Thursday, September 27


  • oh, Posole, how you betray me... Posole is the version of Menudo where they DON'T use internal organs...nature's filters are just not something I am interested in eating.  Imagine my horror to discover that my beloved posole (and I could be spelling that ALL wrong, people.) begins with a big pot of Pig's ears boiling on the stove.  GAAAHHHH.  It was even better when a sister in law pulled one out of her soup and the inside base of it was darker.  I know it was probably just a spotted pig.  I know that.   I couldn't help but tell a niece that it made me think the secret posole ingredient was porcine ear wax.  The preggers sis at the party turned to me and THANKED me for that image...sorry!
  • There's no Place like home... My issues with other people's showers continue.  Maria, Nirand can come to my house, because he scrubs the shower, which I think is lovely.  I am about to do that at my MIL's, and I hope she thinks it's nice, and not snotty.  We've been there a week now, so hopefully she'll think it's just us being helpful, not me freaking out at the teeming legion of cooties I imagine every time I step in.   I want desperately to make her house nicer for our staying there.  But she does not throw ANYTHING away.  Remember when I said I would be the little old lady my kids would have to dig out from teetering piles of newspapers?    MIL has three heaters in her tiny bathroom.  Only one is plugged in.  The other two are stacked on top of each other.  I just threw out scads of stuff at my old house, I am totally in the search and destroy mode.   I could give her so much more ROOM!  We could ORGANIZE! We could re-arrange furniture!  How snotty is that, to offer your house and then the Wedda wants to CHANGE it.  I could be paranoid...
  • No blogging means more time for books...Currently?  Reading an interesting mix of romance/fiction.  The Secret of the Pink Carnation, by Lauren Willig.  I am enjoying it, but not a lot of time to read (boo!!) and next up is The BookThief, by whoever wrote it--takes place in Nazi Germany, so I expect it will be a  little darker (ya think?) but I am totally looking forward to it.
  • No blogging won't last much longer because I'm pining away for all of the stories I am NOT reading.
  • The MAN still blocking damn near everything at work.  Damn the Man.
  • TV? no clue.  I can tell you that I am increasingly disturbed by the lack of brown people on Spanish TV.  The only "Indian" looking mexicans portrayed are comic figures so stereotyped, it's almost minstrel-like.  The soap operas are full of blond anglo looking women so full of silicone and collagen they are almost parodies, too.  It's astonishing that ANY little Latina girls are making it to adulthood with their self esteem intact.  Nobody looks like Selma Hayek, or Penelope Cruz, or Eva Longoria, even.  Everyone looks like Blonde Streetwalking Barbie.  How can there be more beautiful latina looking women on American TV than on Spanish TV?  As the mother of a beautiful dark haired, dark eyed girl, it's really pissing me off.  We won't even go into the hooched out fashion and hooched out women posing as half naked school girls.  grrr....grrrr....grrrr 
That's all I've got, kids!
Missing you all....

Tuesday, September 25

Excuse me?

I can't comment right now, and only about every third comment makes it through the filters at my work email, but I needed to respond to my anonymous commentor...
Would you pay $100 for a hand-held computer game for your son? Yes, it is his only handheld device, unlike four thousand dollies my daughter owns.
Then why won't you spend the same for your daughter? I would for something unique.
You never know until your daughter gets the doll exactly how much she is going to play with it (same for hand-held computer games) but many girls get a phenomenal amount of play value out of their American Girls dolls (or Maplelea Girl dolls in Canada).   My daughter is equally happy with the funny bald baby from Target and the mutant freak looking  hand me down dolly that never sleeps (One eye is stuck open)--What a phenomenal amount of play value we've gotten from those dolls that didn't set me back a hundred plus dollars.
If you calculate the cost per hour of play, for many girls these dolls can be some of the best money a parent could ever spend. Unless One-Eye, the intensive care baby, lets her play hospital and means she makes up her own stories instead of getting locked into a scripted (although historically accurate) storyline that she would follow faithfully.  
Furthermore, the values put forth by American Girl and Maplelea Girls is far better than what comes with a Bratz doll.
If you had read my blog at all you'd know that I hate Bratz and their ilk with a screaming purple passion, and that they are banned from our house.  I have no problem with the AG dolls and their values, I have an issue with their price, and the unsolicited catalog sucking my daughter in...  Luckily I also have the ability to crush her eternal hopes of receiving a hundred dollar doll at five years old, of receiving a power wheels car, EVER, of getting a puppy and a baby sister under the tree simultaneously, and still letting my kid know that she is loved.  Why do people think more money makes it better?  Having said that,  I adore Pleasant Company and plan on buying many of their books for my daughter when she is at the right age.  Again, if you'd ever read my blog before, you'd know I'm a sucker for my kids, but am on a pretty tight budget, and whine to my bloggy friends when it gets to be too much.  Anonymous comments are weak--put your name in the comment, at least.

Friday, September 21

It is done.

I am moved out of my ghetto hovel (sob!).
I will not be getting my deposit back.  Even though the carpets had lived through several tenants before us, including a long stint with a rottweiller, we finished 'em off.
After five years, they cannot charge me for painting, which it also desperately needed even before we moved in.
But in spite of those facts, I am sure they will keep my entire deposit.  They sent me a letter telling me they were going to bill me for the tree service required to take care of the tree in front, in spite of the fact that I have a letter I faxed to them TWO YEARS AGO advising them that the tree needed some love.
Now we're waiting on the eviction of the flaky tenant living in my (future) house.  I figure I'll be in around October 9th. 
So I've got 2 1/2 weeks with the MIL. 
Wish me luck.

Tuesday, September 18

Mini Me

Last night I asked Little O to bring me my crack Starbuck's cup from the other room.

She ran to get it, and when she hit the living room, she paused, held it up and sang "Ahhh-AHHHHH!"

Oh, my bloggy friends, what have I done? This is sooooo my move. Down to the holding it up as if a light was shining down from the clouds.

I was dying.

I asked Little O what that was about, and she says,

"It's the Magic of Coffee, Mama."

If she ever stopped talking to take a breath, and did not demand active participation in her conversations these days, I would keep her home instead of sending her to Preschool, today.

Love my O's.

Monday, September 17

EEEEEEEVIL lurks among us.

Still packing.

Mailman just came.

Little O is home with me today.


Remember when all of the seventies bands had secretly sold their souls to the devil, and everyone played records (HA! RECORDS!!) backwards to hear the evil messages... C'mon, this wasn't just a Seventh Day Adventist thing, right?

Well friends I am here to tell you there is a new source of EEEEEvil in the world, cleverly disguised as wholesome girl power fun. I used to be a part of it.

The mailman brought us our first ever American Girl Catalog today.

Good Hell. (Thanks, Maria.)

Eighty-seven dollars per doll, with each accessory being sold separately. And there are pages and pages of accessories.

I love the modern American Girl books. The crafty ones, the ones about puberty, and hygiene. The historical books are....alright. I used to host American Girl parties at the bookstore. For the most part, they were a hoot.

This catalog is so very very wrong. Little O is pouring over it, it is her new bible and best friend all rolled into one. Shit, she just found the matching pajamas for girl and doll.

Evil in a 60 page catalog.

Good Hell.

Sunday, September 16

I like to Move it, move it....I like to move it, move it!

Okay, that's a damned lie.

We have reached the halfway point in this journey to homelessness, and I MUST give a mighty shout out to

The whirling Dervish that is an uncaffeinated


Okay, I see why she does not drink coffee. She would be unstoppable. This chick single handedly packed up my entire kitchen. The WHOLE thing. She rocks.

That is all.

Wednesday, September 12

Descent into Madness...

You think I'm talking about moving?

Hell, no.

Hi, my name is Jen, and I am a birthday-holic.

Hi Jen.

Yes, friends, that time is almost upon us. We alternate years here. An even year means Big gets a party, odds are reserved for Little O. (If I ever have a third, I am screwed on several levels.)

Little O was enchanted with the Alien masks we made for Big O's party last year. Being a soon to be five year old girl, however, as well as being MY daughter, Little O had to bring it up a notch (Okay, that might have been me). But the theme is totally on her. It started out very simply. Then Cade at daycare told her he did not want a GIRLY mask. So I found a boy thing. But for the mask to work, the ears were going to have to be attached separately, and would spin.

It's HER birthday, for Pete's sake. The boys can't have something COOLER than the girls.

Which is how I ended up making thirty-two tissue paper flowers (and counting).


My name is Jen. I'm a birthday-holic.

Wednesday Hero

Staff Sgt. Richard P. Ramey
Staff Sgt. Richard P. Ramey
27 years old from Canton, Ohio
703rd Ordinance Compan, supporting the 82nd Airborne Division
February 8, 2004

Richard Ramey always knew what he was going to be. Once, while in the third grade, his teacher asked him what he wanted to do when he grew up. His response? "I’ll go to war and fight" Concerned by his answer, his teacher called his mother, Julie Ramey. She told her "No, that's my son".

SSgt. Ramey was killed when insurgents attacked his and other convoys in Mahmudiyah, Iraq.

"Richard loved to do his job. No matter where it would take him," said his mother. "He really felt deeply that he wanted to protect people that couldn’t protect themselves"

In a statement released through Fort Knox, the Ramey family said, "He was adventurous and smart, combining both qualities in what he did for the Army. We knew his work was dangerous but also knew he wouldn’t have wanted to do anything else".

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your blog, you can go here.

My big beautiful nephew has re-upped. sigh. His younger brother has been assigned a ship upon completion of his training. sigh. I am proud as hell of both of them, but keep 'em in your prayers, okay?

Tuesday, September 11

Another reason to rue the day...

Originally uploaded by dicesix.

Blog friends are a strange phenomenon. Most you've never met, and never will. But they have let you into some small part of their lives, and even if you are a shy lurker, they affect you with their writing and (for me) their humor.

This red dress is in honor of Greg Beck, a man I never met, but whose writing made me feel like I had. I feel like a dork for getting misty eyed over someone I never met, but there ya go. I will miss his wicked, profanity laced take on every day stupidity, his ghost stories, and his insight.

The girl in the picture is moving out of the frame--hopefully on to something wonderful. Here's hoping Greg has done the same.
Rest in Peace

Sunday, September 9


RESIST the lure of the computer....
Where are the packing fairies when you need them...
I'll be back soon...unless I go live with my MIL, in which case you'll al be stuck with emailed posts from work with no photos or visits/comments from me. (SOB!)

See?? Even now I'm stalling to avoid the boxes.

The Honey? He's found a Steelers Bar here in town, and invited a buddy from Roseville down to watch them at ten on a Sunday morning. Because I refuse to get cable. So I kind of did it to myself.

HAAA!! I'm still stalling!

Bow down before me, the Mistress of Procrastination! One week until we are homeless!!



Friday, September 7

This Ulcer is brought to you by the letter Dubya

I will quit my job to campaign for the candidate that promises swift and terrible retribution for things like THIS.

Soldiers are being maimed and killed because we don't allow the GOOD body armor, even if sent from home, and you KNOW not all of the humvees were sent over properly equipped. I know there isn't anything we can do to take that back.

But the fuckers in that Rolling Stone article should be prosecuted. Villified. Could we spend oh, say, one tenth of Paris Hilton's airtime on something that matters? Can we see a story about how the staggering debt we've incurred is residing in these men's pockets?

(This article was stolen from Some Guy's Blog. No, really--Some Guy's Blog.)


They are finally at least naming that poor baby in Portugal's parents as suspects. I'd say yay, but I can't really find an upside to the loss of an innocent. Justice, I suppose, but that really remains to be seen, doesn't it? UGH.

Wednesday, September 5

13 Things to do on a Slow day when Internet access has been DENIED

1. Crossword.
2. Mock your co-workers' terrible typos.  Yesterday's Crossword.
3. Making up tragicomical life stories for the people walking up to pay before they open the door.  (Crack for breakfast.  The weight of his giant mustache makes him walk funny.  Crack for breakfast.  They are sitting in the car fighting over the look he gave the hoochie that just walked by.  Crack for breakfast.  He's a Virgo, his hobbies are Trans Am maintenance and Meth cooking, and he has a Myspace Page that lists him as 21.)
4. Don't laugh at the stories, or when they walk into the door that doesn't open--this is less fun since we added a please use other door sign, but we had to.  It's awkward to talk to them when they still have a doorprint on their face.
5.  Excel spread sheet Boggle.  (God, we're so sad)
6.  Rant again about how much I hate Jon Bon Jovi, and Fergie should stick to slutty pop songs--that big girl song is getting old fast.
7.  Movin' on to Sunday's Crossword.
8.  Add a running commentary to someone else's conversation--they have a phone call, the lucky bastard.  Go back to the crossword.
9.  Cover the stack of crosswords when the boss walks by, not to be sneaky, just out of respect.  Okay, now what do you have for fifty-six down?
10.  Does anyone know how to make one of those paper footballs the guys used to make in grade school?
12.  Mock the cutting edge fashion choices made by fresh hip young interior designers in Domino Magazine.  (FYI? When they tell you it's a budget decorating magazine?  They mean the budget of a small third world country.) 
13.  Develop a deeper understanding and appreciation for the subtleties and nuances of Bill Murray's performance in Caddyshack.  I hate gnats.  Where are they coming from?  I will kill them all.  I'll never be a Buddhist.

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Tuesday, September 4

Mama, I'm Bored.


Me too, baby.


Little O is watching The Wizard of Oz for the first time. Mama, she does NOT look right.

The tornado hits and I ask Little O what happened.

Mama, it is a VERY wind day at her house...

California living, baby. Not a clue what a tornado is...
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Time has stopped.....

The MAN has completely blocked blogs at work.
The radio STILL plays Jon Bon Jovi every two hours.
Still no home in sight, and it's two weeks til we are outta there.  Have I packed?  Anything? 
So what do you do when you stop at the market with your spanish speaking mother in law and she stops to speak to every.single.person. in the produce section, while you are itching to go? 
Okay, I'll have to wait until I get home to show you.  Let me just say that there are only 26 letters in the alphabet for Little O and I to make out of twist ties.  We did them twice.

Saturday, September 1

I got nuthin'

The honey saw a great bumper sticker the other day, though.

"Party like it's 1/20/08."