So very, very remiss! What happened to daily or nearly daily blogging? It has fallen by the wayside because of a wicked addiction to Facebook, which I think is replacing my wicked addiction to Diet Coke. It, too, will pass like a kidney stone. So here are two random thoughts.

The media made a huge deal about Dick Cheney attending the inauguration in a wheelchair. Apparently he hurt his back. A friend of mine countered that something else was surely afoot. We agreed it must be something far more sinister. So I decided: He had his devil tail surgically removed in preparation for his reentry into society. Yes. Yes. Dick Cheney owns a resplendent vacation home not an hour away from here. I really don’t want to see him in the quaint little tourist town. Ew.

And second: I was challenged to list 25 completely random facts about myself. So here they are, because I know you’re just that curious.

1. A recipe I read calls for two pounds of cod loins. For some juvenile reason, this cracks me up.

2. Bad spelling drives me up the wall.

3. Bad punctuation makes me want to commit myself. The worst offender is millions of exclamation points. OMG!!!!!!! I’m SOOOOOOOOO happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Gahhhhhhhhhhh.

4. I like my little house but wouldn’t mind if my next-door and backyard neighbors were struck by lightning.

5. I don’t leave the house without makeup. It just makes me feel better. Also I have chicken lips that need lipstick merely to exist.

6. I have really big feet.

7. I love being musical, but I don’t devote nearly enough time to it. I’m the only one who shows up at band practice without having practiced before I got there.

8. I make the most rockin’ chicken wings you will ever taste.

9. I wish I were better able to self-motivate. I am OCD about a clean kitchen, but not so much about organization.

10. My kid watches too much TV and plays too much Wii.

11. I can’t stand new country, hair metal, rap, or power ballads, but these are usually the kinds of songs that get stuck in my head for days on end.

12. By and large, I don’t like chick flicks.

13. I am trying to overcome a vicious Diet Coke addiction. Thus far, the Diet Coke is losing.

14. I think the Wii Fit might just be my last hope for getting active. Note to self: Buy Wii Fit.

15. I’m snarky, but I’m really not that judgmental.

16. I love hearing my boy pronounce George Washington, sausage, and Squidward. And catooskit (acoustic).

17. Two-drink Jodie is a riot. Four-drink Jodie is slightly pathetic.

18. I often wonder what runs through a person’s mind when he decides that truck balls are appealing. Perhaps only my fellow Eastern Shore folk will know what this means.

19. I’m having a slight issue with turning 35 in March.

20. I need to entertain more often.

21. I overthink things to death. I guess it beats acting completely on impulse, but it can be a bit of a bummer.

22. I’m the only person I know who writes for a living but doesn’t write for pleasure.

23. Also, I’m the only person who writes for a living but never, ever has a pen in her purse.

24. I really want to buy an insanely expensive handbag (well, insanely expensive for me), but I keep it off my radar screen because I know I will drop it in something icky or a pen will explode or I will somehow destroy it and then be pissed at myself.

25. Believe it or not, I’m generally hilarious.


Not with my husband. He’s pissing me the hell off, but that’s neither here nor there.

I’m in love with this.


For just a moment, allow me to indulge.

When you have a five-year-old boy, you enter the phase of toys having millions and millions of pieces. Those pieces need to be contained. And if you have nowhere to store these millions of pieces, they all wind up in the bottom of a plastic bin somewhere…or on the bottom of your foot in the middle of the night. Neither of those things make me happy. And when you have gazillions of Playmobil pirates (each with removable beard, hat, hair, and weapon), super heroes, animals, action figures, and Star Wars paraphernalia, some sort of organization is necessary to save your sanity.

Enter the beautiful nine-cubby organizer above. I bought one yesterday (in faux cherry, and on sale!), along with four fabric bins. I put it together in half an hour. And 15 minutes later, I had replaced the contents of five plastic bins and an ugly little chest of drawers. There’s space to store stuff! My living room is mine again, or will be one the Christmas tree is gone next week. I’ll buy more bins on my next trip to Target. And my boy swears that he will start putting his toys away, now that he knows where to put them.

Buying this thing also made me go through his room and collect two trash bags full of broken toys and crap, as well as cull a bunch of outgrown toys for giveaways and the attic. It’s not a big deal, but small achievements are achievements nonetheless. Woot.

I really do love Christmas, but it seems as though each year only one of the three of us avoids getting sick. This year, it seems to be Sean, though I fear even he is starting with the rattly chest. Just as I was about the call the doctor about the sinus infection that developed from my last cold–and didn’t, because I have gained ten pounds since I was last there, and I didn’t want to deal with the guilt–I miraculously was on the verge of recovery. And then…then, then, then…my boy infected me with a vicious and mighty cold. He has had it, too, the kind where he coughs hard enough to throw up. Oh, the rapture.

Anyway, we went to visit my parents and sister for the weekend, and the boy spiked a huge and hideous fever last night that had everyone worried. Luckily, I ran out for the magic formula–ibuprofen AND Tylenol–and knocked it out. No idea what that’s all about, but he seems to be faring well and even rode home in his new WALL-E pj’s, courtesy of Grandma.

We made out pretty well this year. Sean and I got a Lowe’s gift card (always, ALWAYS appreciated), some money toward a new TV, some clothing, some iTunes cards, and I finally got a grill pan, along with a smashing new bag and wallet, and assorted other goodies. Yay! The boy, of course, scored a righteous haul. He got a Wii, which he had never heard of until I found one at Circuit City and then played it up until he was convinced it was the best gift ever. He got Tinker Toys, games, some movies, some Wii stuff, art supplies, action figures, a kit to make little oozy Martians, a giant pop-up Star Wars tent, and more, more, more. The benefit of having just one kid is that you can spoil him rotten. Of course, the downside is that you spoil him rotten. But he’s such a lovely boy. And he lost one of his top front teeth on Boxing Day. So the grand total of teeth lost is four…at the tender age of five. Amazing.

Anyway, I’m off to try some Nyquil and hope it makes me forget that I haven’t been able to breathe out of the left side of my nose for the past three days. I knew I’d be raising a petri dish, but this is kind of ridiculous.

Good grief. Even *I* am sorry for that one. But anyway…

The dead deer next door has diminished. We went from full-on carcass on Christmas Eve to naught but skinned haunches on Boxing Day. And now there remains but one full leg and part of another, dangling from dainty hooves. I guess he’s dismembering it bit by bit for his dogs. Yum. Rancid deer. Mmm, mmm. Boy howdy.

Given that I’m a pretty affable person who doesn’t like to stir the pot unless it’s absolutely necessary, I wonder if I’m just too willing to block stuff out. I’m completely revolted by this, but I know that any overture I make won’t change a single thing. Sean says to let it go…that at some point, hopefully this summer, we will be able to either landscape or fence them out in a day or a weekend, and that will be the end of it. I just can’t think of any rational person who would say, hey, I have this dead deer. Let’s hang it upside down in a tree and slowly hack away at it for dog food. Then again, I use phrases like “naught but skinned haunches,” so who am I trying to kid.

Note to self: Find poor sap who works nights to buy current house, and move on to better neighbors. Word.

It’s technically Christmas Eve. Why are The Real Housewives of Orange County, on Bravo, and ducks having sex over and over and over again (on Animal Planet) the only things even remotely interesting on TV? I can’t stop watching the Housewives. It’s like a sickness. I can pass on the ducks, but their sheer tenacity is kind of amazing.

Also, it’s 1 a.m. I really want to be up by 7. So a better question would be why I’m not in bed. Duh.

…it demands comment. 😛

It appears that Burger King is launching its own fragrance. Flame. As in broiled. And they’re targeting men who want to smell like “seduction with a hint of flame-broiled meat.” Don’t believe me? Look here.

Just. Ew. Who the eff would wear this? And really, if they want men to enjoy it, shouldn’t they be marketing it toward women? And wouldn’t that be so completely wrong, on so many levels? I’m pretty open minded, but I refuse to smell like meat of any sort.

I would love to meet the genius behind this idea. 😉

My boy is watching Handy Manny. I’m not denying Manny his handyman ability, so don’t think I’m talking smack about him.

But really, how hard is it to be a crack handyman when you have talking tools? Seriously.

In the season of giving and peace and joy, I’m contemplating my blessings. And they are many indeed.

1. We are healthy and we love each other.

2. I found out this evening that my contract is being renewed for next year. Budget cuts had me worried. So I get at least another year of working at home, for an absolutely lovely organization and group of people. ***ETA: I *think* my contract is being renewed. That’s the news I’m getting, but I’m anxious to sign it and be sure.***

3. Despite the tanking economy, my husband could move in a cot and live at work if he wanted to. He’s been working scads of overtime, and amazingly enough, the luxury guitar market is still doing well. Who knew?

4. He got a Christmas bonus.

5. He also got a pretty sizeable pre-paid Visa card for ten years at his job. And he gave it to me with the directive that I buy something I want. I have never had that amount of money to spend on myself, and frankly I have no idea what to do with it. That’s not a bad position to be in.

6. Despite our crappy neighbors, we own a small portion of our own house. That’s not so bad, either.

7. We have enough of what we need.

8. We have the most wonderful and delightful boy anyone could ever want. Last night he told me that I could never love him as much as he loves me. Think again, kid.

See? I can do more than bitch and snark. 😉

Well, now that that little bit of melodrama is out of the way, please allow me to paint a little picture for you.

I live in a neighborhood outside a beautiful and wonderful small town. There are lots of nice people here…I think. We live in a nice little yellow house that needs a bit of work but isn’t at all bad for a first house. Our lot is nearly half an acre. If you look out the back door, through the screened porch, you see at the left-hand corner of the yard a little yellow shed. Working up, there is a line of evergreens we had planted to serve as a living fence. And directly across from the bottom of my driveway is…

A dead deer. Hanging from my neighbor’s tree by its back feet. Where it has resided since Wednesday. It is now Sunday. My eyes. My eyes. My motherfucking eyes.

Our best guess is that he’s going to feed it to his dogs. Or he’s going to feed it to every loose dog that comes around, which is what happened early in January when I was awakened by loud snarling as two dogs fought over the carcass. Yes. The carcass. And then my neighbor came to his door, in his underwear, I suppose to see what was going on, and I completely laid into him. Which he deserved. Because that’s just gross. And wrong. And it occurs to me that we were presented with this same picture LAST Christmas. Just…why? This is not a trashy neighborhood. It’s a normal little working-class area, not a nasty place.

I need to stop thinking about it. Come on, stimulus package. Jodie needs a fence.

Why is it that a minute of sit-ups lasts an eternity, yet the minute remaining for you to rinse your car at the car wash passes at the speed of light?

I’m just saying.

And not that I have done a sit-up in a very, very long time…

May 2018
« Jun