A Day Late, Many Dollars Short...

I'm late with the Fun Monday post assignment, hosted by Willowtree. Not sure how it affects my grade or how many points I will lose in Blogging 101 class, but I DID do my best to calm the restless natives by posting photos from my party weekend, featuring ample cleavage. So that MUST count for something.I blog from work most of the time, since The Offspring hogs our home computer. This is where I am blogging from now - our front desk - as I sit for Lanna's lunch hour. (She is the girl featured in the last two photos of yesterday's post.) This machine works well, and for some reason, I write better under pressure. Working the desk, answering the phone, and greeting clients as they enter the door makes for a chaotic environment, prompting me to be concise in my writing.Sometimes, I'm forced to upload photos from our office camera (which I did today), and this is the only computer that recognizes my old Kodak DC4800. It is located in our common computer room. Most of photo uploads are done here.
This is where I get brazen. My private, upstairs office. I'm always scurrying around the building, so I'm rarely in here - but if there is something weighing heavily on my mind, and I want VERY private time to blog and measure my words carefully, I'll blog from here.

Here is another view of my office. I figured I should take photos today, since the cleaning lady has recently visited, dusted my corners and vacuumed the floor. Like my skylight? I don't think I've turned on the lights in this room 10 times since I moved into this space 5 years ago.
No, I'm not THAT narcissistic. The mirror to the left used to be a window. When we remodeled the building to add more offices, I had to decide between a two-way mirror that would allow me to spy on my agents in the next office, or a regular mirror. Figuring I'd get nothing more than a disgusting display of bodily habits and a feeling of voyeurism with the two-way, I opted for the regular mirror. At least I can check my posture on occasion.
Last view of my office - and NO, the couch is rarely used. (I know what you're thinking, Matt!) There's a funky '70s mirror above the couch that I just can't toss.

Well, there you have it! I have been totally absent from the blogosphere since last Thursday. Our DSL, cell phones and long distance all went down due to a fiber optic cable accident that afternoon, and I had no time during my weekend to blog. I promise to visit you all and respond to comments by tomorrow, as well as visit your blogging environments!

Better Late Than Never

I promise to post my Fun Monday assignment later today. I had a big weekend out of town, and then ended up having to answer phones and work the front desk at my orifice today - so I'm WAY behind schedule and trapped! Look for my post by 2PM CST!

IMPORTANT UPDATE!! Looks like there's NO WAY I'm gonna get this done today. Not gonna happen. To appease you, here is a glimpse of the kind of weekend Tiggerlane enjoyed, until I can get my assignment together!

The Controversy Continues...

Just another quick post. I really have some cool things to tell you all, and I still have to finish my "tag" assignment.

But have to update you regarding this post. Evidently, Merck has received negative responses to its new Garadsil vaccine, and made this decision today.

Congrats, Willowtree!

Just a quick post - because Willowtree was feeling left out of blog honors (not a click for those afraid of the f-bomb), and he was persistent enough to take another stab at Monday's quote question - I'm giving him public props. Most of you assumed that any quote with "my precious" in it would have been spoken by Smeagol, or Gollum, from the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. It was a bit of a trick question, seeing as the exact quote was an "under his breath" utterance from someone else!

Willowtree guessed this first:
"Tiff, Gollum (or smeagal) spoke that line, and although it's not a movie yet, I think the first time he said it was actually in the Hobbit when Bilbo first found it."

The only participant to mention the book. Way to go! In fact, I thought for a moment he might have me - since I didn't have a copy of the actual text to peruse.

And then, he brilliantly came back with this:
"Ok then, if it was not Smeagol, then it was Bilbo Baggins (the other long time holder), and I would say that he said it to Gandalf, when Gandalf wanted him to hand it over before he left after his birthday party at the beginning of Fellowship of the Ring."
WOOHOOO!! Way to go! Explicit, mentioned locale, a great answer! Even mentioned the exact movie title of the trilogy. Unfortunately, I don't have a prize, except adulation. Which sounds kinda naughty. Which might actually be enough.

You can check out the script of the movie here, but since this is an extremely "linky" post, here is the context:

Gandalf: I think you should leave the ring behind, Bilbo. Is that so hard?
Bilbo: Well, no.
[frowning]
Bilbo: ...and yes. Now it comes to it, I don't feel like parting with it. It's mine, I found it. It came to me!
Gandalf: There's no need to get angry.
Bilbo: Well, if I'm angry, it's your fault.
[to himself]
Bilbo: ...it's mine... my own... my precious...
Gandalf: Precious? It's been called that before, but not by you.

See that link about IMDB in my list? Go check out all sorts of trivia! It's a pop culture whore's dream!

"It's mine... My own... My precious..."

Another Fun Monday assignment, co-hosted by Karmyn R and an anonymous yet entertaining associate of Marnie's.

It was difficult to come up with just ONE precious thing - and as Pamela commented in the post below, the most precious is my daughter. But that's too easy.

Much like a gypsy (maybe therein lies my heritage, eh, Matt?) - I always wear several gold rings. A total of FOUR on my wedding finger (see the sapphires, Willowtree?), my Texas Aggie ring, my MBA ring, and then, my most prized - I've worn it on my left hand ring finger for almost 21 years.

I received this ring from my grandmother - my mother's mom. Before you get all in a twitter, I'm talking about the only family I've ever known - my adoptive family. My grandmother attended Marlborough School, a prestigious all-girls' high school in Los Angeles, CA. The inscription inside the ring is "BCM 1934," for Barbara Corinne Morrow - graduated in 1934. My grandmother sent it to me shortly before my own high school graduation in 1986. The crest and lettering were once clearly defined; they have worn down now, and the ring has taken on the shape of my finger. (By the way, I had to have a lot of help taking this photograph. It's nearly impossible to take a photo of your own right hand, and I don't have a fancy camera with a macro-lens like Ree's. The ring I'm talking about is the top one in this photo.)

My grandmother was articulate and wrote long letters to me over the years, discussing everything from current events to stories of her past. As the eldest of her granddaughters, even sharing her middle name, I felt very close to her - even though we lived many miles apart. I only saw her a few times after my family moved to Texas in 1976. The last time was during Christmas of 1992, when I flew to California to visit my parents, who were then serving as my grandparents' caretakers. Unfortunately, she was no longer completely lucid, and our conversations were limited by the onset of her Alzheimer's.

I started this post late last night - too late to phone my mom and ask more about my grandmother's past. I knew she had attended college, but couldn't remember where. I found a "missing alumni" entry for Barbara Morrow Weir at the Alpha Phi site, in the UCLA Beta Delta chapter, with a graduation year of 1938. I assume she married my grandfather during her college years. I remember hearing that she had also attended Cornell University, though I wasn't able to access their alumni site for verification.

I am extremely proud of my grandmother, as it was quite an achievement for a young lady to attend college during the Depression Era of the mid-1930's. The ring reminds me of the challenges she might have faced, as well as her determination to receive a quality education. I am honored to wear it each day, and it has given me courage to face adversity as I seek my own place in this world.

Oh! And I'm giving bonus points for those of you who can correctly name the movie character whose quote I used to title this post!

Bad, Bad, Tiggerlane...

"Baddest broad in the whole....."

Oh, sorry...got to singin' there.

I know, I've been a bad girl. I was tagged by the beautiful Desert Songbird, and haven't completed my assignment. I haven't been blog visiting much. Also, I can't even tell you without looking it up what our next Fun Monday assignment is. BAD Blogger behavior.

The GOOD news is threefold:
1. We had a VERY successful week at the orifice.
2. We have been blessed by visits from various friends like Emily (who managed to treat me to lunch the other day - knowing I would never stop to eat during work unless forced, and I NEED the nutrition! Thanks, Em!).
3. I have basically finished the revision of our house plan, with the exception of inking the final copy to show the builder next week!

To appease you (and demonstrate why I can't blog much from home), I'm sharing some photos The Lovely Offspring has been toying with using Photoshop. She is fiddling with tons of photos, all the time. (As a sidenote, I'm finally seeing a little bit of me in her.)

Lovin' Arkansas

Just a quick post, for those of you who are envious of my current location. If you haven't already, check out Songbird's post about where we live. She offers a different perspective, with more photos.

And I apologize for not blogging more frequently - my business is in full swing, and I have to take advantage of it when I can!

OH...ALMOST FORGOT: HAPPY VD!

Why I Love Where I Live

Another FUN MONDAY assignment -hosted by everyone's favorite Canadian, Marnie. Mena is my home at present - a 5,600 population town located in the Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas. This is our state park, and the Queen Wilhelmina Lodge.

As a real estate agent, I could go on and on about our incredibly low property taxes. When I disclose the annual tax bill for a property, most people are shocked. For example, I live in a 1400 square foot house in the city limits, with annual property taxes of $279. Since we receive a homestead credit of $300 each year, I don't pay a dime! Even my 3,400 square foot office building, located on an acre of prime highway frontage, has yearly taxes of only $1,800. So if you're cheap - this is the place for you!

LOW crime. Around these parts (how hick does that sound?), most people own police scanners. If there is a violent crime, it usually stems from an ongoing domestic situation. The schools are very safe, and the fact that everyone knows everyone else can provide a measure of safety, too.

Over 70% of the county is National Forest property - so it can only become so populated. Even better, the scarcity of land almost guarantees that the demand for real estate will increase annually. But prices are still very low compared to those in the rest of the nation. Ever watch thos home improvement shows? Or "Flip This House?" I think people could do REALLY well here. For example, check out this house, and compare it to those you see on tv.

We also enjoy four distinct seasons. The most beautiful of all is Fall.

I don't plan to live here forever, but Mena will always be special to me for two reasons.
1) I met my husband here.
2) My daugher was born here.

Now I'm trotting off to visit your town - should make for another exhausting, but FUN Monday!

To Gardasil, or Not to Gardasil?

I'm in a quandary, folks, and I need your input. Especially yours, swampy. I got into a lively discussion with my dear friend/twin sister (who happens to work for an OB/GYN) about the imperative need to inject my daughter with Gardasil, the new vaccine that, according to their official website, MAY help guard against diseases caused by HPV and some cervical cancers. (Guys, you have my permission to bail on this post now.) Texas will begin REQUIRING girls to receive this vaccine by the fall of 2008.

I am not "anti-medicine," but I am extremely leery of all the drugs that are pushed on today's society. Eating a bunch of crap that makes your tummy hurt? Take a pill so you can continue your gluttony! Only want your period four times a year? There's a pill for that, too! Look at the pretty green moth/sleep fairy! One night, I counted FOURTEEN different drug advertisements during two hours of television. What is going on? You can't open a magazine or watch television or surf the Internet without seeing at least ONE drug ad.

And what of the side effects? They rattle through the list like it's insignificant, but listen carefully and you'll hear horrible terms like "bleeding" and "stroke" and "liver disorders." Or maybe you'll have to wade through four pages of fine print to discover the hidden side effects.

Remember Vioxx? How about Norplant? Oh, and let's not leave out the Ortha Evra patch, which is now under scrutiny b/c of the serious health risks it has been found to cause.

Drug companies want to make money. And they don't always have our best interests in mind. I implore you to read this article before making your judgment.

Personally, I don't trust the pharmaceutical industry. I know that there are fabulous, life-saving treatments and medicines that work, and since my husband is a nurse, I am privy to personal stories of success. But can man really play God, and mess with our biological chemistry to this extent, in such a way that we are much better off?

At this point, I don't want my daughter to receive this new vaccine. It has only recently been introduced to the market, and no one knows what the long-term side effects could be. It MAY help prevent cancer - but what if the side effects create something worse? Please give me your input...

The Best Blog You're Not Reading

I used to dread Mondays, but the past few have been GREAT, thanks to the new "posting games" hosted by my blogging buddies. This week's hostess is swampy, and she's curious about blogger posts that inspire us.

If you read Angelina Williamson at Dustpan Alley, you know there's powerful stuff there. POWERFUL stuff. I chose to share this photo from her blog, because she once wrote, "This is how I wish to be remembered, both now, and when I'm gone. Spiritually speaking, this is what I will look like for all time. If I come back as a ghost, this is what frightened little girls will see come out of their closets."

Recent events in the blogosphere, and...well...OTHER recent events in the blogosphere make her writings even more poignant to me. She weighs in on the first debate in a ponderous post cleverly entitled The Puritanical Motherhood Witch Hunt. If tackling controversial, heartfelt issues makes you uneasy, then you're not ready for the bare-naked and fabulous blog that is Angelina's purest inner dialogue, spilling forth.

Angelina uses the blogging medium as a catharsis. Yes, she can rant like nobody's business. And yes, she's a mom. But most impressive is her perseverant journey to open both her own online store and a traditional brick and mortar site.

Our Monday challenge was: "What is the most significant, powerful post you have ever read?" I respectfully submit two from the Alley for your consideration.

Read St. Vincent de Paul, and you will likely never walk into a thrift store again with nonchalance.

Ten Things I Know For Sure contains straightforward advice, uncensored and unabashed - and most importantly, may prompt you to reconsider your perspective on life.

Thankfully, I wrote the bulk of this before Super Bowl coverage began. Now, I'm going to tie one on for the COLTS. And NO ONE can say that Prince didn't SHRED halftime! I'm going to bed a happy Tigger tonight!

Let's keep these Monday assignments going, gang. It's good for a Neophyte - like a college course in Blogging 101!

Super Sunday

I maniacally cleaned house last Sunday, in a futile attempt to hide my football withdrawal tremors. I despise the end of football season. If given a choice between giving up football or giving up, say, makeup...or french fries...or (gasp!) high heels...for the rest of my life? Well, let's just say I'd be paler, thinner, and definitely shorter.

Not that it's any surprise - I'm picking Peyton and the Colts. I've been rooting for them all season, mostly b/c it's Manning's time. He is due. I know the Bears have an incredible defense, but Manning is adaptable. For instance, he proved against the Pats that he didn't need wide receiver Marvin Harrison to make big plays. He used three other receivers, including a DEFENSIVE TACKLE!! Anyone watching that playoff game saw the calm, cool confidence exuded by Peyton as he entered the stadium for the second half of play. Most quarterbacks, down 21-6 against a team who's been to the Big Game three times in the last five years...well, most quarterbacks would have resigned themselves to defeat. Not Peyton and the Colts.

Uh...do I still have any female readers left at this point? It's okay, gals, you can bail if you need to. Maybe desert songbird is still with me!

The Colts are favored to win, even if the pyschological pressures and mammoth expectations faced by Manning work against him. I truly believe this is Peyton's year, and I've said this since the beginning of the season. Much as I like to see an underdog (Bears) triumph over an opponent who is all but a shoo-in for victory, I want the Colts to win for Manning's sake. He deserves a Super Bowl ring at this point in his career.The Bears have a great defense, but their quarterback, Rex Grossman, is not up to par. Something about Rex says, "Scared little boy." Even when the Bears are in the lead, he always looks wide-eyed, frightened, needing direction. One day, he will lead this team - but not just yet. If he had faced a large halftime deficit, Grossman would have crumbled under the pressure. Luckily, Grossman knows he's the underdog in Sunday's battle, which may light a fire in his teammates and get his adrenaline pumping enough to make this an interesting game.

Normally, I hate to see a blowout. I prefer close, high-scoring games. But this weekend? I want to see a legend get the ultimate career honor - a Super Bowl ring, and a win for this hard-working, very-deserving team. Even if it means a routing. GO COLTS!

Pre-Pubescent Tiggerlane

Welcome to another Monday adventure in voyeurism prompted by Erik, who is curious about how his blogging buddies looked as children. I've chosen age five as the best "kid year" for Tiggerlane. Before buck teeth emerged, the lack of coordination and the pleasantries of puberty. The first photo is my favorite - I'm all jacked up on Easter chocolate - documentation of my first "high." See those cute braided double-pigtails? As mentioned here, I was blessed with uncertain heritage and VERY curly hair which grew to be lengthy, and heavy. My parents weren't hippies, but their love of my hair kept them from cutting any major length off until I was in the fifth grade. The FIFTH GRADE, people. Why? Well, that's the year I contracted chickenpox. Four feet of hair, gallons of calamine lotion, and itchy spots made for a nasty combination. And finally, Princess Tiggerlane, in all her Halloween glory. My mother made the outfit in the first two photos, as well as this one. Check out that '70s couch! This photo always reminds me of my favorite childhood fantasy. As an adoptee, I've been fascinated with the unlimited possibilities of my heritage. When I would get angry at the parental units for some perceived injustice, I would fantasize that my birthparents were royalty. I imagined they had brought me to America for safe-keeping, until the time was right to notify me of my noble heritage and take me away to my place as a princess in their family. As I got older, the idea of being a Mafia princess replaced this childhood fantasy.

I think I could pull it off either way, don't you?

Musical Poetry

I am SO diggin' this song right now.

Music Video Codes By Music Jesus.com
WAITING ON THE WORLD TO CHANGE by JOHN MAYER

Me and all my friends
We're all misunderstood
They say we stand for nothing
There's no way we ever could
Now we see everything is going wrong
With the world and those who lead it
We just feel like we don't have the means
To rise above and beat it

So we keep waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change

Its hard to beat the system
When we're standing at a distance
So we keep waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change

Now if we had the power
To bring our neighbors home from war
They would've never missed a Christmas
No more ribbons on the door
When you trust your television
What you get is what you got
Cuz when when the own the information ooohhh,
They can bend it all they want

So while we're waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change

It's not that we don't care
We just know that the fight ain't fair...
So we keep waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change

We're still waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
One day our generation
Is gonna rule the population

So we keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
Know we keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change (repeat).

Ever Have One of THOSE Days?

I try not to discuss my work often. Not that I'll get in trouble with the boss or anything, but b/c this blog is supposed to be a reprieve from my work headaches. However, every so often, I have a day that makes me want to give it all up, head for the Bahamas, and live life as a drunken beach bum. Naked.

Today was one of those days. Difficult clients are a major problem, but I also work with a high-energy agent team full of Type-A sales associates who only earn money when deals reach the closing table. For example, the agents could put a sales contract together, work for a month to get all the required inspections, paperwork, title insurance, etc., just to have a buyer walk away at closing and back out of a contract. Who is usually blamed? The agent. Who gets nothing? The agent. Well, and me. Who do they complain to? Me. To make matters worse, often these deals involve more than one of my agents, and the placing of blame and fault for a deal not closing gets passed around like crazy.

Luckily, having worked in this business for 14 1/2 years, I quit counting chickens before they hatch. It makes no difference if I net $1,000 or $10,000 from a deal - I treat them all the same. I can walk into a closing and not honestly give a crap whether or not a buyer or seller decides to back out - and usually when they sense that from me, they straighten up and drop whatever power trip they're on.

What's hard is consoling an agent who just lost thousands of dollars on a deal that didn't close. Working straight commission is difficult, and no matter how long these agents have been in business, they have trouble being calm about these situations. It should be more difficult for me, seeing as I have an office overhead that MUST be met each month - but it's truly harder on them.

Anyone know of a magic pill I can give them when things get rough? I hate to see them get so upset.

Mindless Miscellany

After stopping by everyone's front door, I was exhausted! But it was a great project, and lots of fun. So just some mind fuzz for you guys today.

Mandy, a friend of mine who is married to a law enforcement officer who looks a lot like this guy, sent me the following quiz: Programming Language Inventor or Serial Killer? See how well you do!

And thanks again to my friend Petra for the following find:


By the way, I know that some of you are surprised that I haven't written about the Colts or the hotter Manning brother. Don't worry - I will soon!

And if you-know-who preempts American Idol with another mind-numbing speech, you can BET that I'll have something to say about THAT!

Tiggerlane's View

Vicki had this wonderfully voyeuristic idea that we post photos of our front door view. She was very precise in her instructions; precise enough that even a neophyte like me should have been comfortable participating. For example, this set: "Stand in the doorway of your home. Face to the outside of the house." Then we are supposed to snap a photo. Simple enough. Take a look:
My house actually has TWO front doors - one that opens into our living room, and one that opens into our bedroom that is never used. Vicki's instructions further state: "There doesn't have to be a circus going on in your front yard. The point is just to post whatever you see out your front door." Okay. Technically, our front door is more like a side door - so if you're standing on the porch, facing the street...you would see this:
Probably more appropriate, seeing as it is our front yard and all. And technically, it's from a front door - just not the one we use. Later on, she mentioned we should be taking photos of "the doorway you use to enter your home." Hmmm...well, the "porch view" is the view from the doorway OTHER people use to enter my home. And the door used by politicians and religious cults to hang their flyers. However, we always go in the back door. What the heck, here's that view, too! We are forced to use the back door because we don't have a key to the front doors. They have old-timey doorknobs, and we usually just deadbolt and chain them from the inside in order to secure the house. Of course, a bunch of other folks use the back door. Enough other folks that Songbird even bought Roger this sign for Christmas present:
And finally, this isn't the view from my front door, but the view from our FUTURE front door from our new home, to be built this year. It's my favorite!

Spiders on Drugs

I honestly can't think of anything to add to this video.

Got this from my friend Petra, and I wonder: have they performed studies on how COMBINATIONS of these substances affect arachnids?

Somehow, I know Marnie is involved.
Crazy Canadians!

Golden Globes - Tastefully Displayed!

I was pleased that this year's array of globes seemed well supported and well-covered, for the most part, unlike some of last year's droopers. And poor Prince! Stuck in traffic. That might teach him to show up a little earlier, unlike his usual "fashionably late" mode. At last year's American Idol competition, producers were unsure if he was going to be there at all - until he sauntered backstage only 30 seconds before his performance. At least Hugh Grant gave Prince his due. Wonder if he kicked Justin Timberlake's a$$ at the post-party for mocking him? Hey, Justin, GUESS WHO IS PLAYING THE SUPER BOWL this year? Huh? No more of that lame teenaged-boy-fumbling with a Jackson's boob and then acting all innocent later - the man who INVENTED sexy in the music world will show you how it's done!! Sexy never LEFT, little boy! But I digress.
I really thought most of the dresses were great - and Drew Barrymore propped the girls up, where they belong. However, Meryl Streep probably has more money in the bank than half the audience, and yet she chose to wear a burlap sack held together with twine? WTF? Gotta love Meryl, but she should have taken some lessons from Helen Mirren, who looked absolutely stunning. And, who made the decision to let Sacha Baron Cohen go on and on about his costar's wrinkly testicular globes (or as Tom Hanks reminded us all too often, balls = "artistic vision"), yet cut short the speech of the nameless guy who accepted the award for Dreamgirls?? Must be compensating for the ladies getting all modest about their own globes.

The worst dresses of the night were Beyonce's gold atrocity and Rinko Kikuchi's pink-balled disaster (keeping in the theme, perhaps). Seriously - this is a cute girl, with a tiny figure, and she chooses a dress that mimics a psychotic poodle owner's vision of the perfect Valentine doggie makeover? Puh-leez.

"Worst Display of Globes" award goes to Ali Larter of Heroes, who somehow made People.com's best dressed list. Prop them up, darlin', they are young and fresh and yet look old and tired in this dress:












Best Globes? Why, Salma Hayek, of course, seen here on the right of America Ferrera. You go, girl! Lest you think my criticisms are all out of jealousy, know that I only give these folks a hard time because they have all the money in the world to look absolutely FABULOUS. So when they make poor choices, they are fair game! Can't wait for the Oscars!

Ice, Ice, Baby

I am a weather junkie. I have been watching this past weekend's storm with anticipation, flipping back and forth between the playoff games and the Weather Channel. I don't usually want bad weather, but I've had such a hard time getting back into the groove after the holidays that I wanted a school cancellation in the worst way. If school is cancelled, I don't have to get up early. I can call my office while snuggled in bed and tell them if they need me, come try to find me under the mountain of blankets, afghans and comforters. Being the boss has its perks.

I woke up to light sleet this morning, and thought SURELY it was too treacherous for a school bus. Evidently, the school's transportation department didn't agree. To make matters worse, we figured there wouldn't be any trash service due to Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. But on my way back from dropping off the child, I spied trash trucks. Roger had already gone to work (seems like they NEVER close that hospital), so I had to haul stinky trash bags to the curb. I think I've done this maybe one other time during our marriage. What a way to start off my Monday.

I spent some time this weekend worrying about blogger buddies Shauna, Ree, and Julie. How strange it is to worry about folks you don't really "know" - yet feel a personal connection to through the blogosphere! Thankfully, they all seem to be faring just fine - and you should take a moment to check out Ree's site for some cute photos of her enjoying the ice and snow.

Finally, there are only four teams left in the race for the Super Bowl - who would you like to see win? (I'm hoping it is Peyton's year - I'd like to see the Colts and Saints face off for the big game.) And for those of you who love to criticize stars for their lack of fashion sense, don't forget to check out tonight's Golden Globes.

Squeaky Tradition

There's a new unintentional post-holiday tradition at the Lane house. Living in a 104-year old Victorian home, we have scant closet space (one more reason I'm practically dripping with glee about our new house plans). When it's time for me to erect our massive Christmas tree, Roger will lug the tree box from our shed and unload the many boxes of ornaments from a high closet in the dining room. Displayed for only a month, dripping with gold and red, shining with over 2,000 tiny white lights, the tree is a brilliant testament of the season, taking up a good portion of our living room. The empty tree box returns to the shed until it's time to strip the once glorious tree of festive decor, wrench the branches from their sockets, and shove the whole lot unceremoniously into the sad, torn, held-together-with-twine box. I always feel guilty looking at the once full branches, all squinched together, crammed into the small space. Like I've pimped my tree out for the joy and delight of others, and now I'm hiding it away like Quasimodo until I need to whore it out again next year.

One year, as I was precariously perched atop a stepladder, in anal-retentive decoration mode, something small and dark whisked through the living room. Evidently, a field mouse had hitched a ride in the tree box. Mayhem erupted as Roger, Amber, and the cat attempted for the next hour to corner the intruder until Amber finally trapped it under a plastic container. Roger wanted to destroy it and insisted it would return later for revenge. But after listening to the pleas of his housemates, he relented, and the cute little bugger was escorted outside and flung into the neighbor's yard.
The other night, after another tree-trashing episode, I awoke to strange noises. Cat noises. Not purring, not scurrying, not hairball yakking on the carpet - but FLINGING. She scampered across our bed several times, prompting me to arise. I found her in the dining room, proudly holding a weak but live field mouse in her jaws. Roger was dead asleep and can be horribly cranky if aroused. I contemplated waking the offspring - after all, hadn't she caused me a few sleepless nights in the past? I decided to be a "big girl" and handle the situation myself.

At 2:30AM, I coaxed the feline to release her prey, and the poor thing was obviously too weak to run far. Poised with a flashlight in one hand, plastic cup in the other, I crept slowly toward the petrified victim. Sensing my next move, the cat took this opportunity to leap into the arena, grab the mouse and fling him into the air. Naturally, I dropped the flashlight and cup, shrieked, cursed the cat, and demanded she catch him again. This continued for at least 20 minutes, with me repeatedly whisper-shouting instructions to the cat. Each time she would release the mouse, she would stand close enough to observe, but too close for me to shoo her away without also spooking the mouse. She was toying with us both.

Naturally, Roger awoke. He was not happy. I was in mid-creep as he entered the dining room, and asked me what the hell was going on.

"I'm trying to catch this mouse...but YOUR cat is NOT cooperating!"

Roger took the cup, and unceremoniously beat the heck out of the mouse. I looked on in horror. As he saw my eyes, he asked, "What exactly were you planning to do with it?"

"Capture it gently and toss it outside," I replied, more than a little frustrated and bordering on tears.

I suppose it was a bit much to expect Roger to listen to our shenanigans all night, but I felt more than a little sad as he disposed of the mouse and grumbled back to bed.

As a child, my all-time favorite poem was "Mice," by Rose Flyeman:

I think mice are rather nice;
Their tails are long, their faces small;
They haven't any chins at all.
Their ears are pink, their teeth are white,
They run about the house at night;
They nibble things they shouldn't touch,
And, no one seems to like them much,
But, I think mice are nice.

And I still feel that way today.

Neophyte Whining

As you may have noticed, there have been some changes at the Neophyte's Lair. Most are blogger-induced, since I made the "big leap." Unlike the crowd who defected to typepad, I decided to stay with blogger. The change was okay - but I lost some of my hard-earned HTML coding. You have NO CLUE how long it took me to get the site looking like what you see here! I am an idiot when it comes to this web stuff.

The good news is that blogger is easier than ever. Photos upload faster, links are MUCH easier to add, post options are better, etc. Its functionality has made me feel more confident, and less like the computerland equivalent of Ree's retarded brother.

While you suffer thru my growing pains, check out this spoiled brat:

Okay, I was being mean and hateful, judging this poor little girl. Calling her names. After all, we never know the whole story, do we? It may LOOK like she lives in a mansion, and it may LOOK like she has everything she could possibly want, but we really don't know. So in order to be fair, I found her defense posted online. Watch, and make your own judgment. Just click on the video that says "I'm not a spoiled brat."

Tigger Smackdown!

All ye hoodlum children, beware the wrath of Tiggers! Apparently, one Tigger felt the need to clock a teenage boy at Disney World, and the dad is all up in arms about it. You can read the full story here.
To be honest, after watching the video, it appears that Tigger was losing his balance, and his flailing arm caught the boy on the face. I also suspect that Tigger may have been attempting to keep both of them from falling over the railing behind them. I'd also like to know what the kid was doing with the arm that was behind Tigger's back, as it appears Tigger grabs that arm first.

So, I gotta know - did Marnie have a run-in with Tigger that she's not 'fessing up to?

UPDATE: Here is the video, finally on YouTube:

Blogiversary! (Did I spell that right?)

A whole year! And looking back, I find it typical that my first post mentioned football.

A big trip is creeping up on me, so I'm scrambling to make arrangements - or at least figure out a plan. The kid was invited to this leadership forum in Washington D. C. I have never been there, and there's no way I'm putting her on a plane alone. Another mother and her son will be traveling with us, so there's some security in that fact. I've been pricing hotels suggested by the forum staff - and let me tell you, they are PRICEY. I'm in a time-crunch, too, as we leave March 26th.

Have any of you been to D.C.? Any warnings about crime-ridden areas, where I might not want to stay? We have to fly into Dulles, and all the hotels suggested by the forum folks are in Alexandria and Arlington, VA, which makes me think that is close to where the offspring will be staying.

Any suggestions will be MORE than appreciated! Embarking on this trip, I feel a lot like the guys in this video:

Emerging in the New Year

Happy New Year! No, I have not been hiding under a rock - but merely taking a break from all things "normal" in life and mourning the upcoming end of football season. We had a FABULOUS New Year's Eve, filled with fun and friends and as you can see here, the traditional sparklers. Sparklers create a LOT of smoke, so it was tough to get good photographs. Everyone behaved themselves, and I was able to crawl into bed by 4:00AM, with all the dishes complete and only one sleepover guest (who had planned to sleepover days ago, and had given us fair warning).
Better yet, I only gained one measly pound during the holiday season. Yesterday, I cuddled up on the couch and immersed myself in the BCS Bowl games. I even stayed up VERY LATE to watch the end of the Boise State/OU game, possibly the most thrilling game I've seen in ages. I am a football addict and married one of the few men on the planet who could care less if football existed. He will watch a game with me every so often, but usually he rolls his eyes and goes in the other room to watch the History Channel or the Military Channel. He has never understood my obsession with the sport, even though I've tried to explain how phenomenal the athletes must be to endure their beatings, week after week...to leap into the air to catch a floating spiral...to land with at least one foot inbounds...but it is to no avail. The other night, I was lamenting the end of NCAA play, and it hit me. What if Roger could only watch the History Channel 18 weeks out of the year, and then only on Saturdays, Sundays, sometimes Mondays and Thursdays, and only at specific times (provided there are no "blackouts")? As I proposed this to him, I noticed his face change. "Besides," I continued, "You ALWAYS know how things are going to end up on the History Channel. You ALWAYS know who is going to win. It's not like the Germans might turn it all around if you miss ONE EPISODE."

He was very understanding last night, as I insisted on catching the end (and OVERTIME, at that!) of the game. I had migrated to the bedroom, trying to stay up long enough to see the finish, and he was well on his way to dreamland. He didn't smack me a single time, as I would shout, "No WAY!" or "I can't BELIEVE it!" or "UNREAL!" - though I know I woke him up. Maybe he won't look at me like I'm a freak, the next time I spend an entire day watching football. (And if you have no idea how fantastic the ending of this game was, read up on the details here. Nothing like a game where 22 points are scored in the final 1:26 of regulation play!)

Neophytism, Demonstrated

Want to know the real story behind the name of my blog? Well, this Christmas holiday serves as a perfect example. Since two holidays hit at once for the kiddo, we go all out. We bought her this little gadget, and now I'm as confused as Scott Bakula's character on Quantum Leap. Amber enthusiastically plugged it into our computer, and downloaded EVERYTHING - without reading the directions first. I was called for assistance and was about to knock myself over the head trying to find the "delete" button. After figuring out that you have to open freakin' iTunes to use the delete function (and not only that - there is NO MENU CHOICE for delete in the iTunes software) and PRESS THE DELETE KEY on the keyboard to get rid of songs after YOU CHECK THE TITLE IN THE ITUNES WINDOW...well, let's just say that the eggnog got a beating so that I felt better in the end.
I had admonished the child repeatedly not to use the Santa Gift to upload content to YouTube that might put our family on Web Junk. My words were in vain. We didn't even start Christmas morning with the equipment (SD card or MiniDV tapes) to make the thing work. Luckily, I read the manual and was able to confiscate the camera (over protests from the offspring that she had used this type of camera ALL THE TIME in her media class this summer and KNEW ALL ABOUT IT and would you just PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME NOW and the stomping and oh-my-goodness-my-mother-is-an-idiot rantings) long enough to come up with a brilliant idea: use the SD card from her digital camera to at least shoot something until WalMart was open again. After the interruptions of a day at work on Tuesday, a birthday party involving 7 of her closest friends (and one boyfriend), and the curse of a vexing snot-monster inside my head that zapped my energy, I haven't yet figured out how to upload moving images onto our computer. The child is spending the night with a good friend, and left me with the SD card, videocamera and iPod, yet I only know how to upload photos and videos using her regular camera. Guess what gadget her father let her take to the friend's house? He was thinking clearly - but now, I haven't the energy to upload the software required to transfer video from the videocamera.

Sigh.

Best Present Ever

Christmas means many things to many people, but this time of year is important to me for a particular reason. It's the time of year I first met this little tyke. 13 years ago on Christmas night, I was in our local hospital, laboring to deliver her.

Roger works at this hospital, so I had been a little concerned that when the big day finally arrived, droves of his coworkers would be flocking into the delivery room to take a peek at what was going on between my legs. To make matters even more intense, I had chosen to go "no drugs" and "all natural" for the delivery, figuring it would truly be a rite of passage in my journey as a woman. (A choice that ensured this kid would never have a sibling.)

On Christmas Eve, I had played the piano for a church cantata with Songbird as the choir director - finishing up the night with a moving version of "Silent Night." At around midnight, I felt an intense pain. Feeling like I needed to pass gas, I kept waking up each hour, trying my best to relieve myself of the problem. The next morning, I frosted over 72 sugar cookies (the one holiday tradition in my family), all the while, feeling this overwhelming urge to PASS THAT GAS! Later in the evening, after spending the holiday at Roger's parents' house, we decided to go to the hospital. I technically wasn't due until January 14th, but the pains were about 5 minutes apart, so it was worth checking out.

Indeed, I was in labor, and fortunately the hospital was virtually empty. At 3:19AM on December 26th, I met the one person I KNEW was related to me. She was tiny, and it only took about 3 pushes to deliver her into the world. Weighing only 5 pounds, 10 ounces, Amber came into my life and changed everything, as well she should have.

Every Christmas, when I'm asked what I would like as a gift, I fumble for words. Because the greatest gift of all is having her in my life, and as long as I have that, I don't need anything else.

Sinclair Baby's First Christmas

I know some of you figured I would never finish telling the story that started innocently with a post about birthdays. I realized after this post that some of you were intrigued, and I felt a little "on display." Anyone who knows me would be shocked that this might make me uncomfortable, as I revel in being the center of attention at any gathering. I found myself debating whether or not to make more posts like this. I guess I have lived with this "oddity" for so long, it has become commonplace. The only time I have to really face the bizarre circumstance surrounding my arrival on the planet is when someone else hears the story for the first time, and reacts with abject horror. If you have no clue what I'm talking about, follow the links, in order, and you'll get caught up.
I wish I could tell you that this photo is of me, but I'd like to think I was in this kind of mood on my first Christmas. The first baby photo in my parents' possession was taken when I was almost nine months old, so I don't know what I looked like before then. I DID know that in December, three months after I was born, one of my legs was broken. The ramifications of that didn't show up until my mother tried hemming my pants, and one leg would always end up a lot longer than the other. I was always called back for that "second screening" during the school scoliosis exams, but never diagnosed with the disease. It wasn't until I started running with my dog as an adult that I noticed terrible hip pain.

That was the main reason for obtaining my "non-identifying information" - not necessarily to find birth parents, but to determine the actual medical facts about this breakage. Naturally, the adoption agency was extremely reluctant to divulge anything. My mother had always said the break was "suspicious," in that our family doctor felt the healed bone might have been twisted. By now, you remember my first conversation with the social worker. Well, the same letter only gave these details regarding the break:
"As you were a healthy, normal baby, the hospital discharged you and you were placed in a foster home. The foster parents had three children of their own and provided foster care to infants. On December 3, 1968, your leg was broken. The injury was investigated, and it was determined that it was accidental and not child abuse. An X-ray revealed a transverse fracture of the proximal third of the right femur. You were placed in Bryant's traction (this is the photo you see to the left) until December 23, 1968; then you were placed in a spica cast until January 27, 1969."

It seems like a LONG time for a 3-month old baby to be immobilized, doesn't it? There were more photos of the spica cast at this site, and I was amazed at how many of the children seemed happy and were smiling broadly.

Since I've decided to revisit this topic, I encourage you NOT to feel all sorry for me. I was a baby. I can't remember a thing about it. Yes, I suppose it makes me more unique, but we are all unique in our own way. However, I have a special place in my heart for Christmas, and I wonder what that first one was like for me. Did someone visit me? Or was I all alone? I think of this very abstractly - as if it didn't really happen to me.

I am just extremely blessed that every Christmas since then has been filled with family, friends, joy, and the love of the season. It's the only gift I require.

Shout Out to VAW-116

My inbox is riddled with "forwards," and I often receive the same thing twice within an hour. Every now and again, I get a gem. This is another one from Spence, and it made me smile.

Have you ever REALLY imagined living on an aircraft carrier during a time of war? These guys make it seem easy:

Too funny! I have a friend named Seth in the National Guard, and he should be home this week from the Texas/Mexican border (PLEASE do not click the link to his name, unless you are not offended by graphic nudity and disgusting things that young men these days think are funny!!! His site is NOT for the weak and/or strongly religious!). His stint in Iraq is not one he wishes to repeat. I pray he never has to return. The guy in the middle of the video, rapping as others enter the hallway, reminded me of him. Here is another, for your enjoyment:


Truly Americans - wouldn't you say?
Also, check out the profile comments from fellow soldiers on YouTube. They say it all.

Matt Might Please Songbird

It's no secret that Songbird and I do not usually share the same taste in men. And based on previous conversations here in the blogosphere, you might be more predisposed to follow her judgment. Personally, I think Matt Damon is ideal. And, well...HAWT. I honestly believe he will become a legendary actor, along with the likes of Cary Grant, Rock Hudson, Harrison Ford, Donald Sutherland, gosh...you know the legends. He has a potential for LONG TERM viability in the industry. Smart with his career, and not all flashy with his sexuality. Okay, maybe my lady friends don't see what I see - but hey, I'm all about the intelligent guys. And hawtness.

But Songbird has made it clear that she thinks this shirtless wonder is DA BOMB. And me? I don't get the attraction. Apparently, I'm rather alone in my nonchalance.

I suppose imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, but this stint definitively elevated Matt to a higher level than this piece of eye candy, as far as I'm concerned.

Unfortunately, I just might have undone all the goodwill I created with her when I posted this, but she knows I love her, regardless of her taste in men.

Crispy

I would imagine most of my readers aren't into rap, but you gotta give these guys props.

And to the chick, who jumps all up in it with that "Number 9" bidness.

Kick it.

Sounds of the Season

I know Songbird is winding down her musical-performance-laden holiday season, probably with great relief. And even though I know it's "part of her job" - this time of year is very stressful for her. She has so many performances and children to coordinate; I honestly don't know how she keeps her sanity.
The other night, her high school, middle school, and special performance choral groups held a stirring Christmas concert. I always "tear up" during these concerts, and not just because my darling daughter is part of the group (bonus points if you can find her in this photo). Music is such a huge part of my life, and the ability to hear young voices spread the joy of song with such enthusiasm is a precious gift. This year, she again invited me to accompany her high school choir on the piano; it is truly an honor to be a part of such a powerful musical experience.

It is on these nights that I see the payoff for Songbird. Right before any performance, she is trying her best to organize large groups of rowdy, excited young men and women, whose butterflies are making them more frenzied than usual. But DURING the performance, her face lights up. I have accompanied her choral groups in the past, and my vantage point from behind the piano allows me to see her every expression. She is constantly smiling, revelling in every nuance of the music. Her jubilation further infuses her choir, and they respond in kind. It is as if every day of the past 3 1/2 months has been leading up to this moment of bliss, and she is soaking up the rapture. I'm not sure there is a participant, parent or audience member who feels the same radiant ecstasy as she. Not only has she given the lifelong gift of knowledge and music to her students but has created a moment of intangible beauty for everyone present. It is the true "paycheck" for her work during the year.

I wish I could capture the radiance of these nights, place them carefully in a box, for her to open anytime she is feeling down. I know she will always have the memories, but nothing can compare to those moments on stage, listening to the fruits of her labor pour forth from the hearts and souls of her young students.

Testing...1...2...3...

Sometimes I get fun little things in my email, like this from my neighbor: The Shemale Test. Having several gay friends, and a long-time appreciation of the rigors that drag queens endure in order to "Diva Up," helped me score a solid 14 out of 16. I've always been fascinated at how these men can transform their appearances into shockingly gorgeous women. My friend Brent is responsible for sending me various photos of these divas. Some are obvious shemales, while others could pass for Miss America contestants.
Along the same lines, another of my favorite tests is Dog Toy or Marital Aid? Brings a whole new meaning to the term "dog lover." There are two difficulty levels - so don't feel intimidated. It makes me wonder how many couples are in Petco to spice up their love lives! Next time you're in the dog toy aisle...check out the shoppers.

Does Anyone Else Think This is NUTS??

Or am I the only one? Surely by now you have seen the commercials for the Lap-Band. Right? Well, the very first time I saw one - I thought I was watching one of those fake Saturday Night Live commercials. Honestly. But these people are serious.

We all have heard of gastric bypass surgery - but here is a new less invasive procedure. They cut you open, put in this constrictive device, and then it can be controlled through a port to either narrow the opening to the stomach or enlarge it. Believe it or not, the system can be adjusted to accomodate a growing fetus. Which leads me to believe that doctors would have no problem implanting this in a pregnant woman.

I am NOT insensitive to those who are overweight. I have had struggles with my weight since I can remember. Eating just one high-calorie meal can add five pounds to my frame instantly. However, I have to wonder about these procedures that actually reduce the size of the stomach in order to prevent a person from eating too much. When you reach the point where you can no longer control your eating habits, isn't that more of a psychological problem than a physical one? Surgery is incredibly dangerous - and the effects are long-lasting. Is it really possible that some people have incredibly large stomachs, and that there is no other way for them to control their hunger? I'm not a physician or a psychoanalyst, but something about our society's acceptance of these types of procedures frightens me. I am concerned that people who undergo these operations will suffer long-term side effects.

We've all heard the drill: diet and exercise are the only way. And these are LIFESTYLE CHANGES, not short-term solutions. I would love to hear from any of you as to how and why you feel these procedures are the only way for some people to enjoy normal lives. I freely admit a measure of ignorance regarding this topic.

Random Monday Musings

I always think of fantabulous post topics at home - while the daughter is hogging the computer. She is to blame for squelching my inner muse. Here at my office, I'm never inspired. So, today, you get dribblings of mind sauce, but no real gravy. Cool?

First, here is a little quiz I took today, and it's amazingly accurate, given that apple martinis have been my drink of choice in the past six months (thanks to Jean, Charlie and Nic).

You Are an Appletini

Most of the time, you're a typical party girl / guy. But when you get super sauced, you really up your sex appeal.

What Mixed Drink Are You?

Not to sound egotistical, but my sex appeal is sexy enough - maybe too sexy. I don't know where Justin Timberlake has been, but sexy never has abandoned my little world.

Fellow Rotarian and comic email-forwarder Spencer Jordan sent me a cute non-Martha-Stewart Thanksgiving invitation. It included the following lines that could very well reflect the holiday if our friends and family were crazy enough to celebrate at my house:

"Our sidewalk will not be lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries. After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.

Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make. Instead, I've gotten the kids involved in decorating by having them track in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their idea.

The dining table will not be covered with expensive linens, fancy china, or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last Christmas."

Rows of flaming lunch sacks - hysterical!

Watch Video Clip

This next little piece of fluff is not necessarily for the young or faint of heart. Whiterabbit was kind(?) enough to send this little tidbit, with the comment that, "This show better have really good prizes!" Agreed.

And finally, Mugsy sent me information about a one-time tax refund, which sounds pretty good.