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Showing posts from September, 2012

We fear change

I'm like Mikey -- the kid from the Life cereal commercial, "Let's give it to Mikey.
He won't like it. He hates everything."

We all know that Mikey ended up liking the cereal, and I would have too if someone told me I would hate it. That's just how I roll -- stubborn and immature. 
I'm rather childish about a lot of things, but someone thought it was a good idea to put me in a leadership position at work -- that's not to say I'm unqualified. I've performed very well in every job I've had since high school. It's just not something I expected -- to be a supervisor.

It's exciting. It's scary. It's sad -- I wouldn't be taking this job except the person who currently fills it is running off to Hawaii for something -- let's face it -- far better than anything Seattle has to offer. It's change, and I hate it. Even when the change is something really good like a better job with more money. I'd be just as happy for th…

Sibling rivalry

Ashlyn screamed at me the other morning, "MOMMY! You NAKED! (I was in my bathrobe.)"

And Lily said, "You don't need to broadcast that for the whole entire planet."

And Ashlyn said, "MOMMY! You NAKED!"

And Lily said, "You're a redneck, Ashlyn."

And Ashlyn said, "I not a redneck. You a redneck Bay-bo (that's Ashlyn's pet name for Lily)."

It's funny listening to my children quarrel. I never had a brother or a sister to fight with, and most people upon learning this tidbit about me roll their eyes, sigh deeply and announce "Well that explains a lot."


I'm loud, opinionated, occasionally self serving, impatient, bossy and a tiny bit aggressive -- it's got to be the Only Child Syndrome. Bleh!

I am who I am -- it's only loosely related to the number of puppies my mother popped out of her womb (one). I'm colorful, because my parents are CRAZY. (They're nuttier than a couple of rum-soaked fruit c…

Dammit, Darla!

Lily tackled me on my way out the door this morning.

"Wait, Mommy!" She shouted even though she'd knocked me to the floor and her mouth was an inch from my ear. "You can't go yet. I have to give you something"

She wrapped one arm around my leg to keep me disabled; stretched her body as long as it would go without compromising her grip on my ankle; and plunged her free arm into a ratty basket full of toys that shouldn't have been on the floor in my bedroom -- that's another story -- and pulled out a tiny, brown horse.


"Darla will go to work with you today," Lily said placing the horse gently in my hand. "She's a good horse. She will take care of you and keep you from getting lonely at work."

I grabbed Lily's face and kissed her nose and forehead.

"OH MY GOSH -- I love you SO MUCH!"

I felt a little crazy taking a horse to work -- even a tiny horse. What if someone in the office had an allergy? What if someone com…

Technology is the Devil

Computers suck -- they really do. They suck enormous rhinoceros balls, and I hate them.

There's one thing worse than having nothing to write about. It's Having something absolutely brilliant -- so fabulous that you're pissing in your pants all day you're so excited -- and you get home, and you can't write, because your computer chooses that one day in a million to flip you the bird and take a smelly dump all over your hopes and dreams.

That's my story tonight.


I ran in the house after work and headed for the bedroom to type up my masterpiece, but my computer was NOT happy to see me.

It wouldn't do anything that I wanted it to do. All of the USB ports were dead. I couldn't transfer my pictures from the camera. And finally after reading I-don't-know-how-many articles about Universal Serial "B"-somethings (USBs) THAT PIECE-OF-CRAP machine wouldn't even start. It gave me some bullshit message "You're computer cannot start ..."…

That is inappropriate!

My daughters' favorite word is "inappropriate."

I remember the first time Lily used it -- she was 4.

I'd been yelling at Jerod for letting her watch Adult Swim on Cartoon Network.

The two of them were huddled on the couch watching Family Guy. Meg, the daughter, fell IN LOVE with Brian, the family dog -- he took her to prom; he dumped her; and Meg in retaliation tied him to a chair in a candlelit room and threatened to make him love her.
"IN-A-PPRO-PRI-ATE, dude. So inappropriate."
I changed the channel and went upstairs to change my clothes at which point an argument ensued between Lily and Jerod. Lily was yelling something about rules and "Mommy said," and Jerod was shushing her.

"No DAD," Lily screamed. "Mommy said I'm not allowed to watch Family Guy. It's INAPPROPRIATE."

I'd made my way downstairs by that point and was trying desperately not to laugh at the redness of Lily's face or the veins bulging from her…

The insecure writer's support group

The ground is important -- for several reasons.

Among them

Gravity makes no sense without it -- there's no mandate that science be logical so long as our scientists are the smartest smartypants on the planet, in which case "because I said so" is an acceptable explanation. The ground is important, because it's something to build on -- a starting point, a foundation.

I respect the ground, because it has on occasion fallen out from under me, and it's rather unsettling to watch your life in free-fall mode -- to see your accomplishments disintegrate in an instant or a decade in some cases. It all depends on how fast you're falling.

Most of us drop in slow motion. We'll catch a ledge or an up draft every once in a while and think "this is it!" But then we go on falling. Or do we? Is the "bottom" just a figment of our imaginations? Can we lay new ground wherever we choose?


Ask Alice

None of my friends growing up were impressed with Disney's…

Courage under fire

Call me SUPER Crazy Cat Lady.

I rescued my beloved feline, Buddy, from -- dun dun dun -- CERTAIN DEATH this weekend.

My friend's dog, "Puppy" -- a sweet-as-can-be mutt, who may or may not have a drop or two of pit bull in her -- joined us for a barbecue on Sunday. She was prancing merrily in the back yard until one of the children left the slider open.

"Puppy" ran inside to scope things out, which I really wouldn't mind if Buddy tolerated dogs, but he doesn't. Buddy's hated dogs since he was a kitten and fit in the palm of my hand.

I found him July 5, 1998 yowling from the bottom of a covered manhole in Bremerton, WA.

Jerod and I had been fighting the night before, and I was stomping my way to the ferry terminal when I heard Buddy's scratchy voice screaming from under the ground somewhere. I squatted  over a nearby manhole and pulled on the cover until it popped loose and the weight of it threw me backwards.

I poked my head in the hole to see wh…