I Have a Honey-Do List a Mile Long & No Honey To Do It

I am the Queen of Procrastination when it comes to most home projects. I know certain things have to be done, but I just can't make myself do them in a timely manner. Unfortunately, because I'm single, I also can't pass the projects on to someone else. If they're going to be done, I have to do them. I just don't want to.

Just look at the list I have going now:

1. Dishes. I have a dishwasher, but I also have soft water and very little water pressure, which renders that dishwasher pretty much useless. As such, I tend to wash most dishes by hand and use paper or Styrofoam whenever possible. (Yes, I know the latter is environmentally unfriendly, but a mountain of stomach-curdling, food-covered, ceramic plates are Staci-unfriendly. Sometimes you just have to make sacrifices.) A few days ago I ran out of disposable plates and was forced to use the real thing. Now I have a pile in the sink that is calling out, "Wash me! Wash me!" whenever I walk by. I would just shove some ear plugs into my ears and ignore them a little longer, but the smell is starting to waft upstairs. Plus, if I don't take care of them tonight, I'll have to learn how to eat ice cream with a fork.
2. Carpet. The Mighty Mister has been at it again this week, proving his neutered manhood by marking everything upright. He has also been on a dog food strike for the last two days, which predictably has led to another bout of indigestion and lovely yellow bile on my carpet. That bile is harder to get up than urine. I'm going to have to steam clean tonight for the same reason I'm going to have to wash dishes. My nose can only take so much. Good times on a Friday night!
3. Light bulbs. I have those vanity bulbs in all of my bathrooms. I have been meaning to replace three or four blown ones for months now. I have the bulbs. They're sitting on the vanity. I just can't bring myself to climb on the sink and put them in.
4. Pictures. Last week I rearranged a couple of pieces of furniture in the living room and dining room. With the new arrangement, some pictures had to be moved or switched out as well. I managed to hang most of them. The last two wouldn't even take me five minutes to hang, but I still can't make myself pick up a hammer.
5. The hole in the tub. I have a crack in my master bathtub. I patched it a year or two ago, but sometime around Thanksgiving, it opened back up. I immediately ran to Lowe's, bought another repair kit, washed the tub, and then did nothing more than sit the repair kit on the side of the tub. Because I have another bathroom I can shower in, I haven't made scooping that goop out and pressing it into the crack my top priority. I need to though for no other reason than, when I soak in the hallway bathtub and try to throw Bella her ball, I have to sit up and scoot towards the faucet to keep from throwing the ball down the stairs. Dumb reason, I know, but I gave up taking a bath sans a room full of ball-carrying dogs a long time ago.
6. The backyard lantana. It's a tall, twiggy mess, but I have put off cutting it back for so long that I will now have to wait until spring to cut it back or risk killing the plants.
7. The missing outlet in the garage. I know it's there. I need to find it so I can plug in my elliptical. I just don't feel like moving everything around to find.
8. The fluorescent lights in the kitchen. The fixture needs a new ballast. When I can afford an electrician, I'll get one. Until then, I can make do with the spotlight or the chandelier.
9. The vinyl floor. I need to figure out how to glue it down in the places where the idiot builder cut it too short for the baseboard to hold it down.
10. My sister's pillow. I've been meaning to sew it and mail it since New Year's. It's now almost March, and I have yet to thread a needle.
11. The refrigerator. It needs cleaning out again. How does so much stuff get in there when I never cook?
12. The medicine cabinet. I probably need to clean it out, too. It has been awhile.
13. Makeup brushes. I've had them sitting in a bowl on my dresser for three weeks now. I just haven't taken the time out to pour the water and soap in there and wash them.
14. The Pilates Performer. I took my mom's Pilates machine when she died. I finally put it together a few days ago and realized why she never used it. The thing is ridiculously long and bulky. I need to move it to another room, but I have to clean carpet and move furniture around first.
15. Clothes and towels. For someone who only goes to the grocery store and Petsmart, I seem to get a lot of clothes and towels dirty. I'm always washing them, and I always have several baskets to fold.
    
16. Transmission fluid. I've had a bottle sitting on the kitchen counter for a month. All I need to do is go outside, pop the hood, stick the funnel in the right place, and pour it in. So why haven't I done so?
17. Nail holes. When I brought back some of my mom's artwork last summer, I had to move things around. I also moved things around last week. Now I have all the nail holes that need to be filled with spackle and touched up with paint.
18. My grandmother's birdhouses and trays. The trays were last year's birthday gift. The birdhouses were this year's. I spent several days working on them. Then the whole restaurant drama occurred, and she failed to so much as send me a birthday card so I stopped working on them. I'm going to finish them one day, just not for her. I'm going to paint them for myself.
19. The office armoire. I have decided that I really want to paint it. It is just too dark the way it is now and matches nothing in that room. It's just not going to happen anytime soon.
    
20. Blogging. It's not exactly a household item, but I have had problems lately finding the energy to write anything or read other blogs. The job search is so depressing and tiring that by the end of the day, the only thing I want to do is pull the covers over my head and cry. Hopefully, I'll have something soon, and I can't get back to the things I enjoy.

If I sit here any longer, I'm sure I could thing of other things I need to do around the house. I'm sure there's a toilet that needs to be scrubbed, a drain that needs to be unstopped. or a spider that needs to be smashed into oblivion somewhere. However, the longer I sit here, the longer I procrastinate, and the less those things get done.

So I'll just say this. A list a mile long may be a flaw, but at least I can never say I have nothing to do.

I Need a Nap, a Job, & Now Credit Monitoring: Take a Memo Monday

To: Job board scam artists

From: Someone looking for a real, no-strings-attached job

Re: The daily emails

You should know that, while I may be broke, I still have Internet access, which means I also have access to this handy little thing call Google. Because I have said access, I can search for "[your company's name] job scam" on Google and know whether your offers of an interview are real. So far, they either haven't been, or they would involve me paying you money for "training" or some other nonsense like that. You ought to be ashamed for going after people when they're at their lowest and when they don't have money to waste.

_____________________________

To: Citibank

From: One of the cardholders you put at risk

Re: The letter you sent me this weekend

How many years have you been in business? How long has identity theft been a problem? And yet, despite all that, you still thought it was a great idea to send us tax forms with our social security numbers printed on the outside of the envelope? Seriously? WTF?

Like I didn't have enough stress in my life. Now I have to worry about how many people saw that envelope in transit and what I did with it after it came to me. I'm pretty sure I threw it away because envelopes aren't things I tend to shred. Thus, I can add dumpster divers to my worry list.

By the way, I love the nonchalant attitude you took in the letter. The whole oops-here's-a-free-credit-monitoring-trial-to-make-up-for-it take on the situation just made my weekend. Instead of giving me a free trial, why don't you put your money where your offer is and pay for any damages that may occur if someone uses my social security number to run up 10 credit cards in my name?

Right, you can't because you're a bank, and you don't have any money in this economy. Uh-huh. Tell that to your over-paid, bonus-loving executives. I bet that you would cover their losses, no questions asked.

______________________________

To: Mother Nature

From: A very sleep woman

Re: Your 4 a.m. wake up call

Last night I had trouble sleeping. I finally had to take a Benadryl and read a book until I was groggy enough to pass out. Would it have killed you to take pity on me and let me sleep for more than an hour before you pressed enter on your thunderstorm machine? You ought to know by now the dogs, especially Bella, can't handle thunderstorms. They cry. They pace. They hyperventilate, which means I have to wake up and calm them down. Thanks to your early morning wake up call, I can barely keep my eyes open today, and my brain is so cloudy I'm too scared to work on anything job-search related. Who knows what kind of crazy typos I would mail out? As is, I can barely put two thoughts together to write this post.

Do you think maybe you can lay off the thundershowers tonight? I just want to sleep a few hours without getting bitch slapped by an overweight dog that thinks that every thunderstorm leads to me in a blue plaid dress and her limping down the yellow brick road. Thanks.

___________________________

To: The inconsiderate neighbor

From: The same sleepy woman

Re: The dog you left outside

Your dog barked all night long. It barked so much that it started to go hoarse. I don't blame the dog; I blame you. It's winter, and dogs should not be left out in the cold or in the middle of a thunderstorm. Either wake your drunk ass up and let your poor baby in or find him a home with someone who'll never leave him outside to begin with. The next time it happens, I will be leaving a message with the pound, not because your dog made noise, but because no dog should have to suffer like your dog obviously suffered last night.

And the Winners of the Book Giveaway Are...

Assuming I entered the entries correctly--Harini isn't in the US and Re and Sandbox Gems didn't want their comments to count as entries--here is how the entries looked prior to hitting the random button:

And here is the winning list:

So the winners are Buggys and Redhead Ranting. Congrats! I will be sending the two of you an email in a few minutes notifying you of your win. Please email me back ASAP with your mailing address so I can forward it on to Wiredset.

Cheryl, since you were the only contestant left, if you don't mind a used copy of the book, I can send you mine via Media Mail. It will take a little longer to get to you that way than normal mail or UPS, but if you want it, the offer is there. Just shoot me an email and let me know. Any water damage is from me reading it in the tub, not from a dog's heisted leg, I swear. I'd also rather pass it on to you than let it sit here gathering dust, which is exactly what it will do since no one else in my family reads. Seriously, take it off my hands.

Thanks to all three of you for entering!

Sporadically Yours, Jane Fonda

I have this little flaw that has come back to haunt me today. It's the way I exercise. In college it was regularly. In law school it was semi-regularly. After I got the soul-sucking job from hell, it was only on migraine-free days. Now my exercise routine consists of sporadic spurts that are often cut short by guilt-induced overcompensation.

Translation: I often go so long between exercise sessions that, when I do finally exercise, I feel so bad about slacking that I do too much, too fast, and more times than not, too painfully.

I did just that Tuesday afternoon. I overcompensated. Now I'm paying for it.

Because it was too cold in the garage to get on the treadmill, I decided to do one of my The Firm DVD's. I knew that I couldn't make it through The 500 Calorie Workout on my first day of the current spurt so I went with the one called Dangerous Curves instead, the one that I wrote about in "You Might Be Uncoordinated If" way back in September. Tuesday was the first time that I have attempted to do the torturous huffing and puffing workout since then. Consequently, I had almost forgotten how evil intensive the workout could be.

Almost. By the end of the first cardio segment, my entire body remembered, and it has yet to stop remembering. Wednesday night, my sides hurt so badly that I actually thought my kidneys were failing or that I had ovarian cysts. They weren't, and I didn't. It was just my underused oblique muscles screaming in pain.

Then yesterday morning my right foot and ankle began to hurt. The pain ran from my pinkie toe, up the right side and bottom of my foot, all the way to my ankle. As with the side pain, I at first blamed it on something other than my overzealous attempt at exercising. I actually thought that I had somehow managed to twist my ankle in my sleep. Don't laugh. If it could happen, it would happen to me. It wasn't until I slipped on my sneakers to go on an aspirin run for the dogs yesterday afternoon did I finally realize that I must have hurt my foot on the Avia's arch cradle, as the line of pain on my foot follows the outer part of the cradle. Duh.

As a result of my overcompensating attitude, I can barely walk on my right foot today. I did manage to limp on it long enough to buy a bag of Epsom salts from Walmart this morning. I'm hoping that it will help some. If not, I guess I'll have to settle for the old standby--time--and cut another exercise spurt short.

Is being a sporadic, overcompensating exerciser a flaw? Sure. My ankle can attest to that, but in my opinion it's still a flaw to be flaunted because it's better than being one of the alternatives--a person who doesn't exercise at all.

I have another flaw worth mentioning today: I suck at giveaways. I don't know how the mommy bloggers do it. It doesn't matter what they're giving away on their blogs; they always have entries. I guarantee you that they could announce that they're giving away used Kleenex on Twitter, and they would have 500 entries in an hour. I announce that I'm giving away a book, and only one person bites. I...freaking...suck.

Seriously, is Buggys the only US resident who wants a free book? The book is good. The book is new. The book is free. If this wasn't my blog and I hadn't already read The Bricklayer, I would be all over this giveaway.

So I'm not going to flaunt this flaw. I'm just going to beg. Enter my contest, please. You only have two and half days left to do so. Just follow the directions in the post below.

I'm not begging or apologizing anymore. Please read my new addendum to the rules for entry, which basically says that you do not have to do everything listed to enter. You need only do one. The post said that before ("one or more" means just that, one or more, not all), but obviously a lot of you just skimmed over that part of the post. You can't miss it now. I've bolded it and put the addendum in blue.

Book Review and Giveaway: Noah Boyd's The Bricklayer

A little more than a week ago, I was contacted by a representative from the digital agency Wiredset. She asked me if I would like to review Noah Boyd's debut novel, The Bricklayer, on my fan fic site and offered to send me a free copy of the book if I was.

In case I haven't said this before, I love freebies. If I get so much as a free sample of Dove shampoo in the mail, I am skipping down the driveway like I've won the lottery, even if the shampoo is for a different hair type than my own. I also love books. In fact, I love them far more than I love freebies, which is why I couldn't turn down an offer than involved both loves simultaneously.

Well, that's not an entirely accurate statement. I could have turned it down. Had the book been some smutlicious romance with Fabio on the cover and with very little plot line than what goes on beneath the sheets, I probably would have said no. For those of you who missed the Ten Things That Make Me Happy post two weeks ago, I'm a whodunit kind of girl. While I'm not against smut per se, I prefer that it be wrapped up in a good mystery, not in silk sheets and names that would make a stripper blush. I also prefer that Fabio stays where he belongs, which is on my Acapulco Heat: Season 1 DVDs, not on my bookshelf.

(Sit, Fabio, sit. Bad Good actor.)

I knew, however, as I read the email that, despite any dirty innuendos that could be read into the term “bricklayer,” The Bricklayer was not a mason-inspired smut fest. Instead, it was a book that squarely fell into my favorite genre, the mystery/suspense genre. The reason that I already knew this little tidbit about The Bricklayer was because, ironically enough, I nearly bought the book a few days before from the Sony Reader Store. I only stopped myself from buying it at the last minute because I had a birthday coming up. I didn't want to buy anything if, by miracle of miracles, someone actually gave me money or a Sony gift card as a birthday present.

No one did.

(Not me, but close. I'd like to think I have a little more hair.)

Knowing what I knew about the novel, I readily emailed a big, fat yes to the Wiredset representative. I also pimped my blog for all it was worth, as I knew that Just Bloggled's higher traffic and page rank would get the review more exposure than my less-visited fan fic site. On Friday, February 5th, UPS left an envelope from Harper Collins on my doorstep. When I picked it up, I knew what was in it. It was the book. I was so elated that I didn't just skip across the living room; I did a happy dance that was so dorky, it's a miracle the homeowners' association didn't write me up for it.

I read the book for several nights straight in what I like to call just-one-more-chapter mode. Then the real world stepped in. I had a birthday. I got a monster headache. I became slightly obsessed with interested in prepaid cell phones. I got caught up in the newest Entrecard drama. I played in the snow. I spent hours on the phone with AT&T trying to fix my three-year-old, highly dysfunctional, Samsung slider phone just so I could send family who didn't have email pictures of that snow. In other words, I ended up having to do a lot of things other than read, which meant I didn't finish the novel as quickly as I would have otherwise.

Friday night, however, I said, "Forget the real world. I'm going to spend some time in Me World." I subsequently picked up The Bricklayer, ran a bubble bath, and soaked in the tub until my toes shriveled, the water grew cold, and I finished the last few chapters of the book. Let me just say that the book was well worth the wrinkled appendages.


Now I don't want to give away too much of the plot line so I won't pull an Adrian Monk, hold my hands up to the computer screen, and say, “Here's what happened.” What I will say, in contrast, will hopefully be enough to wet your appetites.

The Bricklayer follows the FBI as they try to apprehend a group of terrorists known as the Rubaco Pentad, who are attempting to extort millions of the dollars from the government organization. After killing a tabloid reporter who had exposed corruption in the FBI several months before, the Pentad leaves a note on the body addressed to the FBI's director. The note demands that the FBI pay the Pentad $1 million in cash, or the group will continue to kill people who have openly spoken out against the FBI. Predictably, the FBI tries to trick the Pentad into thinking that it is complying with the group's demands but fails to do so, thereby causing the Pentad to take several more lives and to increase its monetary demands.

Enter “the bricklayer.”

The FBI director, fearing a public relations nightmare should the truth behind the deaths and the extortion come out, calls upon Steve Vail, a former agent turned bricklayer, to hunt down the money that was paid to the Pentad during the previous botched encounters. Although the FBI had fired Vail for insubordination several years earlier, the director now wants him back, having realized that Vail's ability to find the seemingly unfindable when he was on the FBI's Fugitive Squad and to take no glory for it may be the key to quietly stopping the Pentad's reign of terror. Vail accepts the director's offer of reinstatement and thereafter enters into a dangerous cat-and-mouse game with the Pentad as he tries to track down the money and the person behind it all, or, as the title suggests, to brick that person in.

I don't want to say too much about that game because I don't want to ruin the suspense for you. However, I will say that the cat-and-mouse aspect of the book involves a series of traps that Vail must escape in order to find the clue hidden by the trap, proceed to the next trap and hidden clue, and get that much closer to stopping the Pentad. I will also say that the traps will keep you on the edge of your seat as you move through them with Vail, the way the traps in Speed and Die Hard: With a Vengeance did the first time you saw those movies.


Vail's personality, meanwhile, will keep that seat's edge from hurting your rear end too much. In creating Vail, Noah Boyd managed to do what a lot of mystery and suspense authors do not; he made me laugh. You know how Morgan and Garcia talk to each other on Criminal Minds? How about Kate and Baze on Life Unexpected or Mary and Marshall on In Plain Sight? Well, if you take that type of witty, sarcastic, and often flirtatious banter; throw it into a literary blender; add a bit of Jack Reacher, a bit of Alex Cross, and a bit of John Rambo to the mix; and then hit blend, you have Steve Vail. I think I laughed at his scenes with Deputy Assistant Director Kate Bannon just as much as I held my breath or chewed my nails during the book's hero-in-jeopardy moments.


The action in The Bricklayer moves at a fast pace, but not too fast. For the most part, Boyd takes the time to explain what needs to be explained, including what the Pentad's traps look like and how Vail reacts to them. The one exception, which is one of my few criticisms of the book, happens towards the end of the novel on page 309. I'll try to say this criticism in the vaguest terms possible so as not to give anything away. On page 309, Vail walks into the FBI office, does something, and then walks back out. Boyd describes this thing in one very, very short paragraph. To me, this scene, if it can even be called that, was not that believable without further explanation. Given Boyd's tendency to give you that explanation in the rest of the novel, I suspect that he may have originally given you one on page 309 as well, but a delete-happy editor at Harper Collins thought those pages needed to go for brevity's sake. I wish that I knew who the editor was because I would love to write him or her a letter saying that a couple of extra pages would have helped that part of the book make more sense; they would not, as the editor may have assumed, turned the book into Under the Bricklayer's Dome.

That being said, this thing on page 309 doesn't really detract from The Bricklayer's beginning, middle, or end. If you're like me and you're used to shows where people inhabit a tropical island with polar bears, a smoke monster, and a wooden wheel that can make the island disappear with a few simple turns; where mobsters shoot their undercover cop-sons in the chest and get away with it; and where people come back from the dead more often than they change their hair or get Botox, you just go with it. You may wish there was more, but you accept that there isn't and read on.

My only other criticism is that, even with the authority issues, the sarcasm, and a tendency to work alone, The Bricklayer's Vail almost seems too perfect, especially as far as his investigative hunches are concerned. While I believe that the hero should always win the war—that is, I think he should always catch the bad guy by a mystery or suspense novel's end--I think that it makes the hero a little more believable, not to mention relatable, if he occasionally loses a battle along the way. After all, even Superman would fall off his pedestal if Lex Luther or Jimmy Olsen were to walk by him with a pocketful of Kryptonite. Should Boyd bring Vail back in a future novel, which I really hope he does, maybe he could have a hunch or two not pan out the way Vail thinks it's going to or at least give Vail his own version of Kryptonite. Nevertheless, should Boyd choose not to do so, I would still read the next book in a Vail series because, even seemingly infallible, Steven Vail is a lot of fun.

All in all, The Bricklayer is a great read and gets my one-more-chapter seal of approval. If the book sounds like something that you would be interested in reading, you're in luck. Wiredset has provided me with two copies of The Bricklayer to give away to my loyal readers. That's right. I'm finally giving away something that isn't a gecko-shaped neck pillow or bobblehead. Applause for me.


If you would like to enter to win one of the two copies of The Bricklayer and you live in the United States (sorry, Canadian readers), you can do so by one or more of the following methods.

FOR THE GIVEAWAY-IMPAIRED, THAT MEANS YOU CAN DO ONE OF THEM, ALL OF THEM, SOME OF THEM, OR NONE AT ALL. YOU WILL NOT BE DISQUALIFIED FOR FAILING TO ENTER EVERY SINGLE WAY POSSIBLE. I HAVE BEEN TOLD IN THE COMMENTS TO ANOTHER POST THAT SOME PEOPLE THINK YOU HAVE TO DO ALL OF THEM AND THAT IS WHY THEY ARE NOT ENTERING. YOU DO NOT. ENTERING MORE THAN ONCE SIMPLY INCREASES YOUR CHANCES OF WINNING.

1. Leave a comment on this post expressing your desire to win a copy of the book. (1 entry)
2. Follow me on Twitter and leave your Twitter ID in a comment. If you already follow me, leave your ID in a separate comment as well if you want the follow to count as a separate entry. I need the ID to verify the follow. (1 entry)
3. Tweet about the giveaway on Twitter with a link to this post. You can do this twice a day. Please leave a link to each tweet's URL in a separate comment. (2 entries daily)
4. Write a post about the giveaway on your blog and leave the URL to that post in the comments. (2 entries)
5. Follow me on Google Friend Connect and leave your GFC ID in the comment. As with Twitter, if you already follow me that way and want the follow to count as an entry, leave your ID in a separate comment so I can verify the follow. (1 entry)
6. Post my button in your sidebar and leave a link to your blog in a comment. (2 entries)
7. Add Just Bloggled to your blog roll and leave a link to the blog roll in your entry. Again if you have already added me to your blog roll or your sidebar at some time in the past, let me know in a comment. (2 entries)
   

If someone can tell me how I can verify a blog subscription, I will add that as an entry method as well. Right now, short of you posting a screenshot of my blog in your reader on Photobucket and linking to the Photobucket URL in the comments, I don't know how you would do so. Please shoot me an email at justbloggled@yahoo.com if you know another way.

The giveaway is open to U.S. residents only and will end at 11:59 PM EST next Sunday night, February 21, 2010. I will choose two winners using Random.org Monday morning, February 22, and post the winners at that time. Since I will need a way to contact you if you win, please enter your email address in the Disqus email field when you enter the contest. Your email address won't show on this blog. I will be the only one who sees it, and I will only use it if you win. Forty-eight hours seems to be the norm for a reply so if you don't send me your mailing info within 48 hours of me emailing you, I will choose the next runner up.

Good luck, everyone! For the winners, I hope you enjoy the book as much as Bella and I did.


(Yeah, she's a little bloated up from snowballs. She'll pee it out eventually.)

Flat Ass Fridays is Taking a Snow Day

When I woke up this morning, I had my Flat Ass Fridays post all planned out. I was going to title it "Don't Be Tardy to the Party Unless, Of Course, You're Me." The post was going to be about how I'm always late to the party, metaphorically speaking. That is, I'm always the last one to get the latest technological gadget (I still have a cell phone that says Cingular on it, and I have yet to get a Tivo) and the last one to hear about the latest drama going on in the social world (in this case, the Entrecard ghost dropper drama). I was going to try hard to be witty, and I was going to try even harder to get the post up before Oprah. Then this happened:

That's when the little kid in me said, "Screw it," and laughed because I said screw. (Okay, I might have laughed because I used the much more adult synonym, but go with me here.) Since snow is rare in these parts and fluffy snow is even rarer, I decided to play in the snow all day instead of type.

Consequently, what would have been a post about being behind is now a post about my behind throwing snowballs for hours and my dogs gobbling them up.

Here are Bailey and Bella first testing out the snow and trying to decide whether they liked it. Bella loved it right off the bat. Bailey not so much.

When we went in for General Hospital, Bella took her snowball with her and ate it.

While Bailey did what he does best on the upstairs futon.

By the time the show was over, Bella was howling and hitting the door to go back out.

As you can see from the picture below, she may need a 12-step, snowball addiction program soon.

Bailey warmed up to the snow a little.

While I had to literally drag Bella out of it.

I also made two mini snowmen that were soon buried in new snow.

The dogs and I were in and out of the snow for hours. Now we're in, the dogs are snoring, and I'm about to go soak in the tub to warm up. It wasn't a very productive day. I still haven't finished The Bricklayer, found a job, or posted the blog award that I got the other day, but I did have fun playing in the snow. All in all, I say it wasn't too bad of a Friday.

If you didn't take a snow day and did do a Flat Ass Friday post that you'd like to share, I'm still including a MckLinky below. As long as it doesn't snow again, my own post should return next Friday.

(Apparently, my editing skills took a snow day, too. I've had to republish this post for typos five times now.)

Calories Don't Count on Your Birthday, Right?

I'm sitting here right now, feeling like a stuffed pig in the rubber ducky pajamas my sister and nephew got me (they have more give than the jeans I was wearing earlier) and wondering when or if I'm going to have room for dinner in an hour or two. It's okay to feel that way on your birthday, right? And it's totally okay to forget about things like calories, fat grams, and the treadmill in your garage.

Yes, I'm clearly delusional, but I have decided that temporary delusion is the gift that I'm giving myself today.

I guess my sister felt sorry for the whole grandmother situation that I told you about earlier in the week because she included a $20 bill in the birthday card Chandler picked out for me (only a 9-year-old would send you card that moons you when you open it, LOL) and told me to go buy me Applebee's Carside to Go with it. So that's what I did; I spent the entire $20 on food. Thanks to their two for $20 deal, I got a gigantic appetizer (a huge pile of tortilla chips and a bowl of spinach dip), about three meals worth of three-cheese chicken penne pasta, and a steak dinner (steak, garlic mashed potatoes, and veggies).

And no, I did not eat it all, not yet anyway. I did, however, eat chips, dip, and pasta until I was full. (Okay, I ate them until I was a little more than full. Sue me.)

Then once His Majesty got home from school, I put the laptop on the table, turned on Skype, and did the whole birthday cake thing while he and Her Highness watched. I guess when I forgot to take the cardboard off the frozen pizza at Thanksgiving and cooked the pizza and cardboard together, my sister realized that there was no way I could manage to bake a cake on my own. Instead of sticking another $10 in the card for me to buy one, she went on 1800baskets.com and bought me one. Here's a picture of what the cake looks like on the web site:

I think she must have temporarily lost her mind when she did so because she said the cake cost about $50 after shipping. Fifty dollars for a cake. All I could say was, "Holy crap."

Let me tell you, $50 cakes are $50 for a reason. The chocolate icing was so rich my eyes started to water. I had to reload the vanilla ice cream just to get through it. You couldn't possibly eat a big piece of the cake in one sitting. If you did, you would end up in a sugar coma in less than an hour. Seriously, there would be IVs, backless paper gowns, pink bed pans, the whole medical nine yards.

Anyway, now I'm burping the cake and pasta and thinking about when I'll feel like getting to that steak. I know I should get on the treadmill or do something other than just sit here until that time comes, but I just can't do it. It's my birthday. I should do things that I want to do, not things I ought to do, on my birthday, right? That's what I'm telling myself anyway.

That's why, despite the fact that I may start oinking soon, I will continue to sit here in my pajamas, reading the end of The Bricklayer until primetime TV starts, and let the fat and calories go to places that on any other day I would rather not let it go. At some point I'm going to get up and eat even more fat and calories. Then I'm going to sit down and let it go unburned yet again.

Tomorrow I'll exercise. Tomorrow I'll eat better because tomorrow I'll be 34 years and one day old. Today, however, I'm still 34. When you're just 34, calories don't count. I think it might even be a law.

Chocolate cake, ice cream, red meat, and garlic mashed potatoes, here I come!

(By the way, be sure to tune in to tomorrow's post. Assuming I finish The Bricklayer tonight, I will be posting a review of the book and announcing a two-copy giveaway.)

I'll Never Go to Jared, Not Even for a Soap Star: Take a Memo Monday

To: All networks other than CBS

From: A non-fan

Re: Last night's lineup

Believe it or not, not everyone watches or understands football. Therefore, not everyone cares about the Super Bowl. Would it have killed you to show something new last night? I was forced to watch Beverly Hills Chihuahua for the hundredth time. You could have at least aired a new episode of Frank the Entertainer. It's not like its ratings would have suffered. They can't possibly be that great anyway.

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To: All online and community colleges with commercials

From: A two-time degree holder who can read through the BS

Re: Your great job claims

An associate's degree will not get you a good job. A bachelor's degree will not get you a good job. A master's degree will not get you a good job. A doctorate will not get you a good job. The only thing that will get you a good job is being related to the boss, blackmail, or quality time spent on the casting couch. Please stop trying to convince the world otherwise.

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To: Jared

From: Someone who hates Valentine's Day

Re: Your commercials

They suck. In fact, if I had to watch them all year, I would either be in a padded room, or I would be Valentine Veronica, the female serial killer who stalks her prey once they exit a Jared jewelry store. Seriously, if Antonio Sabato, Jr. showed up on my doorstep tomorrow with a ring, a declaration of love, and his mother beside him saying, "He went to Jared," I'd slam the door in both of their faces. Get a new commercial. Get a new advertising firm, but most importantly get a new motto. You might want to do it quickly, too, before even stalkers like this one use the motto:

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To: The light over my kitchen sink

From: The lady who installed you

Re: Your poor timing

You've had all week to blow. Why did you weight to Super Bowl weekend to do so? Did the smoke detector tell you to do it? I know how it likes to wait until 2 a.m. to tell me its battery is dead. Are you in some kind of kitchen conspiracy? If so, I'd like you to get out of it. I don't particular like climbing on the sink to change you.

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To: Two spoiled-rotten canine brats

From: Mommy

Re: The object of your obsession

What part of "I'm out of joint chews, and I'm not going to Walmart on Super Bowl weekend to get more" did you fail to understand yesterday and Saturday? Your constant pacing of the kitchen and whining at the empty bag on the counter made me nuts. Believe it or not, there are poor doggies all over the world who don't get food, let alone joint treats. You should consider yourselves lucky that you get them at all. Now take one and leave me alone.

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To: Whoever tried to fix the stop sign across the street

From: The lady who kind of slept through it getting hit

Re: Your wasted efforts

The stop sign didn't stay. It fell over a couple of hours after you stuck it in the ground. Quite frankly, I don't think it's going to stay until the county comes and cements it into the ground. Consequently, I wouldn't bother wasting any more of your time messing with it. Chances are the speeding, drunk idiot who hit it the first time, made it fly into the driveway next to me in the middle of the night, and then left the scene will just get drunk and hit it again. Maybe I'll manage to put on my glasses and see who it is next time.

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To: All members of my family

From: An irritated, almost 34-year-old woman

Re: Home

Please stop asking me when I'm coming home. I have a home. It's the house that I have lived in and paid the mortgage on for the last six years. It will continue to be my home until a meteor strikes it; it gets blown up, burnt down, or beamed up by aliens; or the sheriff kicks me out of it. Six years of ownership and almost 34 years on this earth ought to be enough for you to consider it, not two houses that I have never lived in, my home. In other words, shut up, delete me from your speed dial, and never call me again.

The Sunday Vent

Wednesday I'll turn 34. I guess that officially makes me mid-30's or one year from it.

As if that weren't bad enough, this is the first year that I won't have anyone to celebrate it with. In the past, whether I was here, in college, or in law school, my mother would always visit me on my birthday or on the weekend before or after it. We'd go out to eat, usually for a steak dinner. Afterward she would buy me a cake and give me a present. The last few years, my nephew would usually come with her, and we'd spend the weekend playing video games or going to the zoo or the aquarium.

In contrast, this year if I want a cake, I'll have to buy it myself. If I want a steak, I'll have to buy and cook it myself. As for gifts, I guess I won't have to buy them per se. My sister had me text her my mailing address last night so I assume that means I'm getting something from her and His Majesty, even if it's just a card, but I'm not going to hold my breath on getting anything from anyone else. My father has a long history of forgetting my birthday, even though it's three days before his own and four days before Valentine's Day. He always has some excuse for why he does so--he's bad with dates, he got mine confused with someone else's, his mother isn't here to tell him the correct date, and so and so forth--but in my opinion there really isn't a valid excuse for forgetting your child's birthday. You're just a bad parent.

Then there's my grandmother. It's not even Wednesday yet, and she has already managed to ruin the day for me. She called a few hours ago to ask me if I wanted her to take me out to eat for my birthday. She was using that syrupy sweet, fake voice that she uses when she's in one of her up moods, the ones that sends me into sugar shock and makes me want to hurl my last three meals all over the phone. Of course, the invitation came with a caveat or two. Invitations from my grandmother always do. First, she couldn't actually take me out on my birthday. The only day she and her cousin Leila, who she has been staying with Atlanta, could take me is tomorrow. Second, I had to come to them. They couldn't come to me.

In other words, once again the world has to revolve around my grandmother. Birthdays? Nah, they're never about the person who's celebrating another year on the planet. No, they're about her. Just ask me about the time she pitched a fit because no one wanted to leave Chandler's second birthday party to take her to the salon to get her roots done or how she pitched an equally big fit during his first birthday because the child dared to stick his fingers in the icing. Deaths? Nope. Once again they're about her, too. That's why she pitched yet another fit when Her Highness and I refused to reschedule Mama's viewing to fit around her Sunday school class's dinner. Hospitalizations? Yep, they're all about her, too, even when she's not the patient. Hell, I spent six weeks in the hospital in high school with antibiotic-associated colitis. Do you think those six weeks were about me or whether I almost died? Hell, no. They were about poor, pitiful Chain-Smoking Granny and the "pain" she must have been going through, or so said everyone who came to my hospital room.

Sense a pattern here?

I do. It is why I'm sitting here, a few days shy of my 34th birthday, furious as all get out. In my opinion, since it is my birthday or will be, I should be the one who is catered to and not the one who does the catering. However, in my grandmother's opinion, the only person who can ever be catered to is her. She is the sun, and everyone else in the family, if the not the world, is a planet. In her mind, she's essentially doing me a favor by asking me to cater to her needs and her time schedule since she's such a great person to be around. She's even better than Oprah and Mother Teresa. It's a gift just to be in her presence.

That's why she expects me to shell out $40 or so on gas to fill up my tank and drive in what will most likely be rush hour traffic tomorrow, given her propensity to sleep until 3 p.m. every day, to the other side of Atlanta, just so she can spend $10 tops on me for dinner, assuming she pays at all. You see, my grandmother has this tendency to offer to take someone out for dinner and then conveniently forget her debit or credit card when it comes time to pay the bill. She did that to my mother more times than I can count. I'll be damned if she's doing it to me, which is what I told her on the phone.

My grandmother, in turn, called both me and my dead mother a liar. That never happened. She has never intentionally left forgotten her debit or credit card. She has never forced someone else to the pay the bill. She has never done anything wrong in her entire life.

Excuse my language, but bull freakin' shit.

(Sorry, it's horse feces. I couldn't find a picture of the bull variety.)

Then she started in on how my mother took all her money so if she did stick her with the bill, there was a reason. That's when I hung up on her. My mother did not--I repeat did not--take her money. That would be the one-legged con artist half my grandmother's age who my grandmother had living with her and sharing her bed a few years ago. He was the one who convinced her to buy him houses, clothes, jewelry, and a new car. He was the one who took out credit cards in her name without her permission or knowledge. He was the one who became a cosigner on all of her accounts. He was the one shuffling money around from one account to another to cover his tracks, and he was the one who cleaned out my great-grandmother's bank account and pill drawer five minutes after she supposedly died of natural causes. Him, not my mother.

Yes, my mother may have had to borrow money a couple of times, but how about all the money my grandmother "borrowed" from her? That is, how many times did she ask my mother to pick her up some groceries and never pay her back? Uh, every night. His Majesty and I both can attest to that fact, since Chandler was usually in the car when it happened and my mother usually called me on the way the store to rant about it. How many times did she ask my mom to buy her cigarettes or a $7 salad from Zaxby's and never pay her back? Again almost every single night. It's what she's doing to my sister now. How many times did she reimburse my mother for the gas it took to go all of those places, in a SUV nonetheless, or for all the times my mother had to take off of work to run her errands, pay her bills, or take her to the beauty shop or doctor? I don't know. How many times has hell frozen over this last year?

I would love to get an accountant in there and go through her and my mom's respective checkbooks. I would love for him or her to see who owed whom money. I guarantee you that it would be my grandmother owing my mother and not the other way around. Of course, my grandmother would just say the accountant was lying and even figure out a way to blame the accountant for her money woes, the way she did the bank when the con artist was stealing her money.

So anyway, to make this vent a little shorter, I'm not going to hold my breath on getting a thing from my grandmother either this year. I'd rather starve than eat dinner with her or call her back. Meanwhile, those birdhouses that I'm painting for her birthday and the trays I'm still working on from last year's birthday may very well go up on eBay before they make it into her mailbox. I'm not wasting another penny on her to mail them.

I'm just sick of this crap. I'm sick of every birthday and every holiday having to be a stressful event. I'm tired of the world always revolving around my family and never around me. I'm sick of never being able to look forward to something. Instead, all I can ever do is look forward to that something being over. I'm sick of the big egos, the mood swings, and the overall dysfunction. I want out.

That's right. I want out of my family. If someone can't give me a divorce from my family or a new identity for my birthday, then I'm just going to stay 33 for another year. I refuse to be mid-30's and related to them.

They May Be Stopped Up, But They Work Better Than a Weather Vane

The rain has not gone away. Neither has my sinus headache. Therefore, I am making today's Flat Ass Friday flaw my moody sinuses. Sometimes they like me. Sometimes they hate me, and sometimes like today I'm pretty sure they are trying to kill me.

I will admit that having moody sinuses definitely sucks sometimes, like when they cause your nose to bleed in the middle of court or when their drainage causes your voice to sound like a cross between the teacher from Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Kermit the Frog. Nevertheless, there are some benefits to having them.

Top Ten Benefits of Having Moody Sinuses

1. I never need the weatherman to tell me if rain is on the way.
2. I am single-handedly keeping the antihistamine companies in business during the recession.
3. I save money on electricity ever time I have to turn off the lights to keep a sinus headache from progressing to vomiting.
   
4. I can totally sympathize with my super-allergic dog.
5. I can also sympathize with that horror movie villain who had all the pins in his face. No wonder he went on a killing spree. The antihistamines and pain killers weren't working.
   
6. If the sinus pain is bad enough, I don't even pay attention to my kidney stones and menstrual cramps.
   
7. Late night last night? Just stand next to me. Your dark circles will pale in comparison to my allergy shiners.
8. Let a secret slip? Don't worry about it. Chances are my ears are so stopped up, I didn't hear it anyway.
9. Need a Benadryl, Claritin, or Tylenol? No need to pull out your wallet or to find the nearest drug store. I can give you one.
10. Need a good laugh? Just watch me try to walk a straight line when my sinuses are clogged at maximum capacity or I'm doped up on antihistamines.

I won't be walking any straight lines today or trying to drive them, but I may attempt an anti-rain dance. I miss the sun and the ability to smell.

Thursday Thunks, Happy 101, and Top Droppers

This post is going to be a long one, folks. I decided to multitask and do three things at once--answer the Thursday Thunks prompt, pass on a blog award, and post January's top Entrecard droppers. Sorry, but my head hurts so much from today's rain that I don't have the energy to do it in three different posts.

First, let's get to the always random yet always entertaining Thursday Thunks prompt.


Today's Thursday Thunks is brought to you by Kimber, the color of doom, and the number 999, whatever that means.

1. You walk into a room. Someone turns, looks at you, and laughs. What do you do? I give them the evil eye, leave the room, go directly to my computer, and overnight a voodoo doll in his or her image. A little super glue on that doll's mouth, and the person won't be laughing for long.
2. You find an egg, take it home, and keep it warm. It hatches. What type of dinosaur is it? Do you keep it and name it? It's a brontosaurus. I name her Emily Bronto, move us to Hollywood, and get her the lead in Jurassic Park 4: The Dinos Strike Back.
3. Which superhero would you want to be related to and why? Batman. I'd get to live in Wayne Manor, which means I could say good bye to my annoying neighbors. I'd have a butler who can cook, which means no more close-calls in the kitchen for me. If I couldn't find a job in Gotham on my own, I could always hit up Uncle Bruce for a job at Wayne Enterprises or Vicki Vale for a job with The Gotham Times. If the Redneck Mobile's battery goes dead again, I wouldn't have to worry about public transportation. I could just borrow the Batmobile. Finally, if we're going with the 1990's Batman, Chris O'Donnell would be just down the hall. The adult Boy Wonder (Nightwing?) and I could be superheroes with benefits.
4. A drunken sailor comes up to you on the pier. He begins harassing you in a most repulsive way. What will be your defense? Bad lawyer jokes.
5. Entering a CLASS A piano bar, you're encouraged to sing atop the grand instrument. You grab the microphone and sing...100 Bottles of Beer on a Wall because I'd need that many beers to get up there and because you'd need that many beers to listen to me.
6. If you were a character in a Dr. Seuss book/movie, who would you be and why? The Grinch. I could steal Christmas and therefore not have to stress out over what to get my sister this year.
7. If you have just been called to be a substitute in the Winter Olympics for your country (apparently everyone else was busy), what sport(s) will you compete in? Olympic hot tubbing. I hate the cold.
8. Did the audience from the piano bar in question #5 applaud when you were done with your song? Yes, but only because the torture was over.
   

Be sure to check out the other answers to Thursday Thunks by clicking on the links here: We're Not Laughing at You, We're Laughing with You. I'll be checking them out tomorrow, assuming this headache ever goes away.

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Now onto the blog award. Last week Sandbox Gems gave me the Happy 101 Blog Award. Thanks, Sandbox Gems, for thinking of me!

As usual, it has taken me forever to get the award posted. The rules require you to come up with 10 things that make you happy, as well as 10 blogs or bloggers that make you happy to pass the award on to. I was trying to come up with 10 things that I haven't mentioned before. I came up with nine, or at least I think I did. The tenth you could probably already guess. (Here's a hint. They like to piss on my carpet.)

Ten Things That Make Me Happy

1. My dogs. Their health issues may stress me out, but watching them chase each other around the house after a bath or when they have a bone, snuggle next to each other when one of them is sick or tired, or jump in my lap and lick my face when I'm in a bad mood is well worth the stress.
2. Milk Duds. All the taste of a candy bar when you're PMS'ing with only a fraction of the fat, unless, of course, you eat the entire box like I did the other day.
3. A good whodunit. I like a mystery that keeps me guessing until the last chapter of the book or the last five minutes of the show or movie. I don't want to figure out the identity of the killer/rapist/robber/all around bad guy before the opening credits have run or before I have finished reading the first chapter. Instead, I want surprises, twists, puzzles, and red herrings throughout the entire story. Those are the things that make me happy. A predictable villain or storyline...not so much.
   
4. The John Hughes movies of the 80's. Jake Ryan, Ferris Bueller, and the members of the Breakfast Club never grow old. Never.
   
5. The Legend of Billie Jean. Another movie that never grows old. "Fair is fair." The Pat Benatar theme song. Supergirl chopping off all her hair. My sister thinks I'm a freak for watching it every time it comes on. Maybe that's the real reason it makes me happy because it doesn't make her. Christian Slater being in it doesn't hurt either.
6. Heathers. So maybe it's a little creepy that a movie about murder and suicide makes me happy, but the movie always makes me laugh. I laugh at the dialogue. I laugh at the Heathers' color-coordinated tights, blazers, and scrunchies. I laugh at the strip croquet scene and at the mere mention of cornnuts. I laugh when Winona Ryder shoots off Christian Slater's middle finger. I laugh at the fact that a movie would even name a character Martha Dumptruck or two former friends Betty and Veronica. (Where are Archie and Jughead when a black comedy needs them?) I laugh at it all.
   
7. Steven Tyler as the lead singer of Aerosmith. I refuse to even consider Billy Idol or Lenny Kravitz taking over the role. If Steven Tyler goes, I'll help Janie get her gun.
   
8. USA Originals. Psych. Burn Notice. White Collar. In Plain Sight. Monk. They very rarely fail to entertain me, even on rerun. I can't always say that about regular network shows.
   
9. Color. I have to have it around me. I can't live in all beige world. It's far too depressing.
10. A good hair day. This one doesn't need an explanation. Good hair never does.
    

Comments also make me happy. They're proof that I'm not the only one who reads this blog. Therefore, I'm going to pass on the Happy 101 Blog Award to the 10 bloggers who commented on the most posts during the month of January and who therefore made me happy.

Gregory Sherbine at Living My Life, Whatever
Ausetkmt at Mama Asid's Entrepod, Recycled Frockery, Bad Gals Radio, and A Bad Gal Says
Marilyn at A Lot of Loves
Buggys at Cute as a Buggy
SLColman at The Dairy Free Diva and From Huskies to Husbands
Harini at My Hunky Dory World
Blue Violet at A Nut in a Nutshell
Vicki at Frugal Mom Knows Best
One of the Guys from The Guys' Perspective
Roschelle at Inconsequential Logic

Congrats to all the winners, and thanks for continuing to comment on my posts. Don't forget the following rules as you pass on the award:

• Copy the award pic and add it to your post.
• List 10 things that make you happy.
• Tag 10 bloggers who brighten your day and notify them of their win.
• Link back to the blogger who gave you the award in your post.
• Link to the new award winners.
  

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Now for the January Entrecard Top Droppers

CAP News
Hugz Before You Go
Cute as a Buggy
The Way I See It
Tips & Treasures
NewYorkTraveler.net
Freaky Frugalite
Mrs. Mecomber's Scrapbook
Mahogany Made
The Dairy-Free Diva

Thanks for dropping!