Monthly Archives: November 2010

November 30, 2010 · 4:06 am

Points for Posts

So I’m sitting here at -7 Martha Points.

I don’t even remember, now, what disasters I instigated that put me here. I hope they were entertaining.

And what with the typhoid induced tuberculosis (anyone else having flashbacks here?) I’ve done nothing…NUFFINK…to work my way out of the hole.

I mean really…we had a housecleaner come. Not even a fraction of a point for me for that one.

So I’m getting creative with the earnings here.

Nostalgia moment: Does anyone else remember, or remember their kids, negotiating for the most bizarre and effortless  chores possible as a way to earn money? “How much could I get for feeding the cat? How about flushing the toilet? Breathing? How much could I get for not holding my breath until I pass out and hit my head on the coffee table?”

I was never paid commensurately with my efforts, it seemed.

This week, through an unusual conflagration of scheduling, I have three guests posts appearing at some lovely blogging establishments.

And since I have nothing else to credit myself for, I am giving myself +5 Martha Points for each guest post that runs.

Because, let’s face it, an In Pursuit of Martha Points guest post improves the shininess of your blog. It decreases waxy buildup and prevents gingivitis. It improves the feng of your shui and unblocks your chakras. Some research even suggests that it fights mold and mildew and decreases the likelihood of athletes foot.*

So that’s got to be worth something, right?

Today I am hugely pleased to be the humble and appreciative guest at two incredible blogs.

First, Natalie, over at Mommy of A Monster (I Mean Toddler) and Infant Twins asked me to send a little content her way while she was 1) Child wrangling and 2) Seeing if NaNoWriMo could be squeezed into her life (although if she didn’t use a shoe-horn and a plunger, I’m not sure how she could do it).  So I  have a post there today about when I knew I was doomed - the day my seven-year-0ld proved he was going to overtake me in the arguing department.

And then, Tiffany, over at Mom-Nom.Com asked me to be one of the contributors for her Week o’ Funny Women. Ummm. Okay. No pressure. I’m just slotted in there in between some of the funniest freaking women bloggers I’ve ever met. So please go there also and read how fourteen different libations can be the downfall of your Christmas duck recipe. And please find it funny, otherwise I’m not sure what the point of my existence is.

So in one fell swoop, I am back in positive numbers! Ok, so it’s a three. It’s the little things that count. One step at a time. Crawl before you get drunk and fall down. You know the drill.

Finally, I leave you with this today. This is the photographic counterpoint to yesterday’s post. This is what almost ended life as we know it in this universe.

What a reckless species we are.

 

*These claims have not been verified by any reputable organization of any kind. These claims are, in fact, completely made up and have no bearing on reality in any way. These claims are the product of a sleep-deprived mind that is withdrawing from cough syrup and ibuprofen.

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November 29, 2010 · 4:00 am

How to Create a Black Hole

Do this:

Take two bloggers (in this case, yours truly and Yuliya from She Suggests.)

Seat them across a table from one another.

Have them aim cameras at each other at the same time.

Hit the shutter release.

And then, much like the infinite reflections that happen when you stand between parallel mirrors, the very fabric of the blogging universe gets reflected between the lenses. Trapped in a singularity of page views and bounce rates, the reciprocal commenting force builds logarithmically until the linkbacks and pingbacks create an inescapable event horizon.

Time and space distort. Distances become relative. Hours pass in minutes. Sound becomes a palpable thing as laughter echoes on a quantum level and is the only thing to escape the intense gravitational pull.

It was only the carefully controlled environment and quick-thinking fellow bloggers with their fingers poised over the kill switch that kept the universe from collapsing completely into its own magnetic field, reduced to a sea of base molecules and stray Tic-Tacs.

Really, you’re all lucky to be here today at all.

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November 26, 2010 · 4:00 am

Black Friday

I don’t do Black Friday.

I worked retail (JC Penney and Macy’s) to put myself through college. I’m lucky I don’t have a nervous twitch and hiss at people who even think “ho ho ho.”

But as anyone who has ever worked retail will tell you, Black Friday isn’t the worst day to work in a department store.

The day after Christmas is the worst day to work in a department store. The day after Christmas is enough to make you denounce your species, strip down to your altogethers and go live with the wolves. You know, where it’s civilized.

So, despite the incredible deals, and having three kids to shop for, I don’t do Black Friday.

But one year…

Four years ago –  the first Thanksgiving Himself and I lived together.

Backstory: Himself is Jewish. Our house is now non-deified, but he does have Jewish traditions that are special to him, and I celebrate Christmas (with presents) and Easter (with chocolate eggs), so now we have theologically confused kids who can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a dreidel, a bunny or a leprechaun.

Christmas is a Big Deal for me. A big, huge, hairy, jingly, tinseled, powdered-sugared monster deal. And I make it a celebration that includes my Jewish husband (then boy-friend, which is just a bloody ridiculous word to use when you are thirty-seven) and his children. It’s not a religious holiday for me, it’s just fun.

And when we can, we buy one big-deal gift for the three kids all together. That year we had the idea of a portable dvd player, which at the time were priced between $120 and $180.

I made the mistake of saying something like, “If we were willing to do doorbuster sales we could get it for $50, but I’m not doing that.”

Himself (Jewish and clueless, remember?) said, “I’ll go.”

To which I replied, “Excuse me?”

“I’m always up that early, I can go.”

“Uh…I don’t think you want to do that.” I say.

Himself snorted. “How bad can it be?”

So at oh-dark-thirty the day after Thanksgiving, Himself got up, left the house and drove to Best Buy.

I didn’t stay asleep for very long after he left, so at about 5:30, since I was awake, I decided to call and see how it was going.

“Hello?” Says a frantic and semi-panicked voice.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

“THERE ARE NINE MILLION PEOPLE OUT HERE!!!”

“Yeah, that’s sort of how it goes.”

“WHAT ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE DOING OUT HERE???”

“Trying to get a good deal on electronics. Same as you are. Are you at Best Buy?”

“NO! The line for Best Buy circled the store seventeen times. I didn’t even bother.”

“Ok. Are you coming home?”

“No, I’m going to try Circuit City.”

Huh? “I thought you just said it was insanity out there.”

“Yeah, but, I’m already out here. Let me try Circuit City.”

“You’ve drunk the kool-aid.”

“I’m already here,” he said again.

“You’re one of them!” I cried.

“Do you want the cheap dvd player or not?”

“Call me if you find anything.”

He did find a $50 portable DVD player. He had to beat off a former NFL player dressed like someone’s ancient Chinese ancestor in order to do it, but at a certain point you just stop caring who you are playing tug-of-war with over the merchandise. It could be your own grandmother the morning after her hip surgery and you’d still give her an elbow to the chin if she tried to get between you and 70% off.

He got home, arms wrapped reflexively around the box.

“Can I see it?”

“It’s mine!” He hissed.

“Ummm…it’s for the kids, right?”

“You cants have it. It’s miiiiiiine….It’s my precioussssss…..”

“Do you ever want to have sex again?”

“Here you go. Don’t lose the receipt.”

He swore he would never, ever, ever do Black Friday again.

I wouldn’t ask him to. Technically, I didn’t ask the first time. I just didn’t appreciate the depth of his ignorance.

But he knows now.

And he’s never doing it again.

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November 24, 2010 · 4:00 am

The Return of Martha

This was how this seven-day block was supposed to go:

Last Friday night: take kids to Harry Potter opening. Stand in lines. Trade youngest child for popcorn. Scream at movie.

This past weekend: Shop. Do early prep work on Thanksgiving meal. Braid corn husks. Dress cats in colorful indigenous costumes.

Tuesday: Tidy up house in preparation for cleaners coming on Wednesday.

Wednesday: Go to work, see extra patients for colleague on vacation, come home to sparkling clean house. Start pre-cooking activities. Brine turkey. Bake pies.

Thursday: Have leisurely breakfast with Himself. Roast turkey. Make potatoes. Set festive table. Slam a few cranberry cocktails. Enjoy dinner with family.

Friday: Go to work, see a few extra patients for colleague on vacation, come home to cuddle with Himself and watch movies. Extricate cats from costume remnants.

This is how this seven-day block is going  instead:

Friday: Cough. Hack. Run fever.

Saturday: Cough. Hack. Run fever.

Sunday. Cough. Hack. Force fever into temporary submission with mega-ibuprofen dose. Take kids to Harry Potter matinée. Trade kidney for large drink to squelch coughing during movie.

Monday: Go to work. Come home. Lose house. Wander aimlessly until kindly neighbor redirects me to my actual residence. Hide from cats. Get forbidden by Himself to go to work on Tuesday.

Tuesday: Stay home. Wander around house. Be well enough to be bored, but not well enough to be useful. Think about tidying in anticipation of cleaners coming on Wednesday. Become apathetic.

And without a crystal ball, I can’t actually tell you what’s happening in the next few days except, the cleaner IS scheduled to come, and we are having Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant.

I was ready to cancel the cleaner, not because the house isn’t a disaster, but because it seemed a little…well…pretentious to have cleaners when the reason I justified having them come was because I was going to be cooking Thanksgiving dinner here while working all week. But now…no work, no Thanksgiving dinner. Was there some other need that I missed? OH YEAH! Dirt! Yes, we still have dirt. If dirt’s my only threshold for needing the cleaner I’m good fourteen ways from Tuesday. I guess Himself considered that reason enough because he told me to keep the cleaners scheduled.

So my housecleaner (although I’m not sure she really gets to be my housecleaner when she’s only been here once) who really is named Martha (I just didn’t catch it right away because she doesn’t pronounce the “h’”) is coming tomorrow. It makes me happy just thinking of it.

So, in a year when someone hugely important left our earth…

When I’ve been so sick I haven’t been able to engage with my family or earn my income for over a week…

When I had to turn my family away from a dinner in my home…

My day is brighter because a nice lady with an amazing work ethic is coming to make my house shiny and beautiful.

Which means that, really, I can be thankful…

That a wonderful woman was able to die with dignity and grace and surrounded by love.

That I have a doctor to go to and can afford medication to heal me.

That my family is not prone to drama over a cancelled holiday dinner.

And so despite the hacking and the coughing, I am lucky and I am grateful.

Oh, you know what else I’m thankful for?

You.

And you.

And you and you and you and you and you and…well, ok, you too. And definitely you. And totally you too! And I can’t forget you, oh my god, or you either!

Happy Thanksgiving, my wonderful, beautiful, funny, loving, tweeting, blogging, hysterically oversharing, monumentally ever-caring internet friends.

 

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November 22, 2010 · 4:00 am

Locate foot. Pull trigger.

Things are not looking so rosy here in Lori’s queendom.

The ongoing lack of official recognition of the queendom by the UN continues to drive morale down, and the post office won’t even consider putting me on a stamp until I can show them something notarized.

I think people who have some passing familiarity with the queendom know that things haven’t been peachy here for a little while.

Nope. Not peachy ‘tall.

Moldy peachy, maybe. Moldy bug-infested peachy, maybe.

You’re welcome.

So the lack of peach-dom in the queen-dom is putting the holiday in jeopardy-dom.

So I’ve been thinking of some short-cuts that might salvage our ability to actually get this celebration on the table. And as a service to other desperately psychotic stressed-out hostesses who may or may not have been fighting 103 degree fevers and having delusions that they were being stalked by their own cats and who couldn’t bother to shower for several days because standing up as long as it would take to wash their own hair would surely have induced a hypotensive episode causing them to pass out in the shower thereby knocking out at least three teeth, I thought I’d share them.

1. Stop by your local purveyor of fine tools and home repair products.Purchase one can each medium brown and dark yellow aerosol pigment product. Spray paint one whole turkey, using the yellow as a base with the brown for the lovely darker roasted skin tones. Garnish.

2. Kelloggs has been thoughtful enough to launch “Pumkin-Pie Pop Tarts” this year. Buy two twelve packs and a set of decorative holiday cookie cutters. Cut pop-tarts into festive Thanksgiving shapes for dessert.

3. Take the muss and fuss out of mashed potatoes by putting them on the boil on Tuesday. Left sitting in scalding water long enough, they’ll disintegrate into paste, basically mashing themselves. What could be easier? Can alternatively be used as glue.

4. Stand outdoors several feet from the house with front door open. Aim leaf blower towards entry. Turn On. Voila! Colorful, rustic garlands. And placemats. And doormats. And wall art. And table embellishment. And hairpieces.

5. For quick, hassle-free clean-up, have your insurance policy and an alternate identity handy. Alternatively, hire someone you met behind your local adult book store. Remember, all those beautiful autumn decorations have had plenty of time to dry, and are now….you guessed it!…kindling! Have an overfilled cocktail and a candle sparker handy (for you in your  nom-de-arson or for your new “friend”) and go to town!  You’ll be amazed at how little cleaning anyone expects you to do after a major house fire.

So there it is, fellow Martha Point enthusiasts. Using these holiday-friendly tips, you’ll soon find yourself in the same position as me.

Sitting squarely in negative numbers and writing to you from a mid-security correctional facility.

Ta!

Disclaimer: Since apparently aggregate instructional websites are delusional enough to think the things I write here should be included lists of “resources,” I now feel compelled to state unequivocally: FOR GOD’S SAKE, DO NOT DO ANY OF THESE THINGS! They are bad for you, bad for your home, bad for your credit report, bad for maintaining your right to vote as a non-felon. This is, as we say in the industry, “HUMOR AND SATIRE.” Don’t do them! Except maybe the pop-tart one. If you MUST do any of them, do that one.

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November 19, 2010 · 8:03 am

A Break in the Case

So this is how this week went down.

Monday:

Virus [enter, stage left, masquerading  as a cold]: grrrrrr….

Me [casually tossing Tylenol at Virus]: Ehhh….shuddup.

Tuesday:

Virus [now in possession of 100 degree fever]: GrrrRRRRrrrrr….

Me [pelting Virus with ibuprofen]: Hey, I told you to get out of here!

Wednesday:

Virus [now doubled in size, carrying 102 degree fever]: Snarrllll….GrrrrrrRRrrrr…

Me [shooting cough syrup soaked ibuprofen at Virus with slingshot]: Down, Rajah, Down!!!

Thursday:

Virus [now in possession of 103 degree fever and fangs]: RRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!!!!!

Me [hiding under credenza]: mommy!

So in desperation I called Himself home yesterday and we went to the doctor, where I was apparently the first flu case this season. But since I didn’t even get a t-shirt or anything I think is basically a rip-off.

The office also told me that my namby-pamby doses of ibuprofen were, well, namby-pamby and that no self-respecting virus was going to take me seriously if I was going to shoot it with the equivalent of a water pistol.

Well excuse me for following dosing direction.

I am now officially two weeks behind on my life, which is causing me to feel a little panicked.

Not that I can do much about that at the moment. My big accomplishment so far has been to walk out to the family room to have my coffee this morning.

We have a family room. I’d forgotten.

But…I am able to sit upright.

I have the laptop.

And I no longer have disturbing fever images of the love child of Meredith Viera and David Bromstead in my head.

One step at a time.

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November 18, 2010 · 4:00 am

Delirium as Entertainment

I’m not able to write anything sensible as I’ve spent the last three days lying down and all the blood in my body has settled in my butt.

But I did keep a notepad handy so I could write ridiculous, fever-induced thoughts down so you could laugh at them.

So in no particular order:

“Art Deco” sounds like it could be a breakfast cereal. It would have marshmallows and be shaped like little Chrysler Buildings.

Pioneer Woman’s mac and cheese, if made in a really big pan, would make a totally funky bed.

Supermodels have no boobs. This must be why I have never been asked to be a supermodel.

Do I have to throw this glass of ginger-ale away just because the cat drank from it?

I’ve watched enough “Law & Order” that I think I could totally pass the bar in New York state.

Ragu spaghetti sauce is an affront to humanity

Hoda Kotb has weirdly large teeth.

If bugs could talk the world would be a really loud place.

Has Liza Minnelli always had that lisp? I must be the world’s worst speech therapist for never noticing.

My god I want a Slurpee.

Conan O’Brien looks suspiciously like a Keebler elf.

Every time I see footage of the TSA’s new full body scanners I think of the opening of the “Six Million Dollar Man.”

Clearly there is a lot of TV watching when I am sick.

I can’t tell, since I can’t get my fever under 101 and therefore my thinking may be addled, but I think some of this is really deep stuff.

Feel free to expand on my cosmic wisdom.

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November 17, 2010 · 5:02 am

Or, call me Mary

I’m revising my diagnosis.

It is the plague.

….run!

In lieu of me being able to write anything worthwhile for you today, please go read my guest post over at Kludgy Mom wherein I discuss an international turkey crisis.

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November 16, 2010 · 4:00 am

Call me Hitchcock

So I am sick.

Not like with the deathly typhoid induced leprosy I had earlier in the year.

Just enough to feel like yuck and have zero energy.

But that’s not where our story goes today.

No.

There’s trouble brewing at Chez Lori.

Trouble of the avian kind.

Last year about this time, in a fit of Martha-y-ness I decided that we needed more birds.

Given our feline velociraptors obviously we cannot have birds IN the house. At least, not for more than eleven minutes.

We put up several outdoor  bird feeders.

Tempting nature to our very door.

As it turns out, very little tempting needs to happen. Without even trying we’ve got pirate raccoons, density violating skunks, rose-eating deer, patio-ruining gophers and salamanders.

To date, the salamanders have done nothing destructive to our property, but we figure it’s only a matter of time before they learn how to operate heavy machinery or mutate into giant killer land-squids.

But I digress.

(Shut up.)

So we have five…COUNT THEM, FIVE!…types of birdfeeders.

Cylinder seed, tray seed, cylinder thistle, hummingbird and suet.

So we’ve taken the local population of winged, taloned, beaked wildlife and gotten them addicted to various and sundry bird-crack in our yard.

And at this very moment, the number of birdfeeders that have seed in them is…

Zero.

Ignoring for the moment the negative Martha Points associated with starving the local bird population, I think it is possible that we have a looming security situation here.

I’ve been carefully watching Backyard Neighbor’s feeders because when hers get low too, I think a Feathered Apocalypse plan needs to be parlayed into action.

Because I fully believe that at that time, a swarm of several thousand chickadees, titmice, sparrows, towhees, finches, blue jays and hummingbirds are going to fly into an aerial attack formation and make off with my car.

Probably while I am inside.

If I go missing sometime in the next week or two, check the treetops.

 

 

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November 15, 2010 · 4:01 am

Bitter Cold

I think I have a cold.

I hate that.

Not the having the cold. Although it’s true that I’m a big fan of breathing, smelling, and that I believe that NyQuil was an experiment by a bunch of rogue pharmacists with congestion problems who had a warped sense of humor and a phenomenal marketing budget.

It’s the “I think” part.

I need to have a cold or not have a cold.

I need to know if I should be in bed watching tv that makes me want to share my credit card number with people who are selling triple-layered static-powered super dust-socks, or upping my dose of anti-histamines to effectively fight off the most recent assault of assassin allergens.

I need to either have ginger-ale and a package of Tylenol Cold and Flu at the ready, or be able to blink without discomfort and smell potential gas leaks for the safety of my family and pets.

One or the other, Mother Nature, one or the other.

This just makes me feel lazy and lame.

This makes me feel like a whiner.

I have a husband who perpetually thinks that he’s sick.

Actually, both of the men to whom I have been married suffered from this disordered thinking.

Husband 1.0 would, in the event of any GI distress, ignore the 13 Hostess Donettes he had just eaten and proclaim, “I have the flu.”

Himself will spend a week waking up with congestion that clears by midmorning yet still announce, “I have a cold,” ignoring the notable absence of additional symptoms and the transient nature of the illness. “You have morning cold,” I diagnose. “Maybe you’re pregnant with molds and mildews.”

Which goes over about as well as you’d think it does.

So I don’t want to be sitting her whining about “maybe” having a cold. It sounds like I can’t commit. Like I can’t pick a side. Or like I’m looking for sympathy.

I just want to know what color we are on Homeland Security Threat Level – are we Claritin clear or NyQuil green?

You know how unsettled I get without a plan.

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