Birthday Party Planning

KC woke up this morning with only one thing on her mind. The must be there if you've anywhere at all to be event of the it's my birthday in less than one week season known as January.

And already I'm cringing, trying to take in the number of names she's been throwing in my direction while tossing back more reasonable numbers of my own.

"Ten," she says.

"One," I counter.

She angles her jaw in the direction of the floor, giving me the look I so often give to her when I'm trying to prove a point and laughs, "I'm not stupid, Mom. I know what you're trying to do."

Feigning ignorance, I shrug my shoulders in a mock, Who me? reply.

"Two then," I say. "That's my final offer."

"I'm thinking six," she bats back at me as her attention steals back to her video game which suddenly seems far too loud to go unchecked.

"Turn that down please?" I ask.

She turns it down without turning it down. Our regular game of let's see if Mom can actually tell the difference.

"Try again," I tell her, pointing the imaginary remote in my hand towards the TV and giving her the click, click single.

"It's not even loud," she says, her voice falling into the petulant whine I'm becoming all to used too these days with a dramatic sigh to top it off. "I can't even hear it now."

"People in New Guinea can hear that!" My exaggeration rewards me with yet another look. One I believe to be the you think you're funny but you need to give it up Mom look.

She mutters beneath her breath, "I bet you don't even know where New Guinea is."

Like my own Mother, I have ears that can hear a whisper three rooms away. A secret talent that I don't always let KC in on but decide to call her on. "It's called Google, Dorkus."

"It's called cheating, Mom!"

"Nope," I quip right back, smiling. "It's called creative thinking." She is silent for a moment.

"Six," she yells out.

"Four," I say. "Four, I will consider."

The Sound of Snow

Tired. But not sleeping... Just listening to everything and to nothing at all.

Resolving Doors

The girls have taken over Guitar Hero leaving me nothing else to do but get down to the nasty business of writing out my resolution list for 2008. Resolutions, mind you I will most likely break within five minutes of the New Year beginning.

Despite this, I feel it necessary to write them anyway. Although I have decided after perusing some of my old lists that I may have to be a bit more realistic this year than I have managed to be in previous ones. I mean really, swim with sharks and not get eaten? Sure it's good for a laugh, but you and I both know there's no way I'd be caught dead in a bathing suit!

It would also appear that I'm failing in the meeting a man with limited issues department. True to the form that is my life, the only men I ever come into contact with are those with more issues than I've got time to mention or the patience to deal with. And seriously, is normal too much to hope for?

And no, playing monopoly without cheating is never ever going to happen for me either. If you let me be the banker, you can damn well bet I'll be getting a lot more than two hundred dollars for passing go. And while I know this is a major personality flaw, and I really shouldn't admit to it, I can honestly say that the only time I would actually embezzle anything is when it involves paper money of the fictional kind. I mean really, I do have a little self discipline occasionally.

I'm also going to scrap the thought of not sticking my tongue out at my co-workers or saluting my boss in the hallway whenever we happen to cross paths. Although I do take issue with what he said the other day before I absconded on vacation. It went a little something like this...

"Captain," I said, followed by a crisp navy salute as I passed him in the hall.

He responded in kind with a quick salute of his own, a smarmy smile licking at his lips and quipped, "Four eyes."

And I'm telling you, that while it was a bitch ass move for a comeback, I had to give him mad respect for the juvenile way in which it was given. After all, not many men pushing the big Hawaii five-o could have pulled it off with such convincing aplomb.

Which brings me back to my resolution list which I've still yet to start... Okay. Must think. Like lent, it's all about giving up the things you don't really give too much of a fig about. To save my mortal soul however, I'm going to pretend I never said anything just now about lent... I mean, cause I wouldn't actually do anything like that... Ever.

Nope...

Not me.

Not Stacey middle and last name omitted to the protect the personal privacy of the person who writes this blog...

I'm going to hell, aren't I?

Anyhoo... Resolutions. Got to keep them coming here. Have to think of at least one that doesn't involve anything too, well involved.

Here goes...

Stacey's Year of 2008 Resolutions

1. Donate blood. Get free cookie and orange juice!
2.

Why My Neighbors Believe I'm Demented

Okay... So on a whim I grabbed this book off of a library shelf and it turned out to be one of the funniest books I've ever read. I was laughing like a drugged up hyena last night, incapable of stopping or keeping myself to a level of quiet that my new look of librarian with Liberace glasses suggests I might be capable of... Proving I suppose, that looking like a schoolmarm does not indeed harness the wild woman within.

But seriously... I read enough books to know when I've been blessed to find a good one in my hands and last night this one was it. In fact, with a little exploring this morning, I've found another title under this authors name, a newscast that I haven't yet missed and evidently a kindred spirit when it comes to being chronically late at Christmas time. I'm telling you, it's like karma! Karma, people!



You can look up the info online here and because I'm all about a bonus, here and yes, here too!

Creating My Canvas

I've got painting on my mind. The kind that includes a tray, a roller, a drop cloth I should but won't use, and an empty room.

My main problem at the moment however is that the room isn't empty, I don't have primer to cover up my current (and much loved) chocolate brown walls and my ability to empty the room by myself is somewhat stunted when it comes to moving two huge dressers without the assistance of a lifting partner.

The image however is in my mind and the vision in my head is demanding to be put to canvas much like my need to write when the muse is upon me.

Crooked pictures aside, I like to think I have a bit of a knack when it comes to painting out the inner me. And I am a true believer that a home should reflect the personality of all those who live inside, or at least the one whose vote carries the most clout where matters of decorating are concerned...

And all I can think about right now is orange like a pumpkin, red like a poppy, yellow like a soft sunrise, green like moss growing at the base of a tree and the cool crispness of summer white, gentle and flowing. Vibrant colors. Colors in perfect balance with themselves and a room that wears them softly like a summer shall wrapped 'round her shoulders.

How To Clean Your House and Pretend You Like Doing It

Lesson One: Lie, lie, and lie some more...

The art of truly getting down to the business of getting your house cleaned up is to pretend you enjoy cleaning. Yes. I said pretend. Because as far as I know there is no one who loves to clean just for the sake of cleaning itself. And if you do, well far be it from me to point out that you have problems... Serious - you should consider seeing a doctor - problems...

So pretend... Pretend that you love the clean smell of lemon polish more than the orange fruitiness of grime remover, or let your true appreciation be of a more subtle flavor arrangement, say like the mint aroma of toilet cleaner. Either way, imagine these wonderfully chemically altered smells to permeate your senses, allowing you to reap the full benefit of cleaning for what it is...

Lesson Two: Live as if any minute your Mother might pop over for a visit...

Nothing in this entire world makes me get my clean on more than the thought of my Mother knocking on the other side of my door. Now this one is a small stretch for me as my Mom currently resides in North Carolina but living with the pretend fear that she could - at any given moment - decide to pop in her car for a twelve hour surprise drive by and visit, I've begun readying myself by seeing my house through her eyes...

In other words, I really ought to dust more than I do, the pictures on the wall are most certainly crooked, and if there's laundry out and about in places it shouldn't be, it's a sure sign that it needs to be put away pronto.

Lesson Three: Never Break Longer Than You've Already Cleaned...

If you notice that your breaks are lasting longer than your actual cleaning times, you've got a problem more commonly referred to as avoidance. But fear not my dear friends for with one simple trick you can turn this all around. In fact, it couldn't be easier.

The key to re motivating yourself is combining step one and step two along with having to separate yourself from your ass and anything it could possibly sit on until you are done with all your chores.

Believe it or not your ass will thank you, your couch will thank you and your house, your aromatic, gleaming with clean house will thank you just as soon as you are done.

Lesson Four: Start In the Room You Dread the Most...

I normally like to start in my living room because my living room is the easiest of all my rooms to clean since it never really gets all that out of hand which is why I can no longer start there. You see the thing about clean is that once you get one room done, you either motivate yourself for more or get so content with how good that one room looks that you fall victim to the take a break and never get the rest of your rooms done syndrome.

Which is why when I get going, the only room for me to start in is my combination kitchen/dining room. Any place else and I doom myself to failure before I've even broken out the broom, dust pan and mop.

Knowing my kitchen as I do, I'm aware of just how tricky it can be. Which is why I start first by loading the dishwasher, cleaning the counters, reorganizing the cupboards, cleaning out the recyclables and taking them downstairs, tying up the garbage to follow along with the recyclables and then approach my sink with trepidation.

Because it's my sink that tries to implement a detour. A detour known as soaking.

Yes. I said soaking. The mythical place of pots and pans that for some reason or another you've decided need to soak for three days before you can even entertain the thought of scrubbing them. But don't be fooled. Because soaking can only lead to one thing... And that's more soaking. Three weeks worth of soaking to be exact.

And once a dish is regulated to soaking in the sink, it's almost impossible to come clean until you risk those dish pan hands of yours and sink them deep into the soft and slippery pearlescant bubbles with a scouring brush in hand.

I truly believe (as my boss is known to say prefacing just about everything he says) that if you can clean out your kitchen sink from any and all things that might be in it, there is no way you can lose out on the cleaning game...

As for me, my ass has been immobile in this chair for far too long, and my break has now exceeded the time I've spent cleaning my house this morning which means...

I love cleaning so much I can't bear to think about blogging anymore right now...

So ta ta... I'm breaking out the feather duster and going to town!

An Early A.M. Email to Brenda

I just want to know why neither one of us own a stamp that WE could sell for $825,000... Did you read that ridiculousness on the net this morning? I mean seriously... A little tiny square of paper with some glue on the back is worth more than our yearly income put together times infinity! It's absolute lunacy!

And seriously, do you know how many houses $825,000 could buy for us? Heck... I could get one, you could get one, and we could buy both of our parental units one and still have change left over for decorating and new furniture!

I can't take it... Overabundance in other people who already have an overabundance of everything is enough to make me gag on my oatmeal... Mmmmm, oatmeal. Good stuff if you don't mind just about everything about it...

Anyhoo... Wishing you a very happy good morning on this wonderful and still somewhat dark Friday morning. Sorry I missed your call last night. I got a little carried away playing Guitar Hero 3, and then found myself with a book in my hand (went to the library yesterday... took out five, already ready two) which absorbed all my concentration and of course made me too lazy to answer the phone which I had left in the other room that last time you called.

I know, I know... I suck. Anyhoo... Call me later and I promise to answer as promptly as possible... That is as long as there is not a wireless plastic guitar in my hand.

Is this the weekend we do the Outback and all that, or are we saving it for an emergency need a day off from work situation?

Let me know... I'll be here hanging out in my jammies and possibly cleaning the house if the mood strikes me. (I'm betting that it doesn't, but you never know...)

Talk later Bean! Enjoy the job! Happy almost New Year!

Listening to the sound of sirens flying by my house...
YBFFS

A Tad Bit Fishy

I dislike my new neighbor downstairs. A feeling that is not exactly new, but not exactly growing old gracefully either. And it's quite beyond my comprehension how exactly one person can be quite so loud for so long with so little consideration in such a short amount of time. If I could have gotten her anything for Christmas, an eviction letter would have been at the top of my list. That or headphones.

And I am tempted...

Sorely tempted to put my little radio by the heating vents tonight to let her listen to the sound of my music as she attempts to go to sleep. But for some dumb reason, I really can't find it in me to be that mean. At least not anymore. Although come to think of it, I've seldom been rude without a cause or an absolutely just reason.

And who do I blame for this?

I blame my Mother for raising me to be polite... Although between you, me and the not so proverbial fence post, we all know I have the chops to bring it when the situation calls for it to be brought.

But enough about Spin... While she is good fodder for writing and is unfortunately supplying me with more than enough material, she hardly deserves any mention that might be misconstrued as honorable.

In other news, I did feel mostly better today although I did have a wee bout of exhaustion late in the afternoon. This I have decided to attribute to the hour I spent cleaning out the dirty water in the fish tank and then the requisite lugging of buckets between two rooms to fill it right back up again. And all of this for one stinking fish that I don't even like and have never ever bothered to name...

Almost Asleep, Not Yet Dreaming

Due to unforeseen circumstances - a head pounding migraine and a semi plausible life threatening illness more commonly referred to as the sniffles, tonight's blog post has been suspended in favor of a capful of Nyquil followed by bed and at least eight hours of hopefully uninterrupted sleep...

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas from my house to yours. May the blessing of Christmas fill your heart with love, your spirit with hope, and create in you an overabundance of joy today and every day.

Anger, Frustration, Tears...

I am wrung out. Tired of my emotions. Trying to communicate with someone who barely makes a sound, who cannot look me in the eye, who has nothing at all to say. We have been too long separated. You on your side of silence and me on mine, unable to see the errors we both have made.

I forgave you long ago for all your faults. Maybe I should have said that sooner but I was much too mad to mention it. I popped your balloons instead. One by one until the table was littered with abandoned ribbons and a birthday card ripped in half. And I left them there for you to find, a message from me of how I felt. Tossed out like a ribbon, and replaced with something new.

And I remember watching you from my bedroom window, your black jacket and black hat distinguishing you from the whiteness of winter snow, walking towards the house with Christmas presents in hand. But I would not see you and I sent you away. And I pretended for years that you did not exist, that I'd made you up like a child would an imaginary friend. But you were not my friend, and then after a time you were not my father anymore either.

Four years. Or was it more? After all these years I've lost track of all the conversations we've never had. We speak of each other to other people who will listen to what we have to say, who will pass on important information like informants and secret spies. We care, but we care incognito, remaining always at a set distance safely away. Beyond approach, beyond reproach...

But this is where it hurts for me. The reason why I avoid breaching these boundaries we've so carefully constructed and employed. Because I have so much, so damn much to say and I walk out of that hour of sitting across the table from you with nothing said, and nothing changed and no future promise of repairing the damage that we've done.

And I want to punch holes in walls. Scream until my face turns blue. Shout with everything I have to make you say something more to me than a quick hello followed by an even shorter goodbye. But I don't know how to do it. And I get so tired of the trying that I don't even try as hard as I used to anymore.

And you are the lesson that I have learned. The reason, as you used to say I needed to give me something truly important to cry about.

But tears, even mine are useless... Leaving me only with a headache as they wash themselves away.

Rocks In My Pocket

I am tired. More tired than I have a right to be. It was only yesterday we left and only this afternoon that we got back from what was meant to be a one day trip.

And I feel like I should have done more, seen more people. Stayed just a little bit longer.

But there is a church service to go to in the morning where KC needs to speak a few words. And there is a person and a place that I've avoided once again for far too long...

A Christmas Tree Story

We are standing in a field of trees. Blue spruce. Douglas Fir. Scotch pine. My only request as we trudge downhill in the snow is for soft branches. "Don't," I say, "even consider a tree that has needles that are as sharp as pins."

It's cold out. An obvious statement of fact considering we live in Upstate New York and it is the month of December. KC wears her white winter jacket and her Christmas red gloves with matching red ear muffs. The trees she seems to be drawn to are small. Kid size. More accurately the size of something she might put in her own room rather than in her Grandfather's living room which is where the tree we are looking for is destined to go.

My father keeps a few steps behind us carrying with him the prerequisite hack saw, or as he will later correct me, his tree saw. It doesn't matter. Regardless of what kind of saw it is or in fact isn't, it doesn't make its dull edge glide through the tree any easier when it comes time to cut it down.

Ten minutes into our hunt for the perfect tree I am beginning to think we've come to the wrong place to find one. The trees here are all slightly less appealing then most you'd see at a pull up and go Christmas stand. And the trees that we do stop to consider are quickly ruled out by brown branches, bare spots, and a propensity for being more lopsided than not.

I am walking with a destination in mind feeling much too cold to linger long. In the farthest corner of the farm of course, I see a tree that just might do the trick. KC on the other hand is moving through the snow as if she is ice skating, sailing away from me as fast as she can, intent on being first to find the perfect tree.

Everything with her these days is race, race, race... My girl who has taken her time thus far to grow up seems now to lack the patience to take her time.

From the short distance he lags behind, my father begins singing Christmas songs. We are laughing together in this cold field of not so many impressive trees. Dad sings and tells a story of a time many years ago when he took my sister Amy and I out to a field much like this for the same exact purpose.

"You were much smaller then," he says, "but still equipped with the proper amount of tears to make the mission tedious. I had to pick you both up and carry you back to the car. Both of you complaining and crying that you were cold."

I tell him that I'm thinking of reverting back to my old ways. "If it will get me out of the cold and put a tree on top of your car, I am not adverse to crying," I answer him.

Just when I have given myself over to the despair of ever being warm again, KC yells that she has found a tree. She is hopping up and down in the snow, her cheeks red, her brown hair flying in the wind. "This is the one," she exclaims proudly. And after careful inspection consisting of circling around the tree and eyeballing it from all angles, we all agree that this is the one that's going home.

Dad hands KC the hack tree saw. "You can cut it," he tells her. KC grins up at him like it's Christmas morning. I decide to let her give it a go but only mostly because I don't feel like getting any closer to the cold ground than I have to.

We begin to saw. We, I say because when KC begins to get tired, I am given a turn, and when I decide that I get tired, I pass the torch right along to Dad. Between the three of us, the tree comes down with just the right amount of convincing and elbow grease. Dad looks at the tree, looks at the distance to where we have to drag it back to and says what I have been thinking, "Why the hell did we pick the tree that was the farthest out?"

I however am thinking about setting up shop in the snow, but as I am the one with the money in my pocket to pay for the tree I follow my father and daughter back up the slippery white hill of snow.

KC volunteers to drag the tree and though I offer to help I am both secretly thankful and amused that she refuses me so she can take the credit for doing it all herself. A point she will continue to point out the rest of the day to anyone who asks. Or doesn't ask...

She does however drop the tree like no tomorrow the minute two teen aged boys come into sight and offer to carry it the rest of the way for her. The speed in which she drops the tree and hands it over amazes me. She flashes the boys her best smile, softens her doe eyes and follows along after them as my father and I share a look that wonders where my little girl has gone.

Paying for the tree we wish the proprietors a very Merry Christmas and load it in the back of my Dad's pick up truck. KC rides with Dad the short distance home, and I take the lead pulling out first in my car. I drive faster and know these back roads as if I were born on them.

Back at Dad's we let the tree warm up in the garage. He hooks up some hot air blower to blow hot air on the tree to help melt all the snow we dragged into its branches on our trek back up the hill. I am slightly concerned that we will set the tree on fire but decide to trust Dad's judgement on this one. We watch a movie while we wait for it to melt...

For two hours we warm the tree, checking it every so often to see if it is ready to be brought in, until finally we declare it time. The garage door opens and we shortcut to the front of the house, and the main living room where this tree will stand.

My sister Jo and I carry the tree and from this point on I begin my swearing spree. "I said no sharp needles and what tree do we wind up with?" I say to no one in particular, "A scotch pine. A sharp ass needles like pins, can barely touch the tree let alone carry it in scotch pine! It would be a wonder if anyone ever listened to me in this family."

I, of course, am ignored. They are used to me bitching just to hear myself talk.

We set the tree down into the tree stand. It doesn't really fit as it should but we have decided to make it work Ala Project Runway. Dad says he thinks we need to cut a few more bottom branches off but I decline basing my opinion on my limited lumber jack skills. "We will unbalance the tree if we cut any more off," I say.

But the tree isn't balanced. In fact, the tree won't stand up straight at all and Jo doesn't help when she cocks her head to one side when giving me her opinion if it's straight.

We dissolve into a fit of giggles. And once we've begun, it's almost impossible for us to stop. Even my Dad starts laughing because there I am sitting half under the tree on the floor sawing away at the tree that won't stay still and won't stand up with Isabella the dog attacking the bottom branches at my side. We are a comedy of errors and the tree is falling on my head.

"Do you think," I say to my sister, "you could laugh and hold the tree up while I'm attempting to cut it?" I get yet another branch in my face when laughter loosens her grip on the tree.

Two tree stands later (we stripped the screws on the first one and made it useless) the tree is finally standing at almost eight o'clock at night. I have been here since church let out this morning and I am beginning to think of all the things I've left to do at home. I smile to myself however reminding myself that these are the moments memories are made from.

The once silent house is bursting with joy with the arrival of my sister Audrey and her husband Hans and their small dachshund Dieter who have come all the way home from Baltimore. Hans in fact proves himself a welcome addition to both our home and family, and is in fact detrimental in our quest to right the tree after we have hacked half the bottom branches and most of the bark away. We do a late dinner together. Pot roast, potatoes, onions and carrots. It smells warm and cozy, a good backdrop to the snow falling outside.

"Next year," says my stepmother, "we go back to artificial."

The table goes quiet.

I don't know what everyone else is thinking but I know the thoughts that are running through my head. I wonder silently and sadly if she has the strength to hold on for another year. She has grown so frail as of late that I think a light breeze could knock her over and she sleeps more often than she is awake. Her spirit however is strong, illuminating her with courange and determination. But still I wonder if we will all be here together this time next year.

I hope. And then I pray. And the smell of evergreen infuses our house with love.

The Early Bird Beats Traffic

It's early to bed, early to rise, and on the road in the morning...

So goodnight. Sweet dreams. And Happy - almost - Friday.

Boy + Girl + Sex = Baby

This just in... Having sexual relations with your boyfriend can result in pregnancy!

Now I don't normally bother with commenting on the things that famous people do as (a) I generally don't care and (b) it's a fairly well known fact that most celebrities develop mush for brains after being exposed to Tinseltown for an extended period of time... Still I just couldn't help myself from having to comment when I read this...

"It was a shock for both of us, so unexpected," she said. "I was in complete and total shock and so was he." Jamie Lynn Spears

And all I have to say is, "Who knew?"

Who knew that having unprotected sex could result in becoming pregnant? Who knew that condoms don't necessarily make sex safe?

Now I'm not going to go and totally chastise this girl. She is after all still a child. And one who is going to learn the lesson of growing up a lot faster than most of the kids her age.

But I just have to question how exactly finding herself pregnant came as a shock? Because when I took my own little stick in a box test to find out that I was about to become a Mom at the tender, and yes - too young age of twenty, the last thing I was was shocked. And though my pregnancy certainly wasn't planned, it wasn't studiously avoided either...

And it's reading things like this that make me take a minute to think about how best to prepare my daughter as she transitions from child to woman. You see, as crazy as this sounds, I do believe in abstinence.

I believe that waiting isn't necessarily a gift you save for your husband, but I definitely believe it is a gift you give yourself. Too many people rush head over feet towards the wrong things. They build on shaky ground and then wonder why it is their foundations crack and crumble.

It's a matter of respecting yourself enough to wait until you know you're ready. And it's knowing yourself well enough to know that when the time is right, you will experience sex as something wonderful rather than something disposable.

And it's about knowing all your options to keep yourself and your partner as safe as possible from disease and from creating a life you may not be ready to take care of just yet...

Twice Read Letters

I made the mistake of looking at some old emails earlier tonight thinking that I was past feeling the hurt of being - for lack of a better word - forgotten, used and left behind. And I wish that I could clear up the confusion on my end. The part of me that doesn't want to think bad of anyone. That doesn't want to be left with bad feelings for someone I thought was pretty good.

I won't allow myself however to pick up a phone. Or pen an email. Or do anything right now that involves me begging for a conversation to take place because I force that conversation to happen.

And I know now that Sue and Brenda have had the right of it all along. And believe me when I tell you that their advice has become the little voice inside my head that stops me from reaching out right now. In fact it's them I hear when I'm tempted to dial a number, or use my computer as a means to break the silence. And if it takes a million reminders to myself, I'll believe this until I can prove it true.

When you matter to someone, you never have to wonder where it is they've gone...

Monday Night Confessional

I've been thinking about it, and talking about it. And I think I've come to the conclusion about the eye candy post I blogged about just the other day. You know the one I'm talking about... The office eye candy one.

Well, I'm beginning to think that I might have, okay I did hold on just a wee bit longer than might have been appropriate...

And all I can really say for myself and my somewhat shameful behavior is this... If a girl is dying of thirst in a desert, you can't blame her for wanting to chug down a tall drink of water...

But seriously... Thank God for being sane and sober. One drink too many and I probably would have done at least ten things that I would have probably regretted come morning.

Or would have really wanted to regret...

Top Ten Things I Hate About Wrapping Presents

10. Cheap wrapping paper.

9. Crap scissors.

8. Gift tags that aren't self adhesive.

7. Ribbons and bows.

6. Weird shaped objects that are impossible to wrap.

5. Scotch tape that sticks to everything but what you want it to stick to.

4. Running out of scotch tape because your kid made off with it when you forgot to keep it in the secret hidden spot.

3. The length of time required to wrap a bunch of presents and write out all the ridiculous tags while trying to disguise your handwriting.

2. Having to use more than one paper on gifts so you know which one are from you and which ones are from someone else...

1. Picking up all the scrap paper when you're done.

I don't know about you but it's a mad process that requires way too much attention to detail for me. Yup... Next year I'm all about gift bag convenience all the way!

Wind, Snow, Sleet and Ice...

"Snow is pretty to look at but a bitch to shovel."

Said in a conversation with Brenda regarding the hour and a half I spent outside just a short while ago shoveling my driveway like a mad woman wearing a spring windbreaker and a pair of cheap white gloves.

Again With the Music?

The neighbor downstairs and I had words once again today. Or to say it more accurately, I had words with "Spin" less than ten minutes ago.

Without breaking into my whole thought process regarding the necessary consideration required in shared living space situations, all I can say to my new nemesis below is, "Enough already! Your Mom and Dad didn't raise you to be this inconsiderate and if they did someone ought to slap them for letting you out of their house!"

In other words, if your music is loud enough to make my floors shake like there's a line of conga dancers parading themselves about with maracas in hand dancing to a bass line that should be downright illegal, how can you even begin to think that you're volume is set to a tolerable level?

I mean hello... The fact that there is more than one apartment in this place should have been your first clue that you do indeed have neighbors! And while I am naturally bitchy (it's in my genes) I generally do have a certain amount of tolerance set aside for stupid people. But for you I've made an exception. Exception being that I haven't yet been driven to the point of you driving me crazy although come to think of it, we're getting quite close.

And let me just add that it's not going to be pretty when you make me lose my mind.

Sincerely;
The one you keep referring to as the bitch upstairs

I Want My Water Back

Still no water. And I'm really starting to realize just how much I use water now that I don't have it.

I may have to get my winter wear on and go collect snow soon after all as there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of progress going on despite this ladder now descending directly down into a hole they've dug in the middle of the street.

And it's all quite weird and boring to watch. And they may be weirded out that I've been watching them... But really, shouldn't there be some sort of time limit for a cigarette break?

Without Water

It's 15 degrees Fahrenheit outside and sad enough kind of feels the same inside. And because it seemed like a good idea as the forecasters are forecasting that the snowstorm has turned it's gaze this a way instead of that a way, I've just returned home from the grocery store with much needed larder for my previously bare and empty shelves.

And I guess my decision to not buy bottled water has come back to kick me in the ass because at this very moment, I have no water. Not one single precious drop...

I had been loading my dishwasher when this truth was brought to light. Turning on the hot water to let it run a few moments before turning on the dishwasher was my first clue that something was indeed wrong... Because when I turned the faucet on, absolutely nothing happened.

I must have stood in front of my sink for a moment with a stupefied expression on my face that had there been a caption above my head might have sounded a bit Andrew Dice Clay in it's delivery, "Unfucking believable!"

And though one might assume that the pipes must be frozen, that explanation goes completely down the drain when it was only two hours ago it was working well enough to wash my hair. Therefore the analytical side of me has determined that the problem is on a slightly bigger scale than just this house and me. And I suppose that the work crew with their little orange cones lining the street on both sides in a quarter mile direction both ways is also just a mere hint of a clue...

But since there's nothing I can do but stare down at them and yell occasionally from my window to get a move on and hurry up, I think it's time to settle in, settle down and call it a blog.

Here's hoping I don't have to go all Survivor like and take a pail outside to collect snow...

Getting All Geeked Up

Guess who has her new glasses?

And yes, I know. I never did get around to writing about all the fun I had at my first ever eye doc visit. Although really... Someone should have warned me about the whole hey we're going to dilate your eyes, and oh yeah, you won't be able to see for shit for at least a few hours thing we had going on. That was a fun drive back to work...

But I digress... Back to my glasses with BLING as an added bonus. (Because if you've got to wear them, you've got to wear them with style.)

If I start wearing twin set sweaters and apply for a job at my local library, these new frames of mine will solidify the look. I like it. It's like sweet, mousy librarian meets Liberace meets Stacey who finally admits that yes, on the inside she's all geek and loving it.

But really... They're me. And like, who knew?

I even feel smarter...

Office Eye Candy

When your "Not Boss, Boss" gives you a hug before he leaves and wishes you a Merry Christmas and it's all you can do to keep the lustful images inside your head at bay, it's probably a good sign you've been on the job too long and/or need to get out more...

Although for an older guy he is a little bit hubba hubba... I'm just saying.

Dark Circles

If you dream all night about work, is it really fair to have to wake up and do it all over again? Because really at this point I don't even need to be creative to think of a reason of why I don't want to go in...

But I won't bitch too much. I'm on vacation both tomorrow and Monday, then the Friday after that lasting until the second day of the New Year. And all I can say for myself is, "Vacation! Woo Hoo!"

With that motivation in mind, it's time to prepare myself for today's big festivities at the office. God help me if someone doesn't spike the punch...

Margins and Borders

When I make up my mind to do something, even if it's the wrong something to do, I set my course, pack my bags and go. It's the stubborn side of me, the one who doesn't want to be proved wrong, but never waits around long enough to be proved right.

It's a weakness. A weakness I've turned into fictional strength, the art of moving forward when my heart is still about three steps behind. And whoever said that self-preservation is worth any cost, I'd like to know how they determined just how much was enough...

I refuse to turn in circles and yet I'm spinning. Days and nights, tripping over themselves tumbling onto me, balancing myself when I lean in one direction too far or in another not enough. Trying to figure out the whole world of everything. Keeping control on a short leash. Leaving nothing to chance.

Retail Shopping... The Only Therapy I Don't Need

I hate shopping!

Hate it! Hate it! Hate it! Hate it!

I have no patience for shopping. I want to be in. I want to be out. I want to be home. I find the whole experience tedious. From schlepping my way in, to schlepping about the isles in search of that ever elusive find of a deal.

Two and a half hours of shopping tonight for the minor child's outfit for her Christmas concert netted the following results...

One pair of black dress shoes.

Items still missing are black skirt and the requisite white dressy blouse.

And who the hell requires a white dressy blouse for Christmas anyway? And have you ever tried to find a white dressy blouse in mid-December? Because let me tell you, there is no such thing as a white dressy blouse! There is however plenty of winter white which is a fancy way of saying ivory! And ivory isn't an acceptable color for kids to wear to their *(*&#^$W*! Christmas concert!

Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck!

And no, I'm not even going to pretend I didn't mean to say any of that just now. My head hurts, my feet hurt, and I'm even pretty sure my ass hurts (mostly because it didn't want to feel left out) and all I can think about is one thing.

I've got to do this all over again tomorrow.

That's it... Cold compress and Nyquil, I'm your girl!

Why I Can't Blog Right Now

Today was too long a day away from home to blog about it right now. In fact, I'm too tired to think let alone trust myself to type...

And as far as excuses go I might as well say that the dog ate my homework... And considering the chompers that canine catastrophe does indeed have, no one who knows Izzy would doubt my story as true.

Parenting 101

Girls can be their own worst enemies, especially ones still trying to find their place amongst the crowd. Between the she said this and the she said that; best friends one minute and then bitter enemies the next, it's an uncut path that navigates the road to friendship.

And it's hard to get your point across to your daughter when she's of the mindset that she already knows everything that there is to know of how to effectively deal with a situation when someone is purposely being unkind or setting off a rumor that doesn't need to be retold.

For if I've told KC once, I've most likely said it a thousand times that, "Rumors should end right where they start." It's a choice to repeat them, and more often than not, it's the one who simply parrots what they've been told that reaps the blame rather than the one who set the ball off rolling in the first place.

Which is probably why I found myself talking to another parent this afternoon after a gaggle of girls managed to turn a mountain into a molehill despite the odds against it. And I wasn't very happy at all to be chatting with this man who for some reason thought he had the right to question my daughter over the matter without first speaking to me.

To say that I was livid would be putting it mildly. And without a doubt I let him know that his own behavior was grossly inappropriate. After all, I doubt he would be happy to find out that any parent had dared to question his child without his knowledge like some third rate trial lawyer. It simply crosses a line that should not be crossed.

I did say however that beyond the tar and feathering and the need to find someone to blame game he was insistent on needing to play, that it was more important to me that all the girls involved took ownership of whatever part they played in the perpetuation of what was said.

Had I counted how many times he interrupted me, or how rude his tone was while he spoke with me, even you dear reader would be amazed at how well I kept my cool when I wanted nothing better than to give him the verbal tongue lashing I know I could have easily doled out had I been of a mind to. But what I understand that he obviously cannot, is that it's far better to approach a problem seeking a solution that is beneficial for all, than it is to approach one looking only to place the blame.

Defining the Undefined

Emotional Fuckwittage

Main Entry: Emotional Fuckwittage

Pronunciation: Exactly how it sounds.

Function: Explanation of inexplicably bad behavior.

1. Behaving in a manner that causes unnecessary stress and/or upset to another.
2. To promote a duplicity of feelings.
3a. The inability to form a relationship. 3b. Commit to a relationship. 3c. Break off a relationship.
4. To cause confusion.
5. To be disingenuous.
6. Failure to follow through.
7. Inability to communicate either verbally and/or in print despite the invention of the phone and/or the computer.
8. To disengage.
9. To languishingly disappear.
10. To lack intentions.
11. Holding the emotions of another person hostage.
12. To believe that friends with benefits is a valid solution to having a non-relationship relationship.
13. Calling - months after the relationship has ended - just to talk.
14. The act of being unaccountable.
15. The ability to disappoint without trying.
16. To be male.

As far as being politically correct goes, I'm not even close to not offending someone... Then again, if you're all that offended you're either (a) male (b) guilty as charged or (c) both.

Tune In Tomorrow

Much too tired to say all that much this evening other than goodnight. The eye doctor story - in all its gory detail - is on hold until tomorrow... But because I know you all want to know the actual outcome...

I guess you'll just have to wait and read tomorrow...

Overtired, Obviously So...

Oh so tired and on my way to bed after having shellacked my fingers together quite by oversight more than anything else. Wouldn't have hurt so bad except said shellac was also over a file cut, so when my fingers finally came apart under warm water... Well, let's just say on the list of things that I'd file under a good time, that wasn't it.

But seriously, I must get myself to bed as I've a very important appointment in the morning with the eye doctor. And considering I've never ever been to the eye doctor, this is going to be one of those momentous moments for me, not all the impressive to anyone else things.

I'm giddy with anticipation... It's gonna be like trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve!

Survey Says: Smell of Plastic Burning

If you're looking for information regarding melting tupperware or in my case a melting - what do you people call those things, oh yes - a colander (whereas my family calls it a sculabasta)... Or more information on just how bad melted plastic smells, and yes, it smells quite bad, especially when you melt said item in the oven by forgetting you left it in there... You've really come to the wrong place.

However thanks for all the visits as of late. There's nothing like finding out how people reach your site, even if it's only to be googled over your own idiocy in the kitchen.

Thanks for your support!

(My original post on this topic can be seen... HERE.)

No Coat, No Gloves, No Problem

If I haven't mentioned yet just how much I hate shoveling snow, consider this my formal declaration of said sad fact...

And though it might be a wise idea, considering I live in snowy upstate NY, to get myself some proper snow attire, I just can't bring myself do it.

In fact, I blame my Mother. Had she not made me wear those horribly ridiculous moon boots as a child, I might not be as adverse as I am to the whole looking like a trussed up turkey when it's twelve below zero.

In other news, I was speaking with my Mom earlier tonight on the phone and she said, and this is almost a direct quote, that she would like to comment more often on my blog, but considering that no one else does, she doesn't want to give off the impression that she is the only one who reads it.

Impression or not, that's no excuse! In fact, if I hadn't already sent out her Christmas box (prior to December 1, I might add) I'd hold onto it and wait until after New Year's... Like I normally do.

Making Friends With the New Neighbor

It turns out that I didn't have a high threshold for obnoxiously loud music. A glance at the clock - six minutes after nine to be exact last night - was all the motivation I needed to slip on a pair of shoes, jet out the back door and down the stairs to deliver my message of, "Seriously... With the music? That loud?"

I knocked once. No answer. Twice. Still ignored. And wouldn't you know it, that third time worked just like a charm. Of course, that might have been the point when Spinderella figured out I wasn't going to leave until she answered or actually heard my knocking - which at this point probably was more akin to pounding as I wasn't leaving without getting the results I wanted. (I'm very tenacious like that.)

Anyhoo the conversation itself was pretty much cut and dry and went a little something like this...


Me: "Hi. It's after nine. And your music is really loud. And it's past my daughter's bedtime... Do you think you could turn it down?"

Spin: (Insert nervous giggle as I must have had my mean, not taking no for an answer face on.) "Uh... Yeah. Sure... Sorry."

Me: (Arms folded to ward off cold, although this just probably made me look even more ticked off than I really was.) Thanks.

End scene.

So it's so far so good. The music is on, but for now it's at a reasonable decibel... Which is really great because just between you, me and everyone else on the world wide web, her taste in music sucks...

Why It Really Sucks To Rent - Part ll

I wouldn't be me if I didn't complain but seriously something has got to give with Spinderella downstairs. Because - and I'm not just saying this because I have the beginnings of a migraine in the making - if she doesn't turn that shit down that she's listening to, I am going to commence with my get my point across and get even plan.

See what Spin doesn't know, is that I am fully aware of the complete layout of her apartment. I know my bedroom is above her living room, my reading room above her dining room, and my dining room above her bedroom. And I also know that I can be as mean as I can be nice and if a simple could you please turn that down and respect everyone else who lives here in this house conversation won't do the trick, then maybe my stereo with some techno Tori dance beats situated by the heat vent in my dining room at three in the morning turned on as loud as it can possible go will be enough to drive that point home.

Listen... I'm not adverse to someone listening to their favorite songs and enjoying their new place, but honestly two nights in and you already start offending the neighbors by being too loud? How the hell does that work?

Alright... I'm pissy, cold, exhausted and beginning to think my head is attached to a beating drum. Therefore I'm going to bed before I hurt someone or say something that I wouldn't really regret all that much...

Why It Sucks To Rent

Oh separation anxiety dog, I was so wrong about you... Your soulful braying, the masterful way you filled your lungs with air and howled your discontent, the little nuggets of joy you left all over the little lawn we have... I miss you to the point of needing to run to the store to buy a bottle of Advil.

I miss you to the point that it's already clear that the new girl downstairs could never take your place. I miss you to the point that of all the things you didn't do that used to drive me nuts, you never ever played your music loud enough to feel the vibrations on the bottom of my feet through the floor...

Dear, dear dog whose name I never bothered to know... Come back.

I miss you.

Me

Questions Asked, Unanswered

She knows the conversation has ended. The pause that stammers for something more to say says it all. And the words inside her heart are sinking like buried treasures lost at sea.

She worries more about what she doesn't feel. Neither sad, nor happy, nor anything at all. Just nothing. Just acceptance of what she cannot change.

Perhaps she thinks it's just the lateness of the hour she finds herself awake in. Eyes weary and body ready for bed. She cannot plumb those depths tonight of seeking out her soul to call it to clarity. Clarity is to be avoided at all costs.

She takes her wants of why's to let them go. Are there answers or explanations? Or just excuses?

Lighting the Way

I despise fake trees but I have one. In fact, there is one currently standing guard in the front window of my living room, white lights gazing out into the snow filled darkness of the night awaiting the beautification that is to come. But beautification will have to wait until Sunday and the return of my child from her weekend away from home.

In the defense of said tree I will say however that a fake tree never sheds, never pokes you with needles sharp like knives and doesn't leave sticky sap sliding down into your carpet or your hardwood floors. It does not however deter cats... Especially cats who are amazed by bright lights, dangling ornaments and the irresistible call of nature that inspires napping about half way up, right before the tree crashes over with their added weight.

Still there's something special about a tree - real or fake - with twinkling lights and memories hanging on every branch...

On the Wind

I went out for lunch. Went out as far as the parking lot and sat in my car with the seat tucked back, my eyes closed. Listening to the silence, to the classical music playing on the radio station, to the sound of the wind pushing its way past everything in its rush to get someplace else. To the sound of my thoughts racing.

And I am trying to say something I don't know how to say. Trying to explain this feeling I had as I sat there in my car staring up at the birch trees overhead, their barren branches bending to please the wind.

I am like this tree, I thought. I am like this tree in every season of its life. I am like this tree with roots that keep me standing strong. With scars dug deep into my skin. I am like this tree with empty branches void of leaves. But I can see the promise of tender buds, dormant now but waiting to wake.

I am like this tree. Withstanding the cold. Keeping at bay these winds. I can feel the summer beneath this frozen ground. I can feel my leaves like phanton limbs.

Dog Days

Separation anxiety dog is at it again and has actually been at it for the past four hours. Endlessly howling with absolutely no end in sight, making me want to stamp my feet on the floor and scream, "Shut up!" until my own face turns blue with the effort to get the damn things attention for just one moment of howl free living.

Thankfully I've come to some simple conclusions...

(1) I'm happy to report that said downstairs neighbors are moving out by months end and taking the I need to be on drugs dog with them.

and

(2) Stamping on the floor and shouting only makes it worse. A truth I did manage to find out first hand when I was in a particularly pissy mood one night. Bad impatient, easy to irritate me.

And I like dogs! I really do! I'm just not a big fan of living above one that never (and I'm not kidding when I say never) shuts up when his owners aren't home, and seriously, his owners are never home! And the more noise we make up here, even the very sound of our almost imperceptible breathing, really any wave length of sound emitting from my apartment keeps this dog going like it's related to the damn energizer bunny.

And if it were bunny season... I'm just saying, I'm completely ready with my insanity plea.

Which is why I'm sitting here, typing all this with my earphones in (as I am wont to do when I'm writing) to block out the sound of the baying wonder mutt and because I was looking for a reason to stay up just a bit longer listening to my new Eagles CD though that may be more to do with the pot of coffee I made earlier that's got me more wired than tired.

But seriously, I already know I'm going to regret whatever time it will be that I go to bed tonight, and the alarm I'm going to ignore in the morning. I am however about to go catch the last few minutes of Project Runway before the songs on this CD pull on any more of my heart strings, that for the sake of my sanity aren't in any need of plucking right now.

Of course now that the neighbors are home, and the dog has gone mute, the volume on their TV is so loud, I might as well be sitting on their couch sharing a bowl of popcorn... And if there's one thing I know, I hate popcorn on almost any occasion.

Going to bed with earplugs...

Cleaning Up Clutter

Tidying up a bit has kept me unpleasantly occupied these past few hours. Still a distraction - even when it requires getting your clean on - is a far better companion than that of silence. And perhaps silence is telling me I've one more towel to throw into that proverbial wash cycle of life regardless of how many times I've attempted to hear and yet ignore that message.

Chalking this one up to nary a clue

Stacey... Over, out and off to bed...

An Odd Assortment

Emma got wind that Tavi made the blog pages last week and has put up such a fuss, that I'm giving in to her demands and posting (for your viewing pleasure) Emma sacking out on the forbidden couch. Forbidden as in no cat is supposed to even think about looking at it, let alone being on it... Of course, what they do when I'm gone, or truth be told even when I'm here, happens to be pretty much one and the same.

In other news, I picked up pictures today from this weekends "animalfest" at church... Not exactly finger licking good, but these chickens have still got it going on.
I also believe I promised something about posting that picture of my Dad and his lawn mowing buddy... I've heard of dueling banjos, but dueling lawn mowers may be a bit much. Still it is ridiculously cute. Live action however is much better, as this shot didn't do any justice to all the big cheesy grins and the high fiving that was going on. Of course, if my Dad caught wind that I was posting this picture on here he'd have a total meltdown and I'd be grounded...
Speaking of my Pops, ever since they brought home their new dog Isabella (with so many middle names I can't even begin to remember them all) it's all KC has been talking about. So if any of you out there know of anyone willing to make her wish come true with a free (note the word FREE as there is no way on earth I will ever pay as much as they did for this dog) Miniature Italian Greyhound, y'all just let me know...