out of Chico. Some nonsense about growing up and dressing like an adult, I'm sure. I loved that shirt. They're like Jason...they keep coming back. Son of Son of Reaganstein in 3-D! ugh.

On a totally unrelated note, but equally ugh, what was up with Britney Spears' eyelid? Was there a big black tic on her lid? Was that an intentional application of mascara or eyeliner? My honey was totally grossed out by Matt Lauer doing the interview without socks. That was almost as funny as her eyelid.


How frustrating it is to not have unfettered access to the internet here at work...I would write a love poem to Theraflu, and all it's vile lemony goodness. I don't know WHAT I had, but it hit me like a Mack Truck. (And NO, that was NOT part of my Saturday fun, thank you for your concern) I spent two days buried under the covers sleeping to avoid the knowledge that my head was splitting in two and my brain seemed to be pooling in my lungs. Enter Theraflu... sweet sweet Theraflu.

Wednesday, June 14

Yep, that's about right...

Your Political Profile:
Overall: 45% Conservative, 55% Liberal
Social Issues: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal
Personal Responsibility: 75% Conservative, 25% Liberal
Fiscal Issues: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal
Ethics: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal
Defense and Crime: 75% Conservative, 25% Liberal
How Liberal Or Conservative Are You?

Thursday, June 8

I can live with this!

You Belong in Dublin

Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions.
You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

Wednesday, June 7

WTF Wednesday

So I work in an office. Now, I'm the first to admit that I probably obsess about the golden rule. I understand that not everyone is interested in being considerate. I've got my bitchy-kiss-my-ass days just like everyone else. I'm 44% evil! :)
But we are not feral cave people. We are not even bordering on homeless. We all drive cars and have lunch money (most days). Point in fact, I am probably the lowest man on the payscale totem pole, not counting the temps... But as a precaution, I've checked with the temps, too.

Who in the f* does not have a can opener at home?

What would compel you to steal the breakroom can opener over and over again? Is it a klepto thing? I dunno. Maybe it's management trying to make me feel beter about my life. My job sucks, but man, at least I'm better off than the guy without a can opener...

Casual Slack...I'm hooked!

Tuesday, June 6

Mom Moment

I listen to new parents tell me that they cannot wait until their child is able to talk. To communicate.
I don't laugh at them. I don't lecture them about enjoying the silence while they can. I don't even roll my eyes.


I am the mother of a three and a half year old.

Have you ever seen the Saturday Night Live skit with Noony? nuuni? gneuni? It's not hysterically funny to me, and I always heave a sigh when one comes on, because they tend to drag them out too long. But in the midst of another long circuitous conversation with my daughter it occurred to me that I am living that skit. I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is she wants me to repeat, but she is going to be like a dog with a bone until I get it right.
no, say noony.
no no no say newknee
no NO NO

It's like she's reading me the IKEA catalog. She is the only one who knows the word I'm supposed to be repeating, or looking at. God help me when we're driving and she says look. Because the answer to the question look at what? is invariably the word "that." But she's old enough now that she knows the um-hmm, and the yes, that's nice. She now wants interactive feedback on "that." Specific, interactive feedback.

I can't wait for your child to communicate either, guys. I just can't wait.

Monday, June 5

Jen Factors

So being born in the early seventies, I am, of course, named Jennifer--as are several million other females born around that time. I have always had friends named Jen, ususally several at a time. The greatest of these was a fellow bookstore employee. For ease of gossip and scheduling, I was Jen #1, and she was Jen #2. After long nights working together and longer nights spent in a drunken haze, we boiled our bizzare luck down to a theory we called the Jen Factor.

1: Anything involving a Jen can be assigned a factor between 1 and 10. For example: A verbal faux pas is a factor one. Locking yourself out of anything is a factor two.
2: If two Jens are together, the effect is increased exponentially, and chaos will ensue. For example: What should be a simple drive home after a long day turns into a blowout on the freeway/near death experience, or going out for a beer on your birhtday turns out to be watching your car turn into a black smoke bomb before you even got a damned drink.

In spite of this discovery, we remain great friends. But the distance is probably a good thing.

Any Jens out there who have experienced this phenomenon? Is there a corresponing Bob factor of some sort? Or will the Brittanys of the world be the new Jens?

Sunday, June 4

You Are 44% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side.
Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

Did you ever want a nickname when you were a kid?

My mother in law speaks no English. She's been in the U.S for almost forty years, and has no interest in learning the language. So be it. She finds my name impossible to say. Or she just doesn't want to. I dunno. I took four years of high school Spanish, but my Spanish partner was the T.A., so my skills are questionable. My MIL is the nicest lady, and we get along fine with a combination of really exaggerated motions, kind of a half wit ballet, and my frankenstein-like grasp of the language (MM-FIRE....BAD...YOU FOOD WANT?). Okay, it's a little better than that, but only by degrees.
MIL does not go by her birth name, she has used a nickname since she was small. Everyone (including her own children) calls her Mama Dina. The only other person with a mama before her name is a family friend who has taken care of several of the children in the family, including my daughter. Is it an honorific for caregivers to have a mama put before your name? I don't know. For the longest time, I was la mama de la nina. My Spanish skills translate this as the baby's momma. Like I'm some guest on the Jerry Springer Show. I finally made a joke to his family, ha-ha do you think she could give me a nickname if my name is too hard for her to say? She can call me a fruit fly, I don't care, ANYTHING but The Baby's Momma. A few weeks later I realized she was addressing ME when she said Wedda (sorry if it's misspelled). My Spanish skills were not up to this, so I had to ask, and it turns out that I am now White Girl. Whitey? Seriously? Honey, are you sure your mom likes me? It's not quite as bad as it sounds, since the only other white person in the family has been weddo for going on twelve years, and I know MIL adores him (at this point my Spanish speaking friends look at me doubtfully, but really--she loves him). I don't get locked up about most things, and as long as she and I seem to get along, I truly don't care what she calls me.


The other day we took MIL out to eat, and my non-Spanish speaking three year old is being quizzed by her grandmother about names. Do you know my (MIL) name? Mama Dina. Do you know daddy's name? Donny. Do you know your mommy's name? Jennifer. NO NO NO, say Mama Wedda.

What? Okay, I have assumed all along that the Mama was an honorific for a caregiver. I am not her caregiver, I am her MOTHER. And I have a NAME, and I'll be damned if my daughter is going to be taught to call me Mama Wedda. So I very cheerfully asked my honey to translate for me so there would be no mistake, and told Mama Dina that my name is Jennifer, and my daughter knows it, and if my daughter starts calling me Mama Wedda, she will also start calling her GRANDMA. She laughed and said, no, she's Mama Dina, and I laughed right back and said that I'm her mama, not Mama Wedda.
But I'm still pissed. Did I overreact?

Friday, June 2

Virgin Post

How I've been conned into blogging when I am the world's worst typist, I'll never know...bear with me!