Friday, September 28, 2007

I am woman...and I've been given a right to vote.

Anyone else think it's amazing that a wife can have a different opinion than her husband?



I'm not talking politics here. I don't give a flip about Democrat vs. Republican in this post. I have no opinion on the subject of Hillary's question in this debate. Hell, I have no opinion on Hillary as a presidential candidate.

What gets me about this is that no man on the panel would have been given his wife's public opinion on their debate questions as smug justification that their answer isn't valid, even if their wife was in politics.

I thought we were done with the times where a wife was told not to worry her pretty little head about such things. Cook me a pot pie. Go ask what's upsetting The Beav.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

360 easy payments of $535

Did you happen to catch CBS Evening News with Katie Couric yesterday? Fine, I'm the only one that watches. Nevermind. I have a beef with what I saw. Not bullion cubes but full cow.

Let me quote the first two paragraphs in yesterday's story, Graduating Into Debt.

For accountant Alex Guzzetta, not a day goes by when he doesn't think about these numbers: $90,000 in student loan debt, $20,000 owed to the federal government and $70,000 to a private lender.

“A third of every hour I work is basically just going towards just maintaining the interest on my student loans. I'm not getting anywhere, they're not getting any lower. I'm just buying time,” he tells CBS News correspondent Kelly Wallace.


Uh...accountant? What the hell is wrong with this picture?

I had a long diatribe ready on college for the Pokemon generation but it's giving me heartburn. I'll get to the point of it. Is shucking your buns through college not an option anymore? Are we bypassing more affordable state schools in favor of a brand name on a diploma, relying on that to say what we are much like the brand name on a pair of jeans? Is a brand name on a diploma all the more proof that you've gotten an education than actually opening a book and studying no matter where you go? Is learning on easy credit terms really learning?

Le sigh...

What's just as bad is that our post-grad accountant doesn't realize he's news-storied himself out of work. I'd gouge a pencil in my eye before I'd let him touch my meager accounts.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

It's about your vagina too...unless you haven't got a vagina.

By far the most out-clicked link on my blogroll is All About My Vagina.

I'm not going to write about vaginas today, I'm just pointing that out.

Naughty, naughty.

Monday, September 24, 2007

I'll buy you a green dress...no, that's cruel.

There are times in my life where I find something compelling and moving and so I'm called into action.

What's moved me this time? Confessions of a Prairie Bitch. The action? I asked Nellie Oleson to be my Myspace friend. She is just that awesome.


Haven't we all encountered our own Nellie Oleson's growing up? I had one in elementary school and another in the upper grades.

Elementary Nellie shared a physical trait with Little House Nellie, in that they sported a similar hairstyle with the exception that Little House Nellie's was a wig. I disliked Elementary Nellie because she kept trying to buy off my puppy love crush with real crayola markers. How could I compete with that?

High School Nellie was a whole different sort of nasty. I would like to think that puberty had something to do with her behavior but we all know that nasty is nasty, hormones or not. She directed several different methods of torment toward me from 7th grade up until the day I'd tired of it.

I loved this dress. It's 1991, I'm in 10th grade and I am in complete love with my jolly green giant dress. I put the dress on and I felt confident, pretty, sexy, powerful. A definite bargain for nine dollars. (The red notation reads, "highschool boyfriend"...couldn't edit out the wrist corsage either.)

High School Nellie disliked my dress. The dress could have been thousand dollar couture and she would have found something biting to say about my dress. What she said, as I walked down the highschool hallway wearing it, wasn't the worst of the things she'd said to me since 7th grade, but it was enough.

The power of green cotton knit compelled me. I walked up to her, my eyes never leaving hers the whole time. I got within an inch of her nose, then looked her pudgy body slowly up and down, met her eyeball to eyeball again and said, "At least I can wear it." I didn't let up on my stare until she backed off.

No, it's wasn't right to say something about her body, but stick a fork in me, I was done. It was an achilles heal that I was more than willing to pierce with an arrow at that point.

She never bothered me again. I took all the fun out of it. I wore that green dress a lot.

Later in life I'd come to the understanding that her parents, even though very well off and generous with their gifts to her, neglected her horribly. Little House Nellie outgrew her nastiness...I wonder if High School Nellie ever did.

Friday, September 21, 2007

Stamped and Approved

I once had a soulful and spiritual accounting professor. You read that right, a soulful, spiritual accounting professor. He was definitely one of my favorite teachers out of my college career. He was fond of posting a profound quote on the chalkboard, every class, before we got to the dirty work of preparing statements. He was cleansing our cranial palates.

One morning he posted a quote that read something along the lines that people shouldn't be putting their faith into institutions, lest they find themselves disappointed (...I have googled all morning and I cannot find it exactly).

I asked the professor, being one of the few married students in the class, that if marriage is an institution, should I not have faith in my marriage? It was my habit to sit in the front row of all of my classes and that made any of my questions difficult to ignore. That's why I got A's people.

He smiled and replied, "Have faith in your husband."

That was one of many lessons I've had over the years that marriage is not it's own separate entity. It's a private entity, it's an individual entity. It is not in itself the cause of happiness or despair. Like water, it only takes on the shape of the container it's in.

Throughout the years of my many interactions on the interwebs with people from all walks of life I was again recently presented with the ever pervasive notion that marriage is just a piece of paper and therefore it doesn't mean a thing. That, if they avoid marriage, they will also avoid a painful future. Why get married when the divorce rate is that mythical 50%?

The piece of paper argument bothers me. It's wussy. Hell, I don't care if you get married, or don't get married, just don't tell me that marriage is an institution beyond your responsibility or input. You aren't marrying marriage. You are marrying a real live person with individual interests, goals, values, habits and history. You are marrying a person who will fart in bed and gleefully pull the sheet over your head.

Pieces of paper? Yeah, I don't need those either! You can have the twenty dollar bill in my wallet, don't mean nothin'. Have the credit cards too. Take the deed to my house and my car. Birth certificate? Take it. Here are my bank statements and bills and checkbook and W-2s. Have my coupons. Take the library card and the card that guarantees my kid a free cookie every time we visit the bakery in the grocery store too. All pieces of paper that I shouldn't need!

We live our lives by media. We thrive in mounds of paper that grant us stuff. Don't single out one piece of paper and declare it meaningless out of questionable self serving motivations...at least not while you have a wallet in your purse or back pocket.

Wait, give me that cookie paper back. I really do need that!

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Five Stars

I received a visit last week from a person, whom I assume was of the male persuasion, wondering where he could go to rate his wife.

I'll give her a B+. She has a good beat and I can dance to it.

I hadn't thought of providing a wife rating service before. The glass half full part of me wants to determine "How completely and totally wonderful is my wife?" and the glass half empty part leans toward "How big of a skanky hag did I end up marrying?" The part of me that has no glass at all says, "Screw society, I'm going to go live alone in a cave and eat twigs and talk back to my own farts."

This is not to ignore the idea that this alleged man wanted to rate his wife physically. I'm sure he did. She probably is a lovely woman with a great personality. Who wouldn't want to stroke their ego be complimented for bagging that fine piece of ACE the good fortune of falling in love with such a beauty?

Perhaps he wants to rate his wife's bowstaff skillz?

I think the two highest scoring factors in rating one's wife is that she is:

A) Female.
and
B) Not made out of plastic.

All the rest is subjective. There is even some give and take when it comes to that plastic thing.

Four out of five dentists recommended me to my husband.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Got a receipt for that?

Ahhhhh...

My Halloween season for my business has officially begun. I've had my first Ebay disgruntled customer for the year.

She claims I sent her an empty package. Sure, I'm absent minded, but golly gee, I'm not stupid. The packaging I sent her item in is way floppy unless it has the item inside of it. Floppiness never escapes my notice! Besides, I've sent so many of this product over the years (in envelopes as big as 1977 microwaves) that the mail carriers at my post office, who know me and see me most every day in this very small town, would probably call my house and ask if I forgot something.

It's a possibility that her package could have been opened en route and her item was taken. Who votes for that scenario? Raise your hands! Unfortunately I cannot prove that she didn't receive an empty package so I'm stuck.

I have two options. I can refund her money or I can send her a replacement. (I know, you're thinking about the third option of emailing her and telling her to kindly shove it. Ebay dislikes it when you do that.) I'm leaning toward refund. She didn't spend enough that paying her off is going to hurt. I'm not going to get replacement product for another week besides. And I don't wanna send her anothern dammit!

I'm only giving her the benefit of the doubt at this point because even though she hasn't got much feedback, it's all good feedback. After I refund, I'm a gonna block her.

I love Ebay. I love Ebay. Sigh. I love Ebay.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Crispy

You've read the descriptions of how much a stay at home mother should be making in a year for the services she provides. You know, 1300 bucks for cooking meals, 800 bucks for kissing boo-boos, stuff like that.


How much for at home Hazmat? I'm going in to clean my 13 year old son's room. The fumes have reached the proper shade of green today.

It was nice knowin' ya'll.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Up Where We Belong

I received an interesting email a few days ago which I read and then deleted without response. The more I think about it the more I think that this anonymous comment on my life needs commenting on.

Since I don't have that nifty email anymore, I'll summarize. It asks why my blog doesn't have more photos of my husband and me together, or funny marital exchanges. Why don't I declare my love for all to see via tickers, or links to Flickr albums, or even links to everything my husband does? This is a housewife blog, isn't it?

If I posted a sparkling MySpace style GIF, would you feel better?


I wuv you schnookums!

Not that I don't appreciate my reader's more porcine qualities, but parading about what connects my husband and me in marriage is putting pearls before swine. Pork chops taste good. Bacon tastes good.

The email insinuated that I'm hiding some sort of truth about marital boredom or that we never have marital discord. We've been married fourteen years. Ya gotta be kiddin'.

There is a difference between hidden and private. Any casual porn peruser on the interwebs can tell you this! (Do not send me your favorite links, mmmkay? I don't need to know about your hot pink latex fetishes.) It's not that I keep these things out of my blog out of some sort of concern over staying annonymous, but out of concern that putting it out there for everyone will make what we've built less valuable to us. What we are together isn't ever going to be stamped with a UPC code and marketed for public consumption or comment.

Do we fight? Yup. Do we have differences that probably aren't going to be resolved? Yup. Do we tolerate and appreciate that? Yup. Are we happy? Yup. Has my husband ever showed up at the factory and carried me off in his arms while wearing a pristine white uniform? No, thank god, no.

Frankly, I'd rather post a twinkling photo of myself on the commode with a wad of toilet paper in my hands. (Do not send me links of this either, mmmkay?) I post about my husband and our marriage just enough. Don't be a little Oliver Twist about it.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

I'd you profen

Would anyone like a headache? I've got one and I'm willing to give it to anyone who wants it free of charge.

This headache came on suddenly, as "that time of the month" headaches are prone to do. I guess I've got no takers on my period either.

Fine, I'll keep all this joy to myself.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Feed Dogs

I've been told that today has been named Sewing Machine Day.

I don't think that's why the highschool football team put an American flag in my front yard this morning, but I can roll with this.

So, what's your most favoritest sewing machine? (If your answer is yours truly then you'd be correct.) Currently I'm salivating over a new Pfaff. It sews, it embroiders, it changes your baby's diapers. It was unveiled last week and it's so new they haven't even put a price tag on it yet.

I'd pay five bucks for the thing. Maybe ten. I'll put twenty down on it if promises to potty train my kid.

Have I ever mentioned that I like sewing? I like sewing! It's been a long time since I've machine sewn over my fingers so I must be pretty good at it. Once I cut off the tip of one of my fingers with a rotary cutter. It grew back, despite my bionic woman fantasies.

My most recent project is a Nudie Suit for my nephew for Halloween.

A Nudie Suit does not look like this:


But rather, it's this Hollywood-ized backwoods glamour, named after the designer, Nudie Cohn aka The Rhinestone Tailor:


That's Porter Wagoner's suit, if you're asking. Porter never wore fig leaves while performing as far as I know. This suit makes me salivate in degrees that are downright geyser like. I am water in the desert. I am sequins in the sun!

I'd like to wish all my readers and other hangers on a pleasant Sewing Machine Day. May your tensions always be set properly and your bobbin always be full.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Becky's Bedhoppers

I'm not usually of a worrisome nature. Sometimes I take a Scarlett O'Hara approach to the concerns of the world. However, I find I can't ignore this particular worry any longer.

If Drew Carey is going to host "The Price Is Right" will the models continue to be "Barker's Beauties" or will they get a new moniker?

I know, you were worried about the exact same thing...

The name that comes to the forefront in my mind, if we excuse a few variations on two crude four letter words, is "Carey's Cuties". It's not PC, but hey, it's got alliteration.

What would the models be named if Rosie O'Donnell had gotten the hosting gig? Rosie's Posies? O'Donnell's Doll's? O'Donnell's O'Dommes?

Of course we can't limit our naming possibilities to Drew Carey and Rosie. I'm sure many other celebrities and talk show types were considered as well.

  • Bill Clinton's got charisma. Bill's Fillies.
  • Star Jones ain't been on TV for a while. Star's Harlots.
  • Mario Lopez won't do "Circus of the Stars". Lopez's Dispensers.
  • Since the Geico Caveman got a sitcom, the Gecko is jealous. Gecko's Lot Lizards.
  • There just isn't enough Oprah. Winfrey's Self Actualized and Strong Women (who are modeling because they choose to and do not feel objectified or demeaned in any way).


...Don't let me start in on Dick Van Dyke or Englebert Humperdinck.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Nap Interrupted

Being so full of snot, I didn't sleep very well last night. That's why, during my bath just moments ago, I fell asleep in the warm water.

The crash of thunder woke me. When a lightning storm is striking right over your house it's a bad idea to stay sleeping in the bathtub...

...and now it's hailing. Awesome.









....and yes, I'm naked.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Spiced snot and ham.

I can't think.

My brain is packed with snot much like a can of Spam is packed in that nasty jelly stuff. Two weeks into the school year and already the first head cold has descended upon my house.

At this point you could open my skull with a rusty can opener and enjoy my brain on a Ritz.

While I go huff mentholatum fumes, why don't you take a gander at Spam.com? (Thank the powers that be that internet doesn't come with scents.)

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