Street Wear!

Believe it or not, that's the actual name of a fingernail polish. And while you would think it was a scarlet color, it's actually a very mellow pink/skin color.

It was a donation that came into work the other day. After I was done mocking the name of it, I noticed that it was actually kind of a nice color. So I tried it. I know! A GIRLY thing, I did it! With minimal amount of fuss, nonetheless.

It looked okay. It was a little jarring to look down at my hands and see polish at first. I kind of grooved on it for awhile. But then...it chipped. Ugh.

I forget this. I every once in a while use polish. Usually based around some sort of an event: a wedding perhaps. But then it chips and I'm pissed.

And again, attention span of a small child, I forget that I have to take the polish off. I forget that there's maintenance. AND THEN I remember WHY I don't use polish.

It's not like it's rocket science, really but it just irritates me.

So, today I spent minutes scrubbing the damn stuff off. We'll see if I do it again later. Right now I'm looking at the bottle with disdain.

It ain't easy being green...

or is it?

Fred Meyer grocery stores (Kroger in some areas) are giving away the mesh grocery bags if you spend a certain amount this month. (commerce & environmentalism collide in a strange, satisfying way)

I have been intending for a YEAR to buy those bags. I am filled with guilt when I see how many plastic bags I bring home each Saturday. I try to remember to recycle them but c'mon you've met me (sorta) I have the attention span of a small child.

So it was with relief when the cashier gave me three bags! I've left them in the truck, with the theory I'll remember to take them inside.

There's really no excuse not to use these bags. They're CHEAP, under a dollar unless you want the decorated ones. (which I do, contributing to the said procrastination)

The other green thing we did that was fairly painless was when we bought this house. We took all the incandescent bulbs out and put in fluorescents. Ta dah! Happier environment, happier electricity bill!

We're on a well and sewer system so we recycle that way....ew factor, sorry about that.

We recycle our newspapers, magazines and plastics. Gold star = Us.

It's quite simple actually being green. Just a little green. Al Gore isn't going to come knock on the door and congratulate me but that's okay.

C'mon, all the cool kids are doing it.

My Name Is Earl

Not really....but it should be.

I really must figure out who or what I've cosmically wronged because I'm getting pretty damned tired.

Yesterday, the brakes went out on my truck. Yeah, Brakes. I need those. Especially when my work is on a HILL.

Now, a suspicious mind would wonder if I am trapped in a Lifetime Made for TV movie. I flip my truck and I survive with minor injuries. Wait a few months and my brakes fail...what the hell?
But I am confident that the MG is not trying to kill me.

So, that leaves Karmic Debt. Somewhere I owe Karma something. I must find out what and rectify it. Seriously.

Any suggestions? I didn't go see the Dali Lama when he was in town, was that it? Tickets were sold out! (that's a total assumption, I don't really know)

Division of Labor

Dear Readers who've paid attention and have good memories will remember my Division of Labor post from awhile ago...I wish I was patient enough to link it, really I do...

Division of Labor in our household is quite simple:
Inside = Me
Outside = Mad Genius

Vehicles = Him
People = Me

Anyone who balks at this idea...me, the lowly housewife while MG does stuff outside randomly, can unbalk... While I am here in my cozy office and listening to Jack Johnson, he is laying in our gravel driveway, under my truck fixing my brakes. For this, I will gladly clean his toilets, wash his clothes and pay his bills. For *I* am not laying in gravel, cover in grease and cursing profusely at the fitting that won't come lose.

And by him doing so accomplishes a few things: the lack of a huge repair bill, my continual state of cozy and oh, a truck that stops. For this, I will make him that nasty Hamburger Helper dinner that he LOVES and I retch at the mere thought of.

Way to Go Ashley!

First Female Funny Car Driver Winner & Points Leader

http://www.nhra.com/content/team_report.asp?articleid=28489&zoneid=86

You're Gonna Miss This...

Trace Adkins has a new song out right now, titled the above. It tells the story of a teenage girl as she ages to a mom. The moral being "You're going to miss this so stop wishing for the future."

The Mad Genius mentioned the song the other day and said it actually made him reflective.
It reminded him of when he was younger and always had friends around. Now everyone has their own lives and he doesn't see them as often.

Or now that his parents have aged, how active they used to be back-in-the-day. MG's parents would go to our parties and dance the night away. They would go four-wheeling. Now they're both in their 70's, those days are long gone.

And as I think about it. There are times that I miss, mostly quite the same as MG's. Times when everyone traveled as a group. When there WAS a group of us, before adult responsibilities intervened. I miss just the plain spontaneity of being young, of being able to drop everything without planning or worrying.

It's difficult to see the right now from the future. But it's intriguing to think about. What about right now are we going to miss?

Yeah, What He Said

"I cannot hold up any book and say, 'Here. This is what I believe.' I do not know of any church where I would feel at home. But I do believe that what people call God refers to something real... I would even go so far as to say that this God of mine makes demands. To learn, to teach, to engage. To be aware of and respect the world around me. To acknowledge that there are things greater then myself and to be humble in their presence." -- Dan Jackson

And then there is this passage that made me laugh...nipped from Andrew Sullivan's blog...

Driscoll put this bluntly in his sermon "Death by Love" at the 2006 Resurgence theology conference (available at TheResurgence.com). According to Driscoll, "real men" avoid the church because it projects a "Richard Simmons, hippie, queer Christ" that "is no one to live for [and] is no one to die for."

Driscoll explains, "Jesus was not a long-haired … effeminate-looking dude"; rather, he had "callused hands and big biceps." This is the sort of Christ men are drawn to—what Driscoll calls "Ultimate Fighting Jesus."

It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

the view from my office...
If you look closely, you can see signs of *SPRING*

Ha!

This is what I love about baseball: tradition and superstition! A Red Sox jersey under the new Yankee Stadium. Love, love, love it! www.nypost.com


Go SOX!

Free Pass

The beginning of this post won't so much be timely but bear with me.

The Eliot Spitzer "scandal" has brought up a few conversations in this household. According to the New York Times, the scandal has kicked open the door for conversations in quite a few relationships regarding fidelity.

Firstly, this is kind of unrelated but it makes me laugh every time I think of it:
During all the press coverage the night the story broke, all I could picture was Hilary and Bill Clinton sitting at the dinner table eating when suddenly Hilary just bitch-slaps Bill without warning.
I can't imagine how PISSED she must have been that the whole Monica thing was suddenly again in the spotlight.

So, infidelity. It's usually quite the black & white topic. But for me it's not. Again, the time worn "There's three sides to every story" comes into play. I usually don't assume that the adulterer is automatically guilty. Do I place responsibility on the adulterer? YES. But there are usually reasons behind the actions. (sometimes simply the person is an ass)

There is a deejay in Seattle that often has his wife on the air with him. Her name is (I choose to think it's her radio name) Scallops. During this time, they discussed how Scallops has given her husband a one-time free pass. If he cheats, she would rather not know about it.

Before your head explodes, bear with me.

There are stipulations. It's a ONE TIME THING. The example she gives is that He makes a bad choice, puts himself into a bad situation, or they are simply not in a good space, whatever, and he has sex with someone. ONCE. Not a relationship: SEX.

AND only if he realizes that he's f*cked up literally and figuratively, and chooses to return to her forevermore.

I have to say I agree with her. If the MG lost his mind and did some chick but then realized his mistake and intended to never do it again, I would rather not know.

Of course, I say this knowing it's highly unlikely. (as he himself pointed out) But also, I know human nature and it causes us to do some pretty stupid shit. I would like to have a pass if that were ever to happen to me.

Dear Abby has written about admitting mistakes - inclusive of infidelity - and she says that sometimes admitting the mistakes only helps the person who made them. However, it destroys the other person. In that perspective: admitting it would be cruel and destructive when it didn't need to happen.

Of course there are many angles in which to look at this and I realize that I am probably in the minority. That's okay.

You may now proceed with the "WHAT THE F*CK ARE YOU THINKING!?!" comments....

Jack Johnson

...could sing the Alphabet and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and I would buy the freaking album.

I'm just saying.

It's a sign

So on Saturday, the Mad Genius and I went on a small-ish road trip. Racing season is beginning soon so we went to pick up race fuel some distance away.

The two of us tend to get into deep conversations while in the car. I don't know why this is and it's not to imply that we have shallow conversations at home. It's just something we do. It's almost therapeutic. The topics can range from family to world issues to religion.

For some reason, the subject of God, faith and religion came up. As from my previous post, you know that this has been a regular occurrence lately. I am not sure why.

The Mad Genius is Agnostic. He, being hard-wired the way he is, questions Everything. He doesn't understand my faith....faith being the understanding that my beliefs just "are". Not "faith" as in I am Catholic, Mormon or Lutheran but as in I simply believe there is a power greater than us and I don't require extraordinary proof to believe.

So, as we speed down I-5, we notice a mini-van pass us. The passenger waves and gives us a thumbs up. Now, to risk sounding fat-headed, we've become a little used to thumbs-up in traffic but ONLY when towing the racecar. We were just in my truck. MG puzzled for a moment and then pointed out the back of the van. They had the fish symbol on their bumper. As did we.

For some reason beyond our explanation, they chose that moment to acknowledge our sticker.

Now if that's not some sort of sign, then nothing is.

Alas

She returns! In my most youngest-child, Saggitarian-like way I always eventually resurface.

I've had little to say I guess, but as I think about it: that's hardly possible. I *always* have *something* to say!

And I have had great (as far as you know) ideas for blogs. But *head slap* I failed to write them down. However, sitting at the computer for long amounts of time have not so much been possible. But now I seem to be nearly healed from that silly little roll-over.


So bear with me while I re-gather my thoughts................on we go..........

Mary Kay Commando

When I was little, my mom grew my hair long. It reached my bum. This made no sense as we lived on a lake and I spent 75% of my time in the summer in the water followed by an hour of shampoo and “No More Tears” detangler. (oh, there were tears too, just not from the conditioner)

But after having two boys, my mom probably enjoyed finally having a girl that she could fuss up. But as I always say: God has a sense of humor. He sent my mom a tomboy. Hated having my hair washed, hated ponytails, hated anyone fussing with my hair. HATED IT.

So I had to tamp down that inner-tomboy the other day. Albeit a little unsuccessfully. The YW has a make-up consultant. Someone that will sit down with you, apply your make-up, and advise you on how to look your best. Perfectly lovely idea.

When there was a cancellation and it turned out that I had similar skin tone and hair color as the person, I was asked if I wanted to do it. Now I’m all for looking my best but no thanks. I wear little make-up as it is. Better people than me have tried to get me to be a girly girl. I resist.

But most surprising to me was that, like the snap of your fingers, out came roaring that whirling dervish of a tomboy. I appreciated the thought but immediately all I could think of is “I don’t WANNA sit still! I don’t WANNA wear that! I don’t WANNA!” I could feel the tantrum start to rise up my spine. I was hopefully outwardly politely declining. I momentarily considered it, mostly so that the consultant didn't have her time wasted. I would like to be the grown up and cooperate. But the inner toddler took over. It was a no go.

And somewhere in the universe my mother sighed. I could sense her disappointment.

(Props to J who did it on a whim and has been looking great ever since!)

Home

What is it about music? Right now I am playing Michael Buble’s album and Pow! Suddenly I am cheerfully writing away. This album has become the soundtrack of my creative flow. There is some hard-wired trigger that recognizes the notes and nudges the synapses into action: Play this music and I'll write the afternoon away. Play this music and I’ll houseclean. Play this music and I’ll call “D”. Play this music and go for a drive. Play this music and I’ll……………..oh no, we won’t go there. (Etta James…that’s all I’m saying…)

So you can thank (or curse) Michael Buble for this little flurry of postings!

The Sunny Side of the Street

All is right with my world. Or shall I say right-side-up?

I’ve got my truck back and I am the happiest of happy campers. I am no longer dependent upon anyone! Wooohooo! I have gas mileage! I can take the long way home and not by way of a ditch! Double Wooohooo!

I have shiny paint! My previously broken turn signal works! What more could a girl ask for?

Bring on the Snow! Not now, of course, that would be silly. But I'm ready!

Tigger

I am one of the strange creatures that love Daylight Saving Time. There’s just something about that little tweak of the clock that sets me right. I can get up easier in the morning, I can stay up later at night, and I don’t drag myself through the 2:00 pm doldrums. Life is good.

It could be that we’re in the land of rainy days and rainy nights. It could be that I’ve convinced myself that I like it. It could be my inner rebel loving to change time arbitrarily. Who knows? I just know that I feel, dare-I-say PEPPY!?!?!

Rolling, Rolling Rolling

So, my latest adventure has not been a good one. Not even a glimmer of good. You see, in the snow that I love so much, I managed to roll my truck. Yeah, not my best day.

It was probably mostly my fault; I over-corrected and probably should have been in four-wheel drive. What started the entire thing was someone else coming toward me and hugging the yellow line. Unfortunately, that someone else kept going. They were going fast enough that they may have seen me get out of shape but not go over. Or, if they were clueless enough to be hugging the yellow line, one could assume that they didn’t bother looking back.

During my explanations of what happened…people are fascinated to hear about rollover accidents!...it has become clear that something I learned from the drag racing world is something worth sharing with the rest of the world.

If you are about to be in an accident and have the wherewithal to think of this, please do:
Either cross your arms across your chest or over your head. (In my case, it was over my head) This prevents a few things: head injury, of course. Although I do have two bumps on my head where my hands didn’t over it completely. (more on that in a minute)

But more interestingly: it helps prevent your arms from being broken or damaged. If you rollover, your arms aren’t able to flail about or get pinned. If you’re simply in a crash, it will keep you from gripping the steering wheel in panic and possibly breaking your arms. And/or it keeps them from getting pinned by the airbag.

I learned this when a fellow drag racer crashed at the racetrack a few years ago. She, yes, *she*, told us that shortly after she put her car into the wall at about 120 mph and emerged with nothing but a headache. (Thank you NHRA safety rules!)

I don’t know how or why it popped into my head at the time but it did. Also, it was a slow roll so I had a little bit of time to contemplate what was about to happen…and curse profusely.

It’s occurred to me that perhaps this is something that should be taught in Drivers Ed classes. Browsing through my niece’s drivers ed book, I realized that it’s been 25 years since I’ve had driver’s ed and I know the rules & laws have changed a lot in those years. The strange thing about Washington State, and perhaps all states, is that there isn’t a
re-testing exam required. Once you have a license, that’s it. Seems foolish.

Another funny little safety tip: I had just gone grocery shopping so I had two gallons of milk and about five bags of groceries in the cab with me. Whereas if they were in the bed, they would have been scattered hither and yon but because they were in the cab, I not only was able to retrieve everything, they probably kicked my ass as we went over. As D said "Nothing like a gallon of milk to the ribs for happy fun time."

Funny Aside: The Mad Genius was feeling the bumps on the back of my head the other night. He slid his fingers gently over the bump, looked at me sagely and murmurs “Peas” then turns away. That was one of the funniest comments of this whole adventure.

Oh, and we had the Doogie Howser of tow truck drivers. (You can see him in the pictures) Dude didn’t seem old enough to have his driver’s license, let alone operate a tow truck. But he did a good job. He even got the sarcastic irony of me mentioning that he had a back-up light burnt out. Yeah, me – the one upside down over the embankment – reminding him that he had equipment failure. Good one!

Oh, and there are just so many levels to this story…

I called the accident in to 911. They had an officer call me back as it was a non-injury accident. He asked me if the vehicle was drivable. After a pause, I replied “It’s on its lid, Dude.” There was another pause and then an audible, long sigh “I’ll be there in a minute…” (Can’t blame him, we live 20 minutes away from everything)

AND THEN, he was a little late getting there. He explained as he began the paperwork”
“I’m sorry I was slow getting here. I arrested a drunk driver.”
I told him “Good Job! Thank You! You can be late for that.”
“Well it’s a funny thing.” He says. “He pulled up to me with a question. I was finishing washing my rig and he drove up. He had a question about his muffler, which he had cut completely off because he had a “fix-it” ticket. Turns out he was drunk. So that was easy.”

Hmmm, I think that’s all there was to the story…like that wasn’t enough!

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling, Rawhide! Hey, I can get that as a license plate. FUNNY!

Psych 101

In terms of human interaction, my job here at the YW is not all that different than at the school. At the school, I dealt with children ages birth to school age. Here, it seems, I deal with adults whom have similar traits to birth to school age children. Often, I find myself using the same skills. Sometimes it is jumper negotiation and sometimes it’s bordering on time-out techniques.

I find myself in an 8-hour long, five day a week psychology experiment. I feel as if I am a PSYCH 101 student, diagnosing everyone around me. Manipulation! Passive Aggressive! Addict behaviors!

There are always multiple levels of investigation that happens during my interactions with these women. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, there are always three sides to every story. Many times, patience is called for. Wait for it and the true story will come forward. Wait for it and the real personality will present itself.


Some of the people that cross through these doors it is obvious why they are here. Others not so much, but like in a messed-up human poker game, they usually end up showing their hand. Sometimes, the women are just victims of bad luck; everything has dominoed in a negative way and they end up here. Quite often, however, it is mental illness that eventually lands them here.

Daily, we find ourselves on the constant alert for little clues, evidence left behind if you will. Changes in appearance or attitude, changes in routine, interpreting comments made that seem offhand but are actually, usually, hints. Insights on what they're up to, where they've been or where they're going. Literally and figuratively.

I am not always privy to their history and personal information so I am on constant watch for little clues. Little habits or comments to clue me into as to why they are here and who they are. Also, little observations can also help in determining their success here. What may sometimes seem like an inconsequential comment or action can suddenly become a major factor in a later incident. It’s quite often mining through the BS.

Another school correlation is that their friends will often narc them out if they’re breaking the rules. And like children in a preschool setting, there is often bullying and tattling. This is where I am part detective and part referee; sorting through fact from fiction.

I've learned quite a lot about human behavior in the months I've been here. It makes me wish I'd kept my Psych 101 textbook.

Let's Go Swimming

This photo was just given to the YW...it was taken in the 1930's.
I haven't got a comment, just thought it was cool.