Sass-Thoughts....Or Not

Dog and Croc:
Poor, poor Dog the Bounty Hunter. Arrested. They were having a marathon of his episodes last night and it was sad to hear Beth (Dog's wife) and his younguns singing (in a previous episode), "Daddy caught the bad guy. Now the bad guy is arrested and going to jail." I think he'll come out on top though.

And this coupled with the Crocodile Hunter passing away makes it seem like it is just a bad time for people with the last name "Hunter."

Next up: Cell phones
I'm discovering that I know the equivalent of nothing in the way of cell phones. I was enamored with the BlackBerry. I couldn't believe that I could have a phone that would do the work of two of my trusty items (cell phone and Palm Zire). Then I saw the Palm Treo phones and I was really ready to jump the budget ship.

I then discover that my own 'lil cell phone can do what I need already. And I feel like an idiot. But I push my own embarrassment aside and go look for the magic data sync cord that will allow me to sync my phone with my computer. This cord is all but extinct.

My family and I have coined the experience of attacking a subject or interest with zeal, "a hair up the ass." And I had a hair up my ass to find this cord. And I tried so many, many places no luck. And I say to myself, "Alright, I'm just going to upgrade my phone." I go to TMobile and they are showing me all the phones I can upgrade to. I settle on the Razr which can also sync up. And the TMobile guy (who knows my story) says, "Yes, yes, this one can sync up with your computer and there is a cord for it. But we don't carry that cord here." Okay...so how is this going to help me?

On to: Signage
I always love, love, love a stupid sign. Nothing is better to break up the boredom of street driving than a stupid sign. Now, we are all aware of the many different real estate signs. There's all kinds: For Sale, For Sale/Sale Pending, For Sale/Price Reduced!, and For Sale by Owner. Presumably, the owner or the owner's next of kin, are always involved in the selling of their home. But yesterday when I was in hot-cord-pursuit I passed a sign that struck me, at first as being worded odd, then secondly as hilarious.

The sign said, "For Sale With Owner." Um, duh. Who else would be selling it with the real estate broker? Or wait...maybe it is a niche market I know nothing about. Maybe it is sincerely, "For Sale With Owner." Maybe the owner comes with the house. What an interesting concept! Maybe some homeowner said, "Forget this mortgage crap, I'm selling my house and myself. " Can you imagine? "Here's the deal, you buy the house and *me* and I'll continue to live there and care for the place!"

Due to this litigious society, I suggest they change the wording. Otherwise someone who is in the market for both a house and a owner might sue for false advertising.

Lastly: The Meds Must be Working
Because I took not only my four children (aged 10 and under) but my eldest son's friend to Newark Days today. It's basically the city's yearly celebration with crafts and vendor stands, food, rides and games. I did this by myself. I have no idea why I felt compelled to make the parent to child ratio 1:5, but I did it. And it actually went off well.

My children who aren't used to me wanting to do anything that requires too much effort, and especially if I'm by myself were in awe. Perhaps that's why it went off without too much chaos.

This may work. Keep their standards low by saying "no" to 99.9% of recreation requests(Incidentally, this will also eliminate alot of the guilt I feel when I say no as well). When I do finally say "yes" to one of their demands they will be dumbstruck.

I'll name my new plan: Operation Disappoint, Shock and Amaze.

5 years later....

{Ed. Note: In my haste to write this post, I ignored simple math and originally titled this, "6 years later." 2006-2001=5 years. Ugh, mornings and math simply don't mix.}

I can't pay a tribute that does justice to horrific events of 9/11. I just can't. I was 3 months pregnant with Lucas (aka "Clyde") at the time and I watched entirely too much of CNN. I was overcome with grief as was most of America and I was scared for my then 5-year-old and 2-year-old sons and the baby I was going to be welcoming in six months. I remember calling my 5-year-old son's school and asking if I was still supposed to bring him to school. They told me "yes" and I felt that doing so was crazy. But I did it. And all day long I worried and worried. Shoot, "worry" doesn't even begin to touch on what I felt.

It's six years later and I would have thought we would have found the man behind all this by now. But we haven't. Threats are still coming in and our security is heightened. As well as our anxiety level. This new life of increasing security measures almost feels normal to us now. And we still have troops in Iraq.

So while we grieve for our collective loss and remember 9/11/01 today, let's also say a prayer, a real, heartfelt one, for the troops in Iraq and the ones who have returned. We may not agree with the politics behind it, but we can agree that we all want them to come home safe and sound.

Because I can't do a tribute justice, as much as I would love to be able to, I refer you to my favorite blogger, Trent. His tribute is thorough and endearing and includes all the names of the people who were victims of the events that day.

Writing: RAQ's

Rarely Asked Questions that Promote Shameless Self-Plugging-Ques. 1

What was Smudge doing back in 2000-2002?

Once upon a time (i.e. 2000-2002) I wrote...and when I wrote, I was paid for it. Not a lot of money, but I could claim the title I always coveted---Paid Writer.

It was little how-to craft pieces and some deep, inspirational pieces (Shut up, I thought so!). Some were in print (YIPPEEEE!!!!) and some were for websites (yippee!). And then I had Clyde and two years later I had Bonnie (aka "Pebbles," "Bella Boo" and various other nicknames). That's kept me busy. And I started blogging mainly to just start writing again.

However, I decided to take a walk down memory lane and see if I could find some of my online articles in some dusty, forgotten corner of the WWW's attic. And I did! It took me about two or three pages into each respective Google search, but find them I did.

If you're having a boring moment and would love to read my stuff (okay, "barely like" to read my stuff) I invite you to take a gander at the following links:

~ How-To Craft Pieces~
Making Self-Care Boxes
Decoupage Keepsake Box
Flower Power-Pressing Flowers

~One Surviving Article that Isn't About Crafts~
Perfect Mother Syndrome-The Other PMS

Okay...so I'm not sure but I totally think I coined the above title. Doing a Google search for it tells me others have caught on. There's even bumper stickers that say it now. I so could have had some dough from that. Chances are though, that I wasn't the person who coined the term. But from here on out, I'm copyrighting everything because I'm both egocentric and obsessive-compulsive.

I had some other articles that I just purely loved but alas, they are in print and I can't find a link to them, try as I might (and boy I tried, read "egocentric" above).

Ta-ta

Sass: The Bitching Hour

My neighbors in the townhouses across from us, specifically the second one down (or third one down, depending on where you are standing) are blaring....of all things....Michael Bolton. Old school dental office music. I can't even go smoke on my balcony without my ears taking it in and relaying the message to my oversensitive brain that it is time for Captain Hook to work her magic on my gums.

Not okay.

I used to feel bad smoking on my porch. Polluting other people's air makes me feel bad and guilty. Feeling bad and guilty, ironically, triggers a nicotine attack.

But if I have to listen to their crap music, which I feel pollutes my ears, they can smell my smoke and I'd say it's about even.

Speaking of neighbors, there is a big blond chick in the townhouses as well. Not at the Michael Bolton one, the one next door to them. She's way loud. Incredibly loud. Especially when she yells at her man. Which happens at least three times a week, if not more.

She really, really hates him. Really. And she decides that she hates them about the same time every night, which I've termed the "The Bitching Hour." Somewhere between 11:00 p.m. and midnight she decides it's time for him to feel her pain. She screams at him telling him just how bad of an asshole he is. And all I can think is, "Then kick his sorry ass out then." Really now, how hard can that be? If he truly sucks that bad I'd think the solution would be simple--kick his ass out.

It couldn't be that she's afraid of hurting his feelings because her near-nightly monologues tell us all that she has no trouble being blunt.

So whatever her glitch is, I'm willing to help. I'll kick him out for her.

All she has to do is ask and I'll show him to the door, tell him to beat feet and not look back. Just 'cause I'm a good neighbor like that.

And if she chooses to not kick his ass out, I've got to say to her Bitchiness, "Get thyself to the psych posthaste!" Because her screaming and hollering has actually woke me up. And that's some hard shit to do.

Either she kicks his ass out, has me kick his ass out, or gets herself meds or I'm calling the cops because I'm completely fine with domestic disharmony--until it wakes me up.

Sassy Wifey: World of Widowhood

....was what my dear Phil was almost playing an active role in tonight. Seriously, this shit has got to stop. As you may or may not know, depending on if I actually have conversed with you in real life (and if I have for at least two minutes you know one thing about me and that one thing everyone must know is that my, ahem, "man" is addicted to a online virtual game. Yes...for real.) Phil is off on Fridays. So fine, right. He plays his game all day while I work. He watches the kids too. But mostly he plays his game. Priorities.

We have this new deal. I make us lunch in the mornings and he makes dinner at night because he gets home earlier. And he so especially makes dinner on Friday nights because he's been home all day. And I get that raiding and virtual play is so hard but I'm pretty sure he can muster the energy to make some food. I mean, didn't he just earn some on his game?

So tonight I say, "What's for dinner?" And he, not hearing me, but realizing from my angry inquisitive glare that I must be addressing him, removes one headphone from the side of his head so he can hear me. (Again, for real. I couldn't make this lameness up.) So I repeat my question and he said, "Uh, don't know." Then a monster must of jumped in front of him or he was getting summoned back from the dead or, like, WHATEVER, and he put the headphone back on his ear.

Right.

Fast forward to nearly 8:00 and I'm seriously jonesing for food. I plead. I whine. In an attempt to relate to him, I morph into my favorite charachter, Queen Bitch asking, "You can't even leave that game for a minute??????" And he says the words that make me want to slap the sanity back into him, "I can't. I can't. I'm in a raid."

I thought he was going to try and feed us manna from his game or something just to silence our IRL voices.

See the thing is, well shit, there are MANY things, but the main thing is this whole confusion of priorities between REAL LIFE and well, UNREAL LIFE. I thought that I would break it down for him in this blog (which he doesn't read because I don't hand out virtual weapons or magic skills as a reward):

REAL LIFE:
People eat food.
People work.
People eat food again.
People watch their children.
Wives get divorced from their husbands due to their online gaming addictions. Just sayin.

UNREAL LIFE:
People aren't people.
People are characters.
Characters eat play food made up of pixels.
Characters don't work. They raid, pillage, cast spells, etc.
Characters don't usually have offspring because they'd probably eat them.
Characters are usually single. (Whoah....now it's starting to mirror real life.)