Alternate theory of my life, V1.

Over the past 15 years or so, I have watched enough of the Sci-Fi Channel with Hubby that I can now speak intelligently about alternate time lines, disruptions of the Space Time Continuum, and the Butterfly Effect to hold my own in a group of Trekkie's. I mean, I don't have Spock ears or anything, for God's sake, but I'm pretty well versed. (Ok, I really do have Spock ears, but I don't WEAR them or anything. Very often.)

And it made me wonder...

What would my life be like now if, oh, say I'd married my high school sweetheart?

Let me give you a little background on... for the purposes of this post, let's call him Stud Muffin. See, Stud Muffin and I started "going together" at the tender age of 13, and we dated all through high school, and even into my first year of college. Stud Muffin had some things going for him. He was really, really hot. I mean, really hot. He was tall, and dark, and ripped, and he had a mullet that could melt butter. It was lust at first sight. And he always has some classic car or other in the works. Old souped up Novas and Chevelles were our typical date cars. But there were a few issues, shall we say. For one, he wasn't very smart. Not just "I'm having a hard time getting the answer to this algebra equation" not smart, but more like "I'm going to have to go to the class with the boy who drools and throws shit and humps the teacher" not smart. For two, his main ambition in life was to someday own his own junkyard, just like his big brother. It's like the redneck American Dream or something.

To say that Stud Muffin and I had little in common would be something of an understatement. However, we did manage to date for six years, which is longer than Hubby and I stayed married the first time. Go figure.

But I digress. I'm here to talk about what my life would have been like had I married Stud Muffin.

I can only imagine that he would have realized his lifelong dream of being the youngest junkyard owner in the tricounty area. We would have pulled our like-new double wide (only the best for his woman) near the property, in order to defend the 'Yard from would-be looters. I hear tell that a catalytic converter brings a pretty penny on the black market, and a man's got a right to defend what's HIS, by God.


My double wide would be painstakingly decorated with lace covered teddy bears, which would have all been crafted with love by Stud Muffin's Momma, who, by the way, would pull her somewhat smaller but no less stylishly appointed single wide into our back yard.

The babies would have come quickly and often, and would have been named nice biblical names like Luke, and Jacob, and Adam, and Michael, and Timothy, and Dale Earnhardt III... I suspect that Stud Muffin's potential virility would have only allowed for male children...

I'm sure I would have been a lovely housewifely type. I might have been "allowed" to help keep the books for the business, but likely not in any fashion that would have put me in the public eye. My leisure time activities would have been bingo with Stud Muffin's Momma on Thursdays, hosting yard sales on the weekends, and church every Sunday at the scary motor-oil-anointing church of his youth.

Evenings would have been spent quietly at home, listening to Keith Whitley and occasionally watching a rousing NASCAR race or UK basketball game.

And really, the whole point of this is so that the next time Hubby leaves his socks in a strange place, or that the Kid has a meltdown in the grocery store, I'm going to bite my tongue, smile, and thank whatever gods that are looking out for me that I am not in a position that I might think that old toilets make excellent lawn ornaments, and that I don't have to regularly clean grease spots out of the carpet.

My Two Weddings: A Comparison.

So, I've married the same man twice.

Yep, it's true.

I'm afraid that I don't have enough time, or energy, or desire to discuss how that all came to be, but I would like to take this opportunity to do something of a formal comparison of the two weddings that we have had.

Here goes:

PARTICIPANTS:

Wedding one: Me and Bobby

Wedding two: Ditto.

OFFICIALS:
Wedding one: A justice of the peace whose name was Deathridge. Really.
Wedding two: I can't remember his name. He was nice, though.


SETTING:
Wedding one: Said JOP's living room. There was MTV on for ambiance, and a rather large rebel flag hanging over the mantle.
Wedding two: A lovely balcony overlooking a waterfall.


DATE:
Wedding one: Sometime in May, 1994. The fact that I couldn't ever remember the date did not exactly bode well for the longevity of the marriage.
Wedding two: June 3, 2004. Almost exactly 10 years after the first one.


ATTIRE:
Wedding one: He wore khakis, I wore a dress with a floral pattern. I also wore sensible shoes, as I was late for work and had to hurry to get there (For additional information on this, see HONEYMOON).
Wedding two: He wore shorts. I wore a skirt of some kind, and I believe it was black.

ATTENDANTS:
Wedding one: His best friend from high school and his college roommate. I didn't invite anyone, because no one else knew that we were getting married.
Wedding two: No one but us and the official. Some nice lady acted as our other witness for the low, low price of $50.


HONEYMOON:
Wedding one: As mentioned above, I was late for work, so immediately following the wedding I rushed to get to my 10 hour shift at Wendy's. Bobby and the attendants went to Chi-Chi's and got really drink on $.99 margaritas.
Wedding two: A lovely cabin in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. However, mere seconds after the ceremony, the skies opened up and in rained and hailed for several minutes. For those of you who are familiar with the literary term foreshadowing, this would seem to be some sort of sign, wouldn't it?

OFFICIAL WEDDING PHOTO:
Wedding one: Didn't happen. I was too busy trying to get my Wendy's uniform on.
Wedding two: I don't believe this really needs an explanation, now does it?

OUTLOOK:
Wedding one: Poor. We lasted somewhere around five years the first go around.
Wedding two: Better. We now have a shared mortgage, a shared retirement fund, and a shared Kid. It's likely he would be harder to get rid of this time.



Till next time,

My secret fetish.

Ok, I'm ready to own up to it. I have a secret fetish that has followed me from my childhood and into my adult life. I'm not proud, but I'm willing to to come forward. Admitting that you have a problem is the first step.

So here goes. I'm addicted to school supplies. There, I said it. I feel better already.

See, I told you so. This is a view of the top drawer of my filing cabinet. These are the writing implements currently in use. There are more.

If I remember correctly, it started very,very early in my school career. I remember getting my new box of crayons, and cracking them open for the first time. There were so many possibilities in that new box. So many pictures to color, so many things that could happen, so much...potential. Even today, the smell of new crayons is sort of like... possibilities.

Once, when I was six or seven, my big sister (yep Barb, I'm going to tell this story, so just brace yourself) was helping me color with my BRAND NEW BOX OF 64 - my first one ever. And she broke one of my crayons. Not on purpose, but that doesn't matter. The damage was done just the same. I remember it was the white one. She remembers it too, because I remind her of it every chance I get. It falls somewhere in the top three injustices she did to me as a kid, right before cutting my hair and right after dropping a can of corn on my pinkie toenail so hard that it fell off and has never been the same shape since. But I digress.

She broke my new white crayon in half. Then tried to fix it with - I'm not making this up, I promise - duct tape. So not only was one of my new crayons broken, it was rednecked up to the point of unusability. A few years ago at Christmas she tried to make it up to me with this:

I'll admit that I thought it was a nice gesture. At least I did until I opened the box up and saw this:

Ahhh, family.

Anyway, back to me.

I remember the absolute pleasure when Mama agreed that the Trapper Keeper with kittens on it would NOT do for 5th grade, even though it was still in good condition. I was in 5TH GRADE, for goodness sake, and I wanted, no I NEEDED, the blue one.

This fetish, or addiction, or whatever you want to call it, has followed me into adulthood. I have very specific needs when it comes to my pencils (.7 lead, 3-4 inches long), my pens (rollerball, black ink), and my legal pads (small in size, white only). The manager of my local Staples believes me to be in love with him, and truth be told, I can see his appeal. That employee discount... lord have mercy, that's hot.

I've always heard that confession is good for the soul, so I've put this out there for all the world to see and to judge. But now it's time to sign off. I need to refill my stapler.

When I grow up, I want to be...

Pretty much everyone I know, myself included, is at least a little bit unhappy with his or her job. It's not that I hate it exactly, but trying to solve everyone else's problems all day long can be a touch, well, challenging at times.

So I decided to sit down and take a good, realistic inventory of my strengths and then try to figure out what type of job I might be suited for. Here goes:

I LOVE TO COOK.

If you've read any of my past posts, you know that I make Best Damn Spinach Artichoke Dip In The World, and I have other talents in the kitchen as well. I make excellent potato salad, fried chicken, authentic Vietnamese Spring Rolls, and my liquor laced cakes and cupcakes are to die for. Or at least pass out to. A couple current creations of note are my Blueberry White Chocolate cake and my Chocolate Covered Cherry cupcakes. Yum!

I LIKE TO ORGANIZE THINGS.

Drawers, closets, pantries, folding, sorting... I LOVE IT. Get over it. I know it's not normal. I've learned to deal with it, and so should you.



I LOVE TO GARDEN.

Flowers, vegetables, you name it. If it allows me to dig in the dirt, I will try to grow it. However, I will be the first to admit that my herbs are a little, well, lacking this year. The cilantro is an especially fetching shade of brown, don't you think?

If I'm being completely honest with myself, I also enjoy cleaning my hardwood floors to a highly sheened gloss (Again, you're going to have to just deal with it), playing with The Kid, sewing and quilting, doing home improvement projects, and just generally puttering around the house. Oh, and drinking beer. But that's maybe not completely relevant here.

So, when you add all those things together, I am basically jonesing to be a housewife. I believe the current politically correct term is SAHM, but whatever. You and I both know a housewife is a housewife, PC or not.

Now if I can just figure out how to take care of a few little things, like say, the mortgage, while still pursuing my career of choice, I should be able to find true happiness.

It's always good to have something to aim for, right?

Till next time...

My Secret Blog...REVEALED!

So for a while now, I have been living something of a secret life. I mainly blog at Keeping Up With Zackie, which is an action packed, fun filled blog that chronicles the days of my two year old Kid, from his own perspective. However, a few months ago, I started this blog, in the hopes of... well, I'm not really sure. I have journalled on and off pretty much my entire life, and I though this would be a good extension of that.



It's not.



See, when I journal, it's for me and me only. Things that are funny in my head are also funny to me when I write them down. Oh, and I don't have to censor anything. And everything that's private stays that way. So when I thought about starting this blog, that's pretty much what I had in mind.



But when I realized that other people could read this, I sort of clammed up. Apparently, I have a lot of really important things to say - to myself.



So I've kept this blog up only sporadically. Oh, and by the way, I haven't told anyone about it. But today, in my normal drive home from work and talk on the phone date with my friend Natalie, she outed me. It went a little something like this:



Nat: "Blah blah pool, blah blah work, blah blah trip."

Me: "Blah blah work, blah blah Kid, blah blah blah."

Nat: "Oh, by the way, I found your secret blog last night."



You did, huh? So how exactly did that happen? Did you Google "My Friend MJ's Secret Blog" and this just happened to appear? I'm not completely sure what that might have looked like, but in any case, hello world, here I am:). Anyway, it's got me thinking about this blog again, and how (or if) I want to go forward with it.



Really, the thing that I have struggled with my entire life is finding my own voice. So maybe, just maybe, I can use this as a forum for that. How that might happen remains to be seen.



Till next time...

Things I never thought I'd have to say (before I had a two year old).

"Please stop picking your butt."

"Fishing poles are for outside."

"Thank you for not hitting Mommy."

"Where are your shoes? In the oven? Good job."

"Let's blow the boogers out of both sides of your nose, ok?"

"Please stop picking your nose."

"Please stop picking your scab."

"Please stop picking (insert body part here.)"

Some of the reasons I haven't been blogging lately...

I can't seem to stop planting things. I'm sure it's some kind of sickness. But I CAN'T STOP...

The greatest feeling in the world...

Is when your two year old gently strokes your face and says "My Mommy pretty."

Bad drivers.

The world is full of 'em. The "ride my assers," the "maniac passers," the "talk on my cell phone, eat a cheeseburger put on lipstick watch tv-ers." Overall, I'm pretty used to them, and just take great lengths to avoid them. However, the one who is my aboslute all time pet peeve is the "I can't tell my turn signals from my ass-er."

So I have an idea.

Technology is pretty great now. My nav unit can tell me where I am, when I go the wrong way, and it can give me directions to the nearest Sam's.

Car manufacturers could combine this navigation technology with a low voltage shock.

Every time a car changes lanes, or turns, and the turn signals are not activated, a small electric jolt would go through the steering wheel to "alert" the driver that he/she should have engaged the turning signal...

Brilliant, huh?

Random photos I took this week.

The best damn Spinach Artichoke Dip in the world. Really.

So, I've been on this quest to make Spinach Artichoke Dip like you get in restaurants. After some trial and error, I came up with one of my own - and damn, girlfriend, it is good! I stole about 3 or 4 different recipes from Allrecipes and added a few things of my own.

Here's what you need:

1 can artichoke hearts, drained

1/2 cup romano cheese

1/2 cup parmesan cheese

3-5 cloves garlic, peeled (it depends on how much you like garlic, I guess)

1 box frozen spinach, thawed and drained

1/2 block of cream cheese

1 cup sour cream

1 cup mozerella cheese

1/3 - 1/2 cup heavy cream

pinch of nutmeg

1 tablespoon chili powder

some red (cayenne) pepper to taste - I like it with a little kick, so I used about a teaspoon

Put the first 4 ingredients in a food processer and chop the hell out of them.

Mix the remaining ingredients together in a bowl. Add the artichoke mixture. If it is too tight, add a little more cream.

Put the whole mess in a greased pan and bake it for 20-30 mins in a 400 degree oven. It should be bubbly and brown on top.

Eat it with crusty bread, veggies, or my favorite, tortilla chips.

Schedule an extra session with Lars from the gym tomorrow.

ENJOY!

You Can't Win With Corn.

A few weeks before Christmas, Hubby called me to let me know that the infamous Office Christmas Party that I always dreaded would be a potluck this year. Oh, and the meat was taken care of. Oh, and somebody else was bringing potatoes, and somebody had dibs on stuffing, and someone else was doing a green bean casserole, and oh yeah, by the way, dessert was already taken care of.

My mind was already going through my repritoire of interesting, exotic, tasty dishes that wouldn't clash TOO badly with the traditional ham dinner... "I signed us up for corn." Hubby proudly announced.

"You signed us up for CORN!!!???!?!?!?" What was this man thinking? "You can't win with CORN!"

In his defense, Hubby was genuinely confused. "Win what?" he asked innocently.

"Win the Potluck! Win at life!" I shrieked. After living with me (on and off, of course) for the past 15 years, how could he not realize that life is a competition to me? How could he not understand that, as a pretty darn good cook, I needed to have the opportunity to shine at any gathering that was deemed "potluck?" How could he possibly think I could win with CORN?

"well, I know you're busy, and I thought corn would be easy," was the (damnit, really really sincere) reply.

Ok, lesson learned.

Sweet!

Who is Your Ideal TV Boyfriend?

A date!

Last night, hubby and I got to go on an actual date, without the Little Bit. It was... nice to not have to keep picking pieces of food up off the floor, and to not have to move at the speed of light to keep everything out of his reach. We went to:

http://www.kydinnertrain.com

We got to sit with another nice young couple and have some adult conversation, but guess what we talked about the most? Our kids, of course...

Hippie Pants.

Because of the shortage of clothes for short fat hippies, I made myself a pair of bell bottoms for my 70's themed work meeting next week. As an amateur seamstress, I was unsure how they would turn out, but I've decided that I have mad hippie pants skills. These are CUTE!

I saw some pretty much like this on http://www.etsy.com selling for $60-75 a pop, so mayb e when I'm done with them, I'll make a little $$$ off them...

My hair.

I dyed my hair a new color this week. It's a lovely chestnutty brown, with glistening red highlights. While admiring it in the glaring lights of my bathroom, I noticed something amazing. My new hair color was an absolute, perfect match...

for my mustache.


Damn, I hate getting old.

Motherhood.

I had something of a revelation today. See, I am constantly concerned about what kind of mother I am. I always worry that I'm not patient enough, or creative enough, or that I don't have enough time to spend with Zackie, or that he's not eating right, or brushing his teeth enough, or that his hair sticks up funny, or his clothes don't match... Well, you get the picture.

But today, in a fit of panic, I realized that I will NEVER KNOW FOR SURE if I'm a good mother. Oh, if I'm not, and he shoots up a school campus someday, or robs a bunch of liquor stores, I'll be pretty sure that I'n NOT a good mother, but I WILL NEVER KNOW if I'm getting it right.

There are no performance evaluations for this job.

No semi annual reviews to let you know how it's going.

No weekly touch base meetings to let you know what needs to be done next.

And I guess that's why being a parent is the hardest job in the world.

I'm a little confused about the 70's.

Well, I guess a lot of people are, really. See, here's the problem. I have a qork related meeting coming up at the end of February, and we have "theme" days. Day one is Seventies day. Jennifer and I were going to be Charlie's Angels, but we can't find a third, so it looks like we're kind of back to standard hippie attire. I have spent hours looking at vintage clothes online, but can't find anything suitable (that means, that will go over my formidable behind). The problem is, there were apparently no short, fat hippies. I wonder what the short fat people wore in the 70's? Housedresses, maybe?

So, I think I'm just going to have to dust off the sewing machine and make my own clothes. I found this link on some teenybopper craft website, and it doesn't look too difficult, so I'll give it a try.

Day two is sports day.

Shit.

My baby's turning 2.

My baby will be two today. It’s hard to believe how much my life has changed in just two short years.

If I would have realized how much free time I actually had before I had a baby, I could have saved the world, or at least had clean toilets all the time.

If I would have realized how much joy and love a baby brings, I would have had one a long time ago.

Happy Birthday, Zackie.

Mommy loves you very much.

Have you ever noticed...

That these guys

Sound an awfully lot like these guys?

I'm just sayin'...

Introspection

I had to turn in a self evaluation to my boss today, and I'd just like to state for the record, that whoever originally thought it was a good idea to have evaluate YOURSELF was an insane self-flagellating narcissist of the worst kind. I mean really, come on people, how could I possibly have any idea how I did?

One of two things is likely to happen when you ask someone to rate his or her own performance. He/she will either take the "I'm a useless, sucking piece of crap" route, or, more likely, the "I walk on water and all the good ideas were mine, AND you're lucky to have me" route.

Being me, of course, I took the useless sucking route, but about half way through, I erased the entire thing and started over. Really, I'm pretty good at what I do. And for once I decided to take credit for it...

Screening Applications

One of my many duties at my job is to screen applications that are turned in. Ideally, a qualified applicant will present a neatly printed or typed application that indicates experience, knowledge of the product, or if we're really in a pinch, lack of a criminal history. However, that does not always happen.

Some of my favorite lines from applications (these are from memory, no names are used to protect the ignorant, etc. etc. etc.) are here:

Previous job title: That Girl Who Works Here

Previous Employer: White Castle
Reason for leaving: The smell

Previous job title: Chicken Hanger
Summary of duties: Hang live chickens

Previous job title: Cash year

Position desired: shelfer (I've seen this one about 100 times)

I think my cat's depressed...

Maybe even suicidal.

Here's the background.



About 14 years or so ago, my hubby and I brought home an adorable little bundle of fur. He was all fluffy and cute and he loved to climb on your shoulder and sit in your lap. We gave him a really special name - Tiberius Faulkner Johnson Davis. He was the light of our lives, the apple of our eyes, and most importantly, he was the ONLY ONE.



Well, over the years, a few things changed. We moved some (very traumatic for him), and a few other cats came and more importantly, went. But still, he was the ONE.



Until one day, almost two years ago, things changed forever.

Zackie was born, and suddenly, Tiberius wasn't the most important one anymore. Heck, he wasn't even Tiberius. Now, he's just "Cat."

This is truly a term on endearment, but the Cat doesn't see it that way.

He (the Cat, not the kid) now takes every available opportunity to try to escape. Where he's trying to go, I'm not sure, but I suspect he has a lead on a nice time share in Florida where all the residents are older, the sun shines all the time, and no one has the energy or the desire to chase him around and grab his tail.

What's YOUR favorite cake from a movie or tv show?

Every Monday morning, I gather my managers together (there are eight of us in all) to have a meeting to discuss the next week's business. It is my job, as their leader, to keep the conversations relevant, flowing smoothly, and did I mention relevant? That's why it surprises me, in retrospect, that we spent thirty minutes of our two hour meeting discussing what our favorite cake from a movie or tv show was. There were some votes for some cake from the Lord of The Rings (I personally fell asleep before the infamous "cake" scene). Someone mentioned the FBI cake from The Silence of the Lambs, and all in attendance agreed that it was, indeed, a fine cake. However, the winner, hands down, was the Bleeding Armadillo cake from Steel Magnolias.

The most bizarre part is that I did not realize until much, much later, how strange the whole conversation was...

So what's this blog about, anyway?

About two or three years ago, I was riding down (or up, in this case) I71 with Katie, and I said something irreverent (and likely irrelevent) and afterwards, I looked at her and said "God, I'm funny." That's about the truth. And that's what this blog is about. Me.

Pretty good stuff, eh?