I leave for San Antonio in four days. I have piles of laundry to wash, fold, and put away. I have many broken things in the house that need to be fixed. I have to clean my desk and make a few phone calls. I need to design and put up a bulletin board for Moose’s class door this week, but I’m not getting cooperation from the other mothers. I don’t want to do any of it. I’m sick of the household chores. I’m sick of my kids and the lying slobs that they are. I just want to sit and read the papers, catch up on the dozen magazines that pile up each week, and have someone else take care of all the crap.
What have I been doing instead of my chores? Playing Ticket To Ride online and blogging.
Okay, okay. I’m going to sort my laundry now. See? Whites, darks, colors.
I really wish I were . . .
Wastin away again in margaritaville,
Searching for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame,
But I know it’s my own damn fault.
I’m that woman, and it’s my own damn fault.
I don’t go to many concerts. Getting tickets for them is such a pain, or they’re expensive. I decided I would fork over the nearly $100/ticket to see Elton John at our local arena. I was ready and waiting on my computer and my phone at 10:00 a.m. today to get tickets. I dialed over and over again, only to get a busy signal. I got all the way to seat selection twice on my computer and snagged 4 on the floor. I went to check out and purchase my tickets, and the system balked. I couldn’t go any further or pay for my seats. I am so pissed. I really wanted to see this concert.
I HATE TICKETMASTER!!! They never have enough phone lines or operators here in the area. They never have enough bandwidth devoted to their servers. They just suck, and I wish the arena would just sell their own damn tickets. Now, if I really want those tickets, I’ll have to go through a ticketbroker. I have a friend who is in that business, but I don’t know if he’ll cut me a break. I doubt it.
Goodbye, Sir Reginald. I guess I was lucky to see you at Penn State when I had the chance.
My baby lost his first tooth yesterday. One of Moose’s lower front incisors had been wiggly for a long time, and he was anxious for it to come out. Moose liked to wiggle it, but he carefully obeyed his dentist’s instructions not to pull it out. It fell out at school. The school nurse gave him a cute, little, white tooth container to hold his precious prize.
When I picked him up at school that afternoon, he flew across the playground right into my arms.
“Mommy, look!” he exclaimed. He thrust out his lower jaw, and there was a hole right in front.
“That’s amazing! You lost your tooth!” I replied as I gave him a giant hug.
From the files of the fun, but excruciatingly correct, Doc Thelma comes The It’s Its There Their They’re Quiz. I am extremely pleased to have earned a perfect score. Anything else would have been shameful because grammatical and syntactical errors drive me up a wall. My apologies to the real Grammar Girl.
|You Scored an A
You got 10/10 questions correct.It’s pretty obvious that you don’t make basic grammatical errors.
If anything, you’re annoyed when people make simple mistakes on their blogs. As far as people with bad grammar go, you know they’re only human. And it’s humanity and its current condition that truly disturb you sometimes.
The It’s Its There Their They’re Quiz
I drive a $35,000 piece of crap. It’s a 2002 Chrysler Town and Country Limited minivan, and it’s crap. In the nearly six years I have owned this car, I have had major work done on the air conditioning, the transmission, and the body (from a minor accident). Now I have a huge rusted spot on my hood where the paint has completely peeled away. The paint is peeling badly in another spot on the hood. My car looks like it comes from the ‘hood. What’s more, the local Chrysler dealer is crap, and they have been crap since the first day I walked in there six years ago.
We fasted from Friday evening to Saturday evening in observance of Yom Kippur. Instead of going to the very last service, we decided to break-the-fast according to our usual schedule (6:00P to 6:00P). Completely breaking with tradition, we drove up to our favorite Southern food restaurant, Flora and Ella’s, in Labelle, Florida. We were so famished by the time we got there that we ordered waaaaay too much food. WineGuy and I had their fabulous fried chicken. He had fried okra (blech!) and corn nuggets with his; I had mashed potatoes and coleslaw with mine. Wizard’s myopic eyes were much larger than his stomach. He ordered fried green tomatoes, a large bowl of Hoppin’ John (ground beef, black-eyed peas, rice, onions), and chicken pot pie, his all-time favorite food. Moose insisted on eating an entire order of fried green tomatoes, himself, before his chicken pot pie ever arrived. Of course, we were all so thirsty, that we drank gallons before the food ever came.
When our entrées arrived, Wizard was looking a little green. He pushed the pot pie away. Moose took three bites of his pot pie and declared, “I’m full’. Meanwhile, my skinny kid, Wild Thing, was slowly devouring everything on the table. He was The Very Hungry Caterpillar. WT ate:
- half a chicken pot pie
- half a large bowl of Hoppin’ John
- one biscuit with butter and honey
- three fried green tomatoes
- four chicken nuggets
- a whole plate of french fries,
- several glasses of lemonade, and
- several pieces of homemade fudge: peanut butter-chocolate, chocolate-mint, chewy praline
Hands down, this is the best work of fiction I have read in a long time. It’s intelligent, articulate, historically accurate, sentimental, and elegantly written. Loving Frank is a portrait of Mamah Borthwick Cheney and Frank Lloyd Wright. Mamah began as a client of Wright’s and eventually became his muse. This novel is the story of what lay between: betrayal of two families in the name of true love; the rise of Modernism and feminism in Germany and Europe; how both movements affected Mamah and Frank; and, in turn how that shaped his vision and influenced his craft for the rest of his career
This novel is about Mamah and less so about Frank. Mamah is a woman at odds with the restrictions of the early 20th Century. She pursued her own intellectual interests and her love for Frank at great personal cost. The conclusion of the book is tragic and unnerving but a clear window into the sheer force that was Frank Lloyd Wright.