Pottery Barn can bite me

Indiana weather is just plain screwy. Friday morning, it was 6 degrees. This Friday? It's supposed to be in the mid-50s. Yeah, I have no idea what to wear from one day to the next. Does the weather change that much in other, non-Midwest parts of the country? I've lived in almost every region but New England, and I don't remember the weather being so capricious elsewhere. Maybe I'm just getting old and crochety and prone to bitching about the weather . . .

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The other day, I took down all the curtains in the dining room to wash them. That room has four big south-facing windows, so there's almost too much light, especially this time of year when there are no leaves to filter the sun. Anyway, yesterday I was stringing lights on the Christmas tree, which I set up next to the piano in there. I happened to look over at the dining room table and was struck blind by the unimpeded sun hitting the billion dust particles everywhere. The whole room looked frumpy and shabby--and God, incredibly dusty--which sent me into a frenzy of floor-mopping and dusting and throwing away piles of junk mail on the secretary in the corner and picking up scattered dog toys, and FUCK.

You know, I look at rooms in decorating magazines or those damn Pottery Barn catalogues that show up faithfully every couple of weeks in my mailbox (even though I haven't ordered anything in three years), and I long for a house that looks as serene and ordered and tidy, with everything looking clean and crisp. My house is a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs, leftover-from-college pieces, some inexpensive antiques I've refurbished (back when I had time to strip paint, sand, and stain), and a few newish things. I hate feeling this dissatisfied, and I suspect much of it has to do with a vague weariness over life in general, not my house specifically.

Also, I'm mad at catalogues and magazines for promoting this myth that EVERYONE BUT ME is neater and more organized and takes better care of his or her home. They set me up for feeling like a failure, damn it. And to be honest, I let them. Why do I think I have to meet some impossible standard a superior marketing snot in San Francisco or NewYork, with way more disposable income than me, decided to create to make me feel bad about myself? I've been in other people's homes (really, I have!), and they don't have impeccably clean, perfectly accessorized houses with actual matching couches and chairs. I've seen puppy chew marks on the corners of their ottomans, shoes and toys scattered on their floors, and juice stains on their carpets. So why do I feel as though I'm alone in my utter shame and disgust over the state of my house? OK, "shame and disgust" might be an exaggeration, but discontent, certainly.

On the other hand, it wouldn't kill me to dust a little more often--AND get my freshly washed curtains up faster before I notice how bad it is!

Edited to add: I had to go out to pick up pita pockets for the tabouli I made and of course wound up getting 17 other things. The bagger kid had a running commentary on almost every item I bought, which annoyed me. After the cashier told me I'd saved $10.08 with my grocery card, the bagger boy said "Hey, don't spend it all in one place," dripping sarcasm all over his Converse high-tops, and then, THEN he . . . uh, how do I say this? He "adjusted" himself. Vigorously. I . . . I'm speechless.

A game and a plea for help

I saw this game at Janet's, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. Comment and I'll give you a letter, and then you have to list 10 things you love beginning with that letter. That beeyotch Janet gave me "J" and I had to struggle to come up with J words!

1. Jumping into a warm bed on a cold night
2. Jam, seedless blackberry
3. Jousting and other things from medieval history
4. Japanese art
5. Jovial people
6. Junior Mints at a movie
7. Jocularity
8. Jaunts to bookstores
9. Jewelry, silver
10. Joining in the carnal sense (hey, I'm running out of J ideas!)

Oh, OK, I'll include Janet in that list, even though that makes 11 items. I promise I'll give you an easier letter if you comment.

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I love the Internet. A couple of hours online Wednesday morning, and I'm two-thirds done with my Christmas shopping. Yes! I went to Amazon first, and can I say I'm a wee bit disillusioned with that site? On almost everything I checked, Amazon "couldn't guarantee" arrival by December 25 if I picked its much-vaunted free shipping. Oh, if I wanted to PAY for shipping, Amazon would get that package out to me on the double, no messing around. I have a B@rnes & Noble membership card, so I went there and found almost all the books, CDs, and DVDs I needed--and at a 15% discount with free shipping. Take that, Amazon! Who needs ya, baby?

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This time of year always makes me grateful my job has nothing to do with customer service or dealing with the public. I don't know how Kevin stands it. Of course, the photo department at W@lgreens has been inundated with orders lately, and to make matters worse, several sales and promotions have been bringing in the crazies along with regular customers. A guy came in early the morning a cellphone sale started, demanding to get "one of them phones" he saw in the paper. The main office hadn't sent the stock of cellphones until late the day before, so they still hadn't been unpacked. Kevin dug around in boxes in the back and finally found the right phones and accessories. Phone Guy examined the phone suspiciously and eventually agreed to buy it. After Kevin rang up the purchase, he handed Phone Guy the activation card and explained how to dial the number on it to set up his account.

Phone Guy did a double-take and hollered "You mean this phone doesn't work?" Kevin patiently explained that yes, it would work just fine after he set up the account by calling the activation number.

Phone Guy glared at him and said "I need to make a call NOW. I'm not buying no damn phone that doesn't work!" Kevin wisely decided to let the egregious use of double negatives go and gave Phone Guy his money back. He even refrained from advising Phone Guy to use a payphone instead of buying a cellphone the next time he needs to make a call. Oy.

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Last week, I bitched about the G@rmin commercial. Clearly, I wasn't paying attention to the content because I thought G@rmin was a department store. Uh, it's actually a GPS device. Whatever. Still an annoying commercial.

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I need some advice. You might remember me talking about Kevin's son, Andrew, who has Asperger's Syndrome. He's 15 now, and his symptoms have improved a little over the past couple of years. He's still scatty as all hell and has trouble focusing on anything that isn't a cartoon or video game. For example, last weekend, Kevin asked him to empty the dishwasher but didn't stay in the kitchen while Andrew did it. A few nights later, I was baking with Daniel and went to grab the measuring spoons from the hook where I keep them. Not there. I checked the dishwasher. Nope. Daniel and I pulled out drawers and looked in cabinets and tried to think like Andrew. Finally, I pulled out the drawer holding tin foil and plastic wrap, and bingo. I know. Makes no sense, but moving along . . .

Anyway, last Saturday morning, when Kevin was leaving to pick up Andrew, he said "I'm going to take Andrew out for breakfast, so I won't be back for a while." He'd mentioned that he needs to watch expenses to make sure he had enough money for Christmas shopping, so I said "Well, it's 10:30. Andrew gets up early, so I'm sure he's eaten by now." Kevin said indignantly that Mary (his ex) never feeds Andrew before he picks him up Saturday mornings. "Uh, honey. Andrew's 15. Surely he can get himself a bowl of cereal without Mary's help?" I suggested.

Well, from there, the conversation devolved into an argument, with me claiming Kevin makes too many excuses for Andrew and has expectations for him more appropriate for a 6-year-old, and Kevin insisting he doesn't baby Andrew too much. I realize Kevin has typical noncustodial-parent guilt that he can't spend more time with Andrew, and I understand he might let some things slide with his son that he wouldn't if Andrew lived here full-time. He treats Andrew like a small child instead of a teenager in high school, though. He rarely asks him to help out around the house or pick up after himself; he seldom tries to teach Andrew things a young man should know (like how to shave, which Andrew definitely needs to do); he lets Andrew wallow in cartoons and video games the entire time he's here instead of trying to introduce more grown-up entertainment and conversation--maybe talking about the news, for instance?

My worry is that he's doing nothing to prepare Andrew for real life. What happens after Andrew graduates from high school? As he is now, there's no way he could hold down a job, and going to college is unlikely for both financial and academic reasons. Is he going to spend the rest of his life sitting on his mom's couch playing Nintendo and GameBoy? Andrew has no conception of real-world, practical things, such as how a bank account works, how to mail a letter, how to read a map, and on and on. Frankly, I don't think the kid could figure out how to change a light bulb. I know teaching him anything is a frustrating, slow process that requires lots of repetition, but someone has to do it. His mother can't be bothered, and I think Kevin's too scared he'll lose Andrew's love--and the boy does adore Kevin--if he's tougher on him. As a sort-of stepparent, what can I do? That's not rhetorical: I really want to know. I'd appreciate any suggestions.

Chuck Norris mourns my passing

I saw this quiz at Robyn's and thought my results were quite fitting:

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Well, I don't know about Chuck Norris missing me. I've never even watched one of his movies, so it seems unlikely he'd mourn someone who's ignored him. Wait. Is Chuck Norris still alive??

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I don't think I've done a Fat-B-Gone update recently, but when I went in for a check-up today, I'd lost two more pounds. I'm up to a total of 21 pounds, I think. To be honest, I'm having trouble keeping track of the total, but as long as I'm losing something and continuing to exercise, that's fine. I've never been obsessed with numbers (actually, I try to avoid numbers when possible--you know, math and all). I tend to notice things such as clothes being looser or a reduction in the jiggle factor more. Anyway, the Curv3s women are doing monthly measurements and such on me, so I'll let them keep track of the numbers.

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I just got off the phone with an editor friend, and we were talking about how Christmas shopping isn't as much fun when you don't have a young child to buy presents for. I used to be able to thrill and surprise Daniel with Christmas presents; now he announces he's added several items to his Amazon wish list, and I can just buy his gifts there. Hmmph! What fun is that?

My mom's "wish list" is a bit more interesting, however. She informed me the other day that she really, really likes that Il Divo group (the pretty-boy singer group formed by Simon Cowell) and wouldn't mind having one of their CDs. Here's the horrifying part: She giggled like a schoolgirl as she added "But the only problem with a CD is that I can't look at them while they're singing!" My mother HAS A CRUSH. On YOUNGER men. Actually, that's kind of adorable of her, but I don't think I want to be in the same room with her while she watches one of their TV specials or concerts or whatever. I might have to gouge my eyes out. Something about those boys makes me shudder, too. Maybe it's the cheesiness factor.

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Daniel finally got his SAT scores, and damn, that boy tests well. If only that skill translated to his grades, but it doesn't--certainly not in any math-related classes. He has the strangest report cards I've ever seen, I swear: A, A-, A+, D, B+, C-, A. Easy to tell which classes he likes and which ones he hates, that's for sure.

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I wasn't hungry at lunch, so I had just a yogurt, and now I'm starving. I'm off to go start some baked ziti and salad. Sasha, I'll try to remember to post my chicken pot pie recipe this week--promise!

The bells, the bells . . .

The incessant playing of "merry" Christmas commercials has started already--hell, what am I talking about? They started before Thanksgiving. I'll be sick of every single one by December 1, yet I guarantee they'll be stuck in my brain for several weeks. Hmmm, just long enough to influence my Christmas shopping. How fiendishly clever!

The one that's driving me crazy the fastest is for G@rmin department stores or malls or some damn thing. The jingle is that Christmas carol about bells, I think? But it's just the chorus repeated several times, as far as I can tell, so it's incredibly monotonous yet oddly hypnotic. Yesterday in the shower, I found myself singing a bit from it over and over: Call the salon, need a waxing now, got a UNIBROW. And the woman sporting said unibrow looks damn frightening; she's become a major player in my nightmare landscape. I hear that song all the time in my head now. Curse you, G@rmin Stores! I am unfortunately prone to getting what the kids are calling "earworms" these days, or maybe I have a touch of the OCD. I hate retailers for causing bad song loops in my head.

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One of my favorite lines from Seinfeld is Jerry describing Kramer: "He falls ass backward into money." Well, Kevin seems to fall ass backward into creative opportunities. I mentioned a few weeks ago that he's going to be teaching some classes on collage for the Sugar Creek Arts Center, but another opportunity fell in his lap. His cousin Sam moved back to Indiana recently and got a grant to start an arts organization/learning center, which also involves overseeing an archive of materials related to arts and literature. The grant includes a stipend for an artist-in-residence, who will be Kevin. I don't know what-all this position entails, but it will include running workshops, teaching art classes, organizing art exhibitions, and so on. He'll also be working with the mayor of the town where Sam lives, about an hour north of here, who's interested in boosting the arts in that community, particularly for school kids. Kevin's so excited he can barely contain himself. I'm afraid he's actually developing a BUBBLY personality (the horror!). It's wonderful to see him happy, of course, but I barely recognize him these days. He was babbling away about his plans yesterday, and I was compelled to ask him "Who ARE you, and what have you done with Kevin?" Maybe I should check him tonight for the placement of a hidden mole that few people besides me would know about.

I'd better scoot and go work out. I have to run to the grocery to pick up a few things for a chicken pot pie I'm making tomorrow. Daniel will no doubt refuse to eat it because all the ingredients are mixed up together under the crust; if he DOES eat it, by some miracle, he'll inspect every bite for evidence of lurking onions. He loathes onions but suspects me of putting them in everything. Too bad, though. I make a delicious homemade chicken pot pie, and I haven't made it in ages in deference to His Pickiness's delicate tastes. The weather is supposed to turn wintry and nasty tomorrow, which calls for a warm, comforting dinner, in my opinion. If I'm feeling magnanimous, I just might hold the onions.

The Importance of News Anchors

The morning news proclaimed today Cyber Monday, the online equivalent of retailers' Black Friday. In my house, however, today is Black Monday because Robin Meade, of CNN Headline News, still isn't back from vacation.

Several months ago, Kevin and I got in the habit of watching this "CNN light" station because you get a smattering of news, weather, entertainment, financial crap, and so on, which is perfect for mornings when you don't have time for in-depth news coverage. It took a few weeks to pierce my pre-caffeine fog, but I realized eventually that Robin Meade was doing more to get Kevin out of bed in the mornings than I was. I suffered a brief flash of jealousy, until I realized his adoration of Robin is more akin to a school boy's crush on his teacher. He comments on what she wears and says she's "SO sweet"; he even gets a happy little grin on his face when she says "Morning, sunshine." I swear he thinks she's talking directly to him. He adores Robin, but there's not a drop of sexual attraction in his lurve of her. Actually, I teased him about that once, and he was horrified I'd even suggest he could harbor such crass feelings for Roooooooooobin.

To be honest, Robin makes my mornings pleasant, too. She's as cute as a bug, without the nauseating perkiness of a Kelly Ripa or Katie Couric (before she got all evening-news deadly serious). She's easily amused, which I like because I am, too, and her chortle is slightly goofy and very genuine. I found myself looking forward to her return this morning after being on vacation all last week, but alas, her substitute was still there today. Please come back, Robin! Come on. How much vacation does a news anchor need?

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Kevin had to work Saturday night, so I coaxed Daniel into helping me clean up the downstairs a little. I vacuumed and dusted while he took out trash, loaded the dishwasher, and changed some light bulbs. I was vacuuming the entryway when I noticed how disgusting my cat-hair-covered stairs looked. My cats like to hang out on the top stairs where they can keep tabs on the action but stay out of reach of the dogs. Unfortunately, gray and black hair shows up quite clearly on beige carpet.

As you can see in the picture (taken last Christmas--you didn't think I had my Christmas decorations up already? please), the steps on the spiral staircase are too narrow to balance a vacuum cleaner on. So the only way to clean them is to pop them out of the step frames and toss them down to the entryway floor, starting at the top and working my way down (which I learned after trying the reverse direction the first time and finding myself stuck upstairs), spread them out on the floor, vacuum them with the brush attachment, and then put them back in from the bottom up. I have to warn everyone first to get whatever they need from upstairs. Daniel still has trouble with this concept, and a few months ago, realized after I'd started vacuuming that he needed to change clothes for work. He had to walk upstairs by balancing on the metal step frames because I'm a mean mom and refused to put the steps back and then take them out again.

The steps are now as clean as I can get them, considering that hideous beige carpet is probably 15 years old. Ugh. I want to rip up the carpet in the entryway and install a wood floor, but I'm stumped as to what to do with the steps. They're just plywood with carpet wrapped around them, so I can't simply remove the carpet. I suppose I could have new steps from nice wood cut to fit, but I imagine that would be expensive. I thought about painting the plywood, but I'm afraid it would look tacky, and besides, the plywood steps aren't quite thick enough. When you walk on them, the sharp metal edge of the step frames would cut into your feet, if you were wearing soft-soled shoes or going barefoot, as I'm wont to do. The carpet adds some thickness and pads the steps a little. Any ideas?

You know, every time I clean, I'm overwhelmed by how much I want to fix or change in this house. However, money, time, and energy: I need gobs of all three, and I have none of them. The only solution I can come up with is to stop cleaning so I don't notice, but that's not going to happen, so I guess I'm stuck with feeling overwhelmed. It would be easier to bear if Robin were back to brighten my mornings, though.

Babble and a picture

That picture to the right is me at three-and-a-half, when I lived in Sacramento. I was going through a period of insisting on wearing my bathing suit most of the time. My dad took me to the pool in the apartment complex after work, and I wanted to make sure I was ready to go the second he got home.

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A few thoughts I've had lately:

• When I watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas last week, I spotted something I never noticed before that disturbs me. The Grinch is slinking around stealing Christmas decorations and stockings and presents, and then he goes to the refrigerator to take the Christmas dinner. He picks up a can of Who Hash. I thought "If corned beef hash is made from corned beef and potatoes, what is Who Hash made from?? Are the Whos cannibals?" It's still bugging me.

• Why is the term Realtor capitalized sometimes? Other job titles aren't, as in "I'm a brain surgeon." What's so special about realtors? People need to stop that practice right now.

• Do you think Rosie O'Donnell realized, when she opened her yap about Kelly Ripa and Clay Aiken, that not only was she outing Clay when perhaps he didn't want to be, but also she was calling him not cute? She said something like Kelly wouldn't have reacted as she did if Clay had been "a straight man, or a cute man." If I were Clay, I'd be a tad offended.

• Also, does anyone besides my mother watch The View?

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My Thanksgiving dinner turned out pretty well, although the turkey was nothing to write home about. I'm not very good at cooking meat. I can whip up great side dishes, bake up a storm, and stir-fry like a mo-fo, but a roasted chicken or a brisket and such? Not so much. My pumpkin pie was delicious, partially thanks to Daniel, who ran up to the little grocery on the corner Wednesday afternoon to find premade piecrust for me. I hate bland pumpkin pie, so I jazz it up with lots of molasses and spices. I got some good tips on making piecrust, though (thanks!), so I might get brave enough to attempt it again one of these days.

Kevin took me to see the new James Bond movie last night, and I was pleasantly surprised by Daniel Craig. He's a very different Bond, but a good one. I wish I knew more about poker because I would have enjoyed the card game scene more. Whenever they showed the cards in someone's hand, Kevin or I would whisper "So is that a good hand? Is he going to win, or is he bluffing?" Everyone else in the audience seemed to be poker geniuses, oohing and aahing knowledgeably--or they were just good fakers. The Bond song by Chris Donnell (Is that his name--the Soundgarden guy?) was good; I liked it at the time. Today, I can't remember at all what it sounded like, however.It didn't stick with me the way Bond songs usually do. The cheesy Goldfinger theme--now THAT'S a Bond song you can remember.

Kitty haunts me 25 years later

In graduate school, I taught classes in communications and English comp and lit. For one class, interpersonal communications, I was actually more of a teaching assistant. I worked for a professor who gave once-weekly lectures, and I ran the twice-weekly labs and determined students' grades. I'll call this professor "Kitty," although the oh-so-professional nickname she insisted on being called was another animal (seriously). She was annoying in a multitude of ways, but one of her most irritating traits was claiming that "and" should be used instead of "but," as in "You're showing improvement in class, and your last paper didn't show enough effort." She theorized that "but" negates everything that comes before it. Yeah, yeah. I mean, in the example I used, both statements can be equally true, but saying "and" sounds unnatural and stupid.

To my surprise, however, I found myself using it yesterday when I was talking to my friend Lynn on the phone. She was a little worried about how well she and her husband are going to handle around-the-clock togetherness over the next few months. He has a landscaping business and doesn't usually work between the end of November and the end of March. Because she quit her job and will be working from home for the new job she's likely to get, she's going to be home all the time, too. I was telling her that earlier this year, when Kevin was unemployed for several months, that all the "togetherness" started getting on my nerves, and I wanted to tell Kevin, "I adore you, honey, AND I'm sick of seeing your stupid face all the time." I used a Kitty-ism! The horror! Unfortunately, it seemed to fit--in that context, anyway. (Note: I don't really think Kevin has a stupid face, but YOU try being around your beloved nonstop for months on end.)

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Well, I was wondering when this was going to happen. Normally, I have little patience with litigious people, and I have my doubts about how innocent Melinda Duckett was in the disappearance of her son. However, someone has to stop that shrill-voiced harridan Nancy Grace. Not just for this incident, although I do think she was out of line in her questioning of Melinda Duckett. Nancy Grace needs to decide whether she wants to be a newsperson or a prosecutor, and she has got to stop trying to run her show as though she's the judge and jury combined. It's not up to her to determine guilt, and haranguing guests on her show isn't as much help in solving crimes as she'd like to think it is.

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Anyone have a good pie crust recipe? I forgot to buy the premade crust you roll out and place in an pie plate when I went to the grocery yesterday, and I'll be damned if I'm going back again today. My homemade crust usually turns out pretty bad, but I'm willing to try if it means I can avoid another trip to grocery hell.