More Random

Note to self:

"Refer" and "Reefer" are two different words. The latter should likely NOT go out on office correspondence, especially that in relation to a public school project.

Damn you, spellcheck!

Welcome to Florida!

My younger son has been learning about world geography in daycare, and today he brought home a small globe. On the drive home he was calling out the names of all the continents he recognized.

Then he moved on to the states.

"Mommy, I'm twying to find Texas, but I can't find it!"

He didn't let that little roadblock deter him from finding other states, though. He continued until...

"Oh wait, hewe's the penis! That's Florida, Mommy!!!"

Yes, ladies and gentlemen:

Welcome to Florida, aka The Dangly Bits of the Nation.

It's a wonder I made it home alive. Do you know how hard it is to drive while desperately trying to choke back gales of laughter?

Hee.

Checking In

Yes folks, I'm alive.

The cats are also alive.

The boys? Also alive.

Holiday madness has descended upon us. I'm staring Christmas shopping dead in the eye. I plan to accomplish it during assorted lunch hours capped off by one final, huge weekend spree.

Take no prisoners. That's my motto.

No, I don't like shopping. At all. Well, except if it's at a bookstore, then I can make even the clerks' eyes bug out. Hee.

We're gearing up to get the Christmas tree. I was planning to go this weekend, but I got into a fit of cleaning and would really like this place to look like *I* want it to look, rather than what it became over the final few months of my marriage.

Peace is good. I'm a fan.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all :)

I Really Shouldn't Be Permitted Out in Public

Seriously, folks.

In the past six weeks or so I've left my make-up at the house, worn mismatched shoes... what more could I do?

Apparently, I could wear a dress with a paneled skirt, on which two of the panels, unbeknownst to me, had, erm... separated.

For about a foot.

On the back.

Extending a couple of inches above my panty line.

I'm just grateful I was wearing black underwear. Good grief.

So, effectively I've been half-mooning my entire office this morning. I'm currently at home knocking the wrinkles out of my emergency backup outfit and wondering just why they let me run around like that for an entire morning.

Then again? Not so sure I really want to know.

I'm going to start wearing a burqa or something. I swear.

*headdesk*

Quick Update

Well, I bombed NaNo. Eh... it's all good though. This probably wasn't the best year for me to attempt it, all things considered, but how would I know unless I tried?

In other news, I am happy to report that I did NOT have to mash the potatoes for Thanksgiving. Hooray!!! Actually, the reason I didn't have to mash them wasn't so fun because from the Friday before Thanksgiving until, uhm, currently ongoing, to be frank, my wrists have been giving me fits. My left one is the one that's annoyed today. But on Thanksgiving week I was wearing braces on both hands, and squishing five pounds of potatoes through a ricer just wasn't going to happen.

I could, however, boil the damned things. So I did, and then I took the potatoes and all associated ingredients over to my parents' house, where my father took care of the ricing and mixing.

Yes, they were good. Yes, I ate WAY too much (many? eh, whatever) of them. But if you can't gorge on turkey day, what fun is it?

That's how I feel about it at any rate.

I hope everyone had an awesome Thanksgiving! And when my brain finally recovers from all the food -- yes, that can take more than a week -- I'll have more to say.

I think.

NaNo Update

Don't ask me my word count. It's embarassing.

The novel (such as it is) is incoherent.

Angel is doubtless doing much better than I am.

Oh well... it's NaNoWriMo. It doesn't matter if it's crap, it only matters that it get written.

So... I'm writing.

As Promised...

Here's the recipe for the refrigerator mashed potatoes I mentioned in the "Whoops" entry. I've had to transcribe it because my mother sent it to me as an image embedded in a Word document.

No, I have no idea why she did that. But the good news is that as long as Blogger doesn't nuke my archives, I'll now have this recipe a bit more near at hand for all coming years' glut-fests.

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Refrigerator Mashed Potatoes

To save vitamin C, boil potatoes in their skins; to save time, pressure-cook. Quickly reheated in the microwave, a portion of these spuds would be delicious for breakfast.

[Note from Amanda: Spuds??? Was the person who wrote this on CRACK??? And obviously this recipe came out way way before the Atkins diet. Anyway, upon re-reading this recipe, y'all need to be warned that I'll be making comments... because I can't help myself. They'll all be italicized and in brackets, like this.]

[Moving along, the ingredients:]

2 1/2 pounds potatoes, 7 or 8 of medium size [Me: just double the recipe; you'll be glad.]
1/2 cup sour cream
1 3 ounce package cream cheese [Me: on what planet does cream cheese come in a 3 ounce package?]
1 teaspoon onion salt [Me: garlic powder also works, and whatever else you'd like.]
1 tablespoon margarine [Me: butter.]
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Boil or pressure-cook potatoes in their skins until tender; drain. Return to the pan in which they were cooked; cover potatoes lightly with a cloth towel and let them dry over the residual heat of the extinguished burner for a few minutes. Peel; mash; add remaining ingredients; beat until light and fluffy. Cool; cover; refrigerate. may be used any time within two weeks. To serve, place in greased baking dish, dot with margarine [Me: use butter. Seriously. Margarine is EVIL.] and heat about 30 minutes in a preheated 350 degree oven or reheat in the microwave.

Yield: 4 cups. 6 servings.

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I usually double the recipe, as Thanksgiving and other assorted "let's cram as much down our throats without making ourselves choke" events with my family tend to involve way more than 6 people. Well, that and if I'm going to tick off every bone in my wrist, I'd like to at least have something to show for it at the end of the day, yanno?

And I still want to know where this mysterious three-ounce pack of cream cheese is supposed to come from. Haven't found one yet.

Is Today Monday?

Because I swear it's acting like one.

I do not leave my house without makeup. For me to even go in public without makeup takes an event so mind-bendingly earth-shattering that it would have to rival the '89 San Francisco earthquake in intensity and scope of impact.

THAT is how serious I am about my "spackle."

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I've previously confessed that I'm one of those women you'll see at the traffic lights desperately applying her makeup while the light is red. Well, you see, in order for me to accomplish this there has to be one vital component in play.

I have to remember the freaking makeup bag.

Which I somehow didn't manage to do this morning.

Fortunately I did the base/powder/lipstick thing before I left the house this morning (you can hide a multitude of sins with a pair of sunglasses), but I had NO eyeshadow, NO eyeliner, NO mascara, NO blush...

ARRRGHHHH!

I looked half dead.

Fortunately, I had my emergency backup mascara in my desk.

I still look half dead, but at least I have eyes.

Sheesh.

Happy Friday, folks!

A Note on Comments

Okay, I've not had to do this previously, but let me say this: If you're going to critique a blog post of mine or insult me (in either a veiled or straightforward fashion), please at least have the guts to post under your name rather than hiding behind "anonymous."

Folks, I don't care if you like me or you don't, if you agree with me or not, but if you're going to comment here, leave a name. I don't mind leaving on the "anonymous" option for those of you who don't want to bother with a blogger account, but for crying out loud, just sign your comments at least. And if you don't want to sign it, you might want to consider if the comment is worth leaving in the first place.

Just sayin'.

Chilly

The weather down here in Florida has become downright chilly.

Well, if by "downright chilly" you consider upper-forties to be cold. Which, as a nearly-lifelong Florida native? I do.

I'm down to having only jeans to wear as slacks (more shopping... urrrgh), so I'm stuck with skirts for work on Monday through Thursday. In order to avoid freezing my ankles to death this morning, I actually performed the greatest fashion atrocity known to man:

I wore socks and my closed-toed Birkenstocks with my skirt.

I don't think even the cuteness I have planned for tomorrow is going to make up for this.

Whoops!

Sorry gang, it's been a madhouse around here. It's nearing the end of the year at the office, which means that the bookkeeping is getting atrocious (and my adding machine is about to be kicked against the wall repeatedly), tensions are running high, and in the middle of all this I'm supposed to be panicking about Christmas shopping as well as what in the world I'm supposed to take to my mother's house for Thanksgiving.

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I'm fairly certain my Thanksgiving contribution will be mashed potatoes. Again. Because nobody else is fool enough to volunteer for that job, as these aren't just any mashed potatoes, but a certain kind known as "refrigerator mashed potatoes" which are so-named not because they're served cold (they're not -- they're heated) but because they can be stored in the fridge for a number of days prior to the actual event for which they've been prepared.

I think it's something to do with the cream cheese, sour cream, and butter in them, but I wouldn't put money on it. Five pounds of potatoes to boil then smash into an unrecognizable pulp with the potato ricer prior to mixing in all the other goodies. Oish. It's a wonder I can lift my arms the next day, but they're good. Worth it.

I'll post the recipe sometime. It's around... uhm... somewhere. I'm quite sure of it.

(Note to self: call Mom and get the recipe AGAIN... just like every other year)

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In other news, the Chantix and I have reached an uneasy truce wherein I eat before taking it so it doesn't make me want to throw up, and in return it sucks all the joy out of smoking for me.

Yes, kids, I'm nicotine-free. Grudgingly, and with much whining, but I'm there.

Why quit when I'm whiny about it? Well, to be quite honest, I never will NOT be whiny about giving up my vices. I'll do it, but I will bitch and moan, dammit.

I love my Diet Coke and y'all should have heard me when I was pregnant with the boys. My midwife with the younger child especially was concerned about all the chemicals in Diet Coke. She'd have preferred I drink an entire pot of coffee twice a day than suck down even one of my wonderful, refreshing, chemically-altered-beyond-all-recognition carbonated beverages.

Problem is, a sure sign of gestation for me is that I develop an incredible loathing for coffee. The smell of it in bean form, ground form, or brewing is still fine (stuff's like potpourri for me, seriously). But the taste of it? Oh man, just kill me now. Simply Does. Not. Work. Not when I'm pregnant, anyway.

Needless to say, for a few months there? Amanda equaled Whiny.

And now that I'm done reproducing they will have to pry my Diet Coke out of my cold, dead fingers before I give it up. I don't require much in life, but I would like to hang on to at least one little vice. Just one.

But anyway, why quit smoking? Because I'm kind of fond of this whole living thing, and smoking has a bad habit of shortening that experience. Also, it interferes with my breathing hobby. And it's a craptastic example for the kids (well, that and they've been lecturing me about it mercilessly).

The yellow stains have almost faded completely from my fingers. Awesome.

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So anyway, that's what I've been up to for the past almost-two-weeks. That and doing the Halloween stuff with the boys. The elder was Anakin Skywalker and the younger was a knight. He looked alot like a gladiator, but believe me, that child was a KNIGHT.

Just ask him.

Things I Can Do in a Kid-Free House

1 - Stay up ridiculously late blogging.

2 - Practice the piano at an ungodly hour of the night.

3 - Realize that after 1:00 a.m.? My playing sucks more than usual. And that likely my fingernails are a bit long.

Alphabet Meme

Well, Scott over at Forging Iron Man tagged me with this meme, I believe partly in response to my shameless meme-begging. MBA from Addicted to Medblogs also gave me a ton of memes from which to choose, so really, if I don't post?

I have no excuse.

The instructions say that each player starts with some random facts/habits about himself/herself, starting with the letter "A" and working through the alphabet. As you are tagged you need to post the rules and your responses on your own blog. At the end of your post, you need to choose some people to tag, list their names and, of course, leave them a comment, telling they have been tagged and they need to read your blog for more information.

Hmmm... okay, so here goes.

A - It's cheating to say Amanda, isn't it? Sheesh... okay, okay...
No, actually I'm sticking with it unless something better comes to mind.

B - Blogger. This is likely also cheating, but I've been staring at this letter long enough. Although I'll admit that "Bite me" is one of my favorite comebacks... and pretty much signifies that I can't come up with any better retort.

C - California. It's where I was born. Also C for Chantix, which I'm on again.

D - Divorcing. Yep, I'm still with the very boring "stuff you likely already know" theme.

E - E-mail. This would be what you should send me if you want access to the link directly above.

F - Food. I'm a fan :)

G - Goofy. Because occasionally, I'm a huge goof. But I'm good with that.

H - Hurry hurry hurry! That would be the morning refrain around here.

I - Intelligent. Relatively. Okay, I'm fairly certain my brain cells have at least met.

J - Juveniles. Two of them live in my house.

K - Dammit, I already used this one on the "J" item. K... K... Klutz! Heh... how could I forget this? I guess I haven't nailed any door jambs recently. Having said that, of course, I'll walk into every piece of furniture I own tonight.

L - Library. I think I could open one with all the books I have here.

M - "M-o-o-o-o-m!!!!!!!!!" The way "Mom" is pronounced in my house on certain occasions. Okay, several.

N - NaNoWriMo. I'm in this year -- are you? Obviously a talent for writing in a clear, concise, cohesive manner isn't a requirement. Nor is the ability to write believable dialogue. Plot bunnies, however, are essential.

O - Opinionated... me? Surely you jest.

P - Pink.

Q - Queen of All I Survey. Naturally, this is a rather small realm as my vision without glasses is rather poor.

R - Rantalicious. At times? Youbetcha.

S - Sarcasm is just one more service we offer. I generally try not to be cutting with mine, though. Words can wound as surely as weapons... and are more insidious, as the damage isn't readily apparent.

T - Torture. What I experienced today as I sat and burned through piles of adding machine tape while bonding with the books at work. Those books and that same damned adding machine came home with me. Bleah.

U - Unbelievable. What??? That I brought work home? The kids aren't here, like I have anything else to do?

V - Visitation. Yeah, speaking of the kids not being home... they're with their father. I'm trying to figure out the whole "What do I do in a kid-free house?" thing. Obviously, I'm being so productive, working on the books from the office (eyeroll).

W - Work. What I should be doing right now. But it's Friday night, for pity's sake! Feh.

X - Xanth. One of my favorite fantasy realms. Piers Anthony rocks.

Y - Yawn. What most of my poor readers will be doing trying to plow their way through this thing.

Z - Zzzzzzs.... which are something I will actually catch some of tonight and tomorrow morning as no short people will be bouncing on my bed at 6:00 a.m.

I think I can live with that.

I'm not tagging anyone. I'm sure this comes as a huge shock.

An Open Letter to the Person Who Pours the Coffee at Dunkin Donuts

Dear Person Who Poured My Coffee This Morning at Dunkin Donuts,

One extra large coffee, black.

This is not a difficult order. You grab the cup, dump in some coffee, put on the lid, and poof, you're done!

Things you do not do would include a) add cream, or b) add sugar.

If I wanted these items, I would not have ordered my coffee, say, black.

My order really makes your job much easier. Just give me the damned black coffee next time, okay?

Undercaffeinatedly yours,
Amanda

Meme Beg

Okay folks, I'm going to be really pitiful here and beg for a memeing.

Yes, I *want* to be meme'd. I have absolutely nothing, and I mean NOTHING original to say that can go in this blog at this point, but I have to write SOMETHING, dammit! I can't stand sitting here watching this thing just languish.

So please, brothers and sisters, can you spare a girl a meme?

Wearing Pink

Today I'm wearing pink.

My mother just got home from a trip to the funeral of a friend today... one she's had since back in junior high. Peggy left behind a husband, two daughters, and a grandchild.

She died from a recurrence of breast cancer.

Today as my mother mourned her friend, I mourned Wendi.... a friend from back in junior high who died this past March. She left behind her mother, sister, grandfather, husband, and three children under the age of five.

She died from a recurrence of breast cancer.

As all of you whose heads aren't stuck in the sand know, October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Please, women, go get those girls checked. And men, please remind the women you love to do the same.

So today, I'm wearing pink.

Tomorrow my husband moves out of our house.

And Tuesday I will quit smoking.

Again.

Life is worth it.

Ouch.

I hate my car.

The air conditioning isn't running worth a flip, it idles at over 2000 RPMs, and today I got very close, personal proof that the hydraulic thingies on the trunk lid aren't fully functional anymore.

Damned thing landed on my upper back, right between my shoulder blades.

My brain's fuzzy, a migraine is looming... so yeah.

Ouch.

Cranky? Eh, Not So Much...

The hormonally based rant will have to wait because I went and got in a good mood again. Sorry to disappoint.

Well, not really.

But I'm relatively certain I'll be in a foul temper at some point this week, so I'll spew then.

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Angel and I went out to lunch today. Our plan was to go to this Thai place yesterday but one of her evil headaches whapped her upside the... well, the head (ouch, even typing that hurt), so we rescheduled for today.

The food was good. The company was even better.

And then right when I got into the car for the drive back to the office, Nickelback's If Everyone Cared came on the radio.

"Singing Amen, I, I'm alive."

Damned straight. And happy to be this way.

Krispy Kreme

Next town over has a Krispy Kreme shop. I know this because the sadistic folks at my local news channel just tormented me with an entire segment on the KK's grand opening.

Us? NO freaking Krispy Kreme.

Bastards.

(yeah, I'm cranky and hormonal... more on that later, as work permits)

Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

To lighten things up a bit, the 2007 winners of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest have been announced (hat tip to Matt G.).

If you haven't heard of this contest before, bear in mind that the subtitle on the main page is "Where 'WWW' Means 'Wretched Writers Welcome'."

This year's winning entry, by Jim Gleeson of Madison, Wisconsin, is quite lovely:

"Gerald began--but was interrupted by a piercing whistle which cost him ten percent of his hearing permanently, as it did everyone else in a ten-mile radius of the eruption, not that it mattered much because for them "permanently" meant the next ten minutes or so until buried by searing lava or suffocated by choking ash--to pee."

Continue to the 2007 results page to read more interestingly worded opening lines.

And yes, I know some of my sentence structure would do well there. :P