life according to me
The anniversary of my first year as a bonafide blogger is approaching. You might think, “So what,” at first notice, but there is so much more that I’m mulling over.
My blogroll is one of them. Although it’s changed depending on the mood I’ve been in, or what mattered on a given day, it’s remained remarkably the same since I began a year ago on March 15th.
The Ides of March?
Looky, Mom! I got an A on my report card!
Your Vocabulary Score: A- |
 Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary!You must be quite an erudite person. |
And the RTR does fairly well in that area also, but suffice it to say the school shenanigans have surfaced again. In other words, periods of time where small things like several homework assignments in a row aren’t done. Or a zero shows up on a quiz for absolutely no reason on this Earth. None.
That means I have to have one of those conversations with him—those I absolutely can’t stand and really wonder whether they do any good at all.
“Blarg,” as The RTR would say. Just Blarg.
So the conversation went something like this…
I’m supposed to be paying bills. I used to harass the MoH about not paying them on time and isn’t it amazing that I’m doing the exact same thing. It’s nice to know after so many years of bliss that I can learn about yet another of our common proclivities: procrastination. Misery does love company, doesn’t it?
I should also be cleaning my kitchen, but I don’t feel like it. If I really rolled up my sleeves and did what needed to be done (reorganize ALL the cupboards) I’d be in there all weekend, and I’d rather clean toilets. Well, not really, but it sounded good when my fingers typed it.
I really need to schedule our flights for our summer vacation, but I purchased a couple of travel books last week and after plowing through them with stickies and hi-glow yellow marker in hand, made a decision to sort of re-route the vacation, which of course, changes what we need to do with flights to and from there. So do I hop to it, and take care of the plans? No.
I have problems staying on track just writing from one day to the next. Can you imagine all the bright and sparkly things my brain is diverted by when making travel plans? It’s shameful and I’m completely entertained by it all.
And to confirm that all I really am is a total nerd, what I was derailed by today was this article. It’s Friday, for gawdsakes. I should be out basking in the loveliness of the day, doing some spring cleaning which I actually enjoy and go figure that reorganizing the kitchen doesn’t fit into that category…
I should be not sitting here. But I am.
I’m throwing in my two cents on which people are going to get voted off American Noodle tonight, because I can imagine that you just may want to bump up your thinking about my ability to just know things. I can’t use this remarkable skill for anything that would make a difference, however, such as winning the Lotto, investing my new wealth in highly intelligent ways that would quadruple my winnings nearly over night.
You know.
Like when viral traffic is driven to your site after you show lame photos of celebs in compromising situations, or tell completely hilarious stories about what your little kids say about body parts and that sort of thing. *heart you, mel* Okay, so maybe not quite viral. But still.
Then I could be added to the list of the world’s richest people, causing them to look over at me when we are all lined up for our photoshoot and wonder…“How did she get here?”
You’re not falling for this?
Fine.
But here are my pix: In the list of “Boys,” 1) Luke (how he has made it this far is beyond me…) because he is the epitome of what Simon loves to call “cabaret” and reminds me of someone who takes the stage in a decent sized Vegas casino in the afternoon before the real action starts. But he is handsome, so if he isn’t booted off tonight, it’s because he keeps getting the hunkster vote. 2) David Hernandez. He sounds great when he’s on key (I know…), but gets lost in the mix. Well, that is until people found out what his day job used to be. That will probably get him votes since it has nothing to do with singing. Or, I’m thinking some members of the audience were really entertained about his bit on having boogers in his nose during his little pre-singing video on Tuesday.
And for my pix on the “Girls,” 1) Kady. I honestly think the only reason she wasn’t voted off last week is because she looked almost exactly like Alaina who could actually sing. 2) Amanda has to be off. I know it’s nice to keep a rocker around, but the person needs to be able to sing and she’s already got the attention she needed to hook up with a band who needs a lead. Plausible? Nah — I’m just making it all up. But it’s funny watching her not smile, like if you’re a rocker chick, it’s against the rules.
Okay, you heard it here. Place your bets at the door on your way out.
And take a second to admire our sunset this evening. I haven’t seen one quite like this in quite a while, thanks to the RTR who knows his mom loves a colorful sky and yelled from downstairs so that I wouldn’t miss it.
Nice kid, huh? 
Okay, okay.
So I know the headers are not quite right with the color of the rest of the page. I’m working on it.
I was never fond of the aqua color that is prevalent in the page and have just tolerated it. Quite the exercise for someone like me. Too bad that exercise doesn’t burn calories. And I’m tired of the font, and the “kellementology” thingy above my header which has to be there. I tell yah.
But I will be messing around with the font and colors, so if you don’t like something, by all means, let it rip. I can’t promise I’ll listen to a single thing you say, but it’s free to comment on my blog, yanno? And for a small fee will offer suggestions about how you might bump up your authoritative voice if your aim is to actually get someone to hear you.
I’d be just fine if I could sit up here all night and figure it out. But there are so may have tos, like cooking dinner, and brushing my teeth, and sleeping, and American Noodle. Speaking of which…
…how did you think the guys did last night? Hmmmm? Any favorites? Anybody you think should be voted off the noodle? Do tell! And will the biker type chickster get voted off this week? I’m thinking yes…
Because that’s a whole lot more interesting than discussing what happened in Ohio yesterday. What is up? Could we please get everyone out there to vote? What is so difficult about it? All you have to do is make a mark. Or poke a button. It’s not really challenging. Just make sure it’s for the right person.
I’ve been in food land. You, gentle reader, should know that by now when the end of each month comes around, I will not be here. Surely you must have come across at least one of the eight trillion loaves of Julia Child’s French bread that are flooding Bloggsville with carbs, haven’t you? Just for grins and giggles, I did a Google search to see where I fell in the mix and actually looked at each page…scanning…searching, and feel not too badly surfacing on page 25 connected to Foodbuzz. I guess I’m not quite famous. Yet. I stopped looking for any mention of my foodblog on page 45 or something. Clearly I either have time to burn, or don’t feel like cleaning my house.
I’ll keep working on it. Being famous — not cleaning my house.
But, being the pithy one that I pretend to be, I’ve decided to get that point across with my rendition of Message in a Bottle. The point being that I’m a hopeless foodie and that it does take time when one enjoys much more about food than simply eating. Call it my version of the Slow Food Movement. The incomparable Cooper of Wonderland or Not, Should Be Famous and Darfur, an Unforgiveable Hell on Earth graced me with the opportunity to put my virtual Message in a Bottle and I do have to say that I’m feeling fairly famous about that since she NEVER, EVER even bats an eye at memes or awards.
It’ll be rough trying to pulling on my jammie top tonight before bed, so fat is my head over this.
In all seriousness, Message in a Bottle began at Mimi Writes, and from my visit there, I discovered that Mimi also instigated the Band Meme of which I was also a daft lemming willing participant. I do have to say that it was one of the more inspired memes I’ve been smacked with intrigued by and any excuse to open Photoshop is a complete afternoon sucker upper absolutely fine.
Unfortunately, I just might be one of those mentioned who resides in her dungeon. Mayhaps I didn’t follow those directions either? *sigh*
The directions for Message in a Bottle are not quite as lengthy (see below) as Julia Child’s recipe for pain francais (17 pages…), but I can feel myself not wanting to attend to them since there isn’t food involved. A hamburger for engaging might be a good idea since I’m on election watch this evening which is on a semi- collision course with American Noodle (and OMG how could the Texting Tweeners not vote off the cool, but not so melodious biker female?). And if I’m not mistaken, New Amsterdam, that show Fox has been dangling in front of us since before the holidays is going to premiere this evening (the one with the hunky guy who lives forever and how awful would that be?)
Heavens to Betsy. How have I come to this?
Here is my message in a bottle…
My message can be taken literally; goodness knows that I live by this advice. But more importantly, it is a message reminding us that if we deny ourselves that which is special, we risk so much of what can make life truly amazing, relatively speaking, of course. If I must also explain — from an analytical angle, dark chocolate and red wine are a source of anitoxidants. The butter? Well, if you’ve been using “spread,” how are those triglyceride levels, hmmmm? It’s all about moderation. *bends over to drag soapbox from under the desk* You have noticed what happens when you really enjoy something and saturate yourself with it, it loses its sparkle, right?
Okay, so not sex or rock ‘n’ roll okay? Behave. But if you thought about it before you read it, consider yourself seriously tagged.
Twenty-nine years and about two hours ago, I gave birth to my oldest after nine hours of labor with absolutely no meds. I was 22 years old. What did I know?
But this isn’t about me.
It’s about him. 
Although I emailed him first thing this morning hoping he’d see it, and tried the cell number I know no longer works, I still don’t have the sense that he knows I’m thinking of him and how very fast time gets away from us all. Yes, I just saw him last Sunday, and sure, he came over and put his arm over my shoulders when I stopped in Whole Foods where he works, but still.
When I was 29, he was already six and his brother not quite two years behind. I had big hair.
Not about me. Not about me. Not about me.
But it has to be about me to some extent, doesn’t it? I’m thinking about how things come to pass. How some decisions are made in life with purpose, and others like confetti has been tossed into the wind. Sometimes, I think life feels somewhat like a house with several rooms — each containing aspects of who we once were and how we lived our lives, kept separate from each of those that follow. When I walk past the photographs that line the wall of our staircase and see the differences in the faces within the frames, it seems those people — we — are not the same people. The events in our lives have changed us.
As I think of him today, I unlock each of those rooms and enter, letting the memories wash over me, smiling at many, regretting some, and feeling wistful at most. There is so little I don’t remember. I hang on to it all like it was a gift.
I could write forever about this man whom I swear wanted to live in the Fifties, and what has made him so unique, but I can’t. Not right now. Not today.
Twenty-nine things will give a glimmer of an idea instead…
You picked up a pencil to draw when you were two and never stopped.
You loved Lucy and watched every episode over and over until we thought we’d go nuts.
You love cats. Love. Them. Even though you can’t breathe around them.
You never, ever fought with your brother — well physically, anyway. You did call him some interesting things like “gristle, fat, and lard,” which we now laugh about, including him.
You loved music that we loved so saved us from having to listen to music we were ready to tolerate at best.
You’ve only really asked for one thing, ever. One.
I don’t think you wanted to poke out my eyeballs too badly when I encouraged you to go to the prom with that girl.
Your eyes twinkle when you smile even though they’re so brown I can’t see your pupils.
You have a completely disgusting sense of humor.
You love all things retro and used to wish they were still that way.
You love Corvairs.
You were in that Corvair club with all those old farts, and didn’t you have to bring a casserole or something once? Bwhahahaha!
You tolerated the piano lessons until I stopped them, and then told me years later that you wish you’d stuck it out.
You wear clothes you find that belong to others and it doesn’t matter to you.
You tolerated a job that nearly sucked the life out of you, keeping you from doing what you really wanted to do. I think.
You went to the vet when it was time to let Holis go and helped bury him because I couldn’t.
You cut the molding for the stairs after the MoH and I couldn’t and it took you about three minutes.
You used to disappear for a couple of days and when you got back, tell us you felt like driving to Arizona.
You’re better than you used to be about visiting when you said you would instead of not showing up.
You have always been respectful of me. Well, except the time you didn’t show up for your birthday dinner after you asked me to make it.
You love your gramster.
You burn the candle at both ends and don’t know I know it. I know everything. Really.
You tolerate people and things you wish you didn’t have to — including me.
You’re still nice to your brother.
You’ve always been lovely to the RTR.
You’ve never liked math and ended up studying something that depends on it. Funny how life works.
You told me long ago that someday you wanted to buy old houses, fix them, and then let people who couldn’t afford houses live in them. I think you were about 11 or 12. And no, I don’t know where you got that idea.
You survived how many schools that I subjected you to? Goodness. A kid shouldn’t be as resilient.
You’ve been friends to people who have taken advantage of you and then you pay for it. Literally. And you just deal with it.
Is that 29? Did I count correctly?
Sigh.
This is your Birthday Song. It isn’t very long.
I love you and look forward to seeing you this weekend when I bake my very first gluten-free chocolate birthday cake.
Goodness.
If you haven’t been reading my blog for any length of time, then you need to know that my idea of Wordless Wednesday is to write less than four or five pages in a single post and add photos. That would be today, even though the orange glow of the setting sun on the houses across the street reminds me that this is easily categorized as better late than never.
Whatever.
I have a foodie blog friend who lives in Ohio who often mentions their weather in less than loving terms. Suffice it to say that her description of mornings finding her car door frozen shut have been quite colorful and completely hilarious.
I have been hounding her for photographs of her home town all winter, and yesterday I received them. Oh. My. Goodness. I had a clue because my mom recently moved to upstate New York and has sent me a few, but she isn’t out in her car. No sirree.
So… I ran outside and took a few of my own photos to warm her up. I figured since most of you live in places much more…um…FRIGID than I do, I’d warm you up also.
It has been in the mid-seventies for two days now. Even I like it which is semi-miraculous considering the grumpster I am about Paradise and sunshine.
We slept with our windows open last night, and today?
Today I put on my shorts, went for a walk, and sat down by the beach waiting for the RTR to finish up with his math tutor (news at eleven…) and watched the surfers.
Totally excellent. Dude.
Have you ever heard of TED? It’s a place I’d love to be a fly on the wall — especially this year considering they’ll be addressing “Big Questions.” But the $6,000 price tag is a bit steep.
If you’ve never taken a look at their talks, it’s worth it. There are some amazing topics addressed — that is if you consider avoiding aging amazing, or the idea that great cars are art.
And then there’s this guy — Jonathan Harris. His talk is fascinating. He explains how the software he’s designed essentially captures what we say each day in places like kellementology and attaches them to others who are saying similar things. Does Dubyah know he doesn’t have to spy on us now? It’s all there for the listening.
http://static.videoegg.com/ted/flash/loader.swf
I know. You knew about this already. Fine. Indulge me.
But have you checked out Universe yourself?It’s amazing. Especially if you watch all of Jonathan Harris’ talk first…
And what else am I supposed to do on a night when the MoH is still at work?
Sleep?
That would be quite the concept, wouldn’t it?
Maybe TED will tackle that as one of the Big Questions.
I’m at a loss for words today. What that really means is I don’t feel like making the effort to write. Tired, I guess.
I spent the weekend — yes, the entire weekend — engaged in my once monthly baking challenge completely flummoxed. I know. Savor the moment. Wallow in it. Mark it on your calendar, for gawdsakes, and then get over it.
Usually, after I’ve completed each challenge, I hurry to look at the photos, and then get busy on my write-up. Bear in mind this is usually at the last possible minute considering we all agree to post our results on the same day. The last possible minute for me is about midnight when I’ve just finished loading the photos and then can begin searching for others’ results.
Sounds exciting, huh?