Indeed, I do not know my left from my right.... the chick on the RIGHT in the striped shirt is my mama. The one on the left is my little sister.
And I am setting up a flickr account as we speak... now I will have to figure out how to convert all posted photos to flickr. Wish me luck.
In other news.... I'm making a chocolate cake with my super-yummy chocolate frosting... yes, the cake is from a mix..... who the hell cares when the frosting is SO Good. Tomorrow is Sweet Boy's birthday.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
The Boobcycle Review Part II: The Condition
Following are some conditions that exist when you are a breastfeeding goddess…..
The flash. Indeed, I have actually walked out of my house with bra flaps aflapping. It’s breezy, but not nearly as unpleasant as one might think. I put it in the same category as going to work with my slippers on…...
The stick up. To the uninitiated those leak protector pads with the sticky stuff on the back might seem like a good idea. But then they get smooshed to the side while the small person snacks and all wrinkled up and pretty soon the sticky adhesive is, um, stuck… to a part of you that is very sensitive at that moment. You think pulling a bandaid off a hairy leg hurts?? You don’t know pain.
The gigantious. Sure you think they will be sexy…. Until you slam one in the car door because you aren’t used to that shelf sticking out there like that…. Seriously, when I was PK (pre-kid) I bought a “Wonderbra” and immediately cuffed myself in the side of the tit with the car door… spun me around in a 360 & made me squeak… much to the amusement of those around me. Now I have to deal with these mamacitas 24/7. I have a whole new respect for my big-boobied sisters in this world. And then there is post-nourishment… when they look (as my friend Lala put it) like two tangerines in a tube sock.
Booger-boobs. Yes, it can’t be avoided…. if one’s wee child is a goober-factory the chestages are going to get gooey. Trust me… this is not the most disgusting body fluid issue parenthood brings…. And, really, it is easier than trying to pin down a flailing baby & use that blue-bulb-booger-sucker (affectionately referred to as “the blue goose” in our house.)
The garbage guy. The regular janitor has a wife. He knows “the sound” and “the closed door” and what that signifies. No problem. The substitute janitor… well, let’s just say he knows about it now. I know a woman who would put a sign on her door that said “moo” to alert co-workers… as if the chugga-glug of the Holstein machine wasn’t enough to warn everyone.
The flash: version 2. This is when your little guy figures out that there is a world beyond that blankie over his head while he is eating lunch in public and, dammit, he wants to see it. Who doesn’t enjoy a nice view while they dine?
You can (I hope) read Part I here:
http://http://whomadethismess.blogspot.com/2005/04/boobcycle-review-part-i-background.html
The flash. Indeed, I have actually walked out of my house with bra flaps aflapping. It’s breezy, but not nearly as unpleasant as one might think. I put it in the same category as going to work with my slippers on…...
The stick up. To the uninitiated those leak protector pads with the sticky stuff on the back might seem like a good idea. But then they get smooshed to the side while the small person snacks and all wrinkled up and pretty soon the sticky adhesive is, um, stuck… to a part of you that is very sensitive at that moment. You think pulling a bandaid off a hairy leg hurts?? You don’t know pain.
The gigantious. Sure you think they will be sexy…. Until you slam one in the car door because you aren’t used to that shelf sticking out there like that…. Seriously, when I was PK (pre-kid) I bought a “Wonderbra” and immediately cuffed myself in the side of the tit with the car door… spun me around in a 360 & made me squeak… much to the amusement of those around me. Now I have to deal with these mamacitas 24/7. I have a whole new respect for my big-boobied sisters in this world. And then there is post-nourishment… when they look (as my friend Lala put it) like two tangerines in a tube sock.
Booger-boobs. Yes, it can’t be avoided…. if one’s wee child is a goober-factory the chestages are going to get gooey. Trust me… this is not the most disgusting body fluid issue parenthood brings…. And, really, it is easier than trying to pin down a flailing baby & use that blue-bulb-booger-sucker (affectionately referred to as “the blue goose” in our house.)
The garbage guy. The regular janitor has a wife. He knows “the sound” and “the closed door” and what that signifies. No problem. The substitute janitor… well, let’s just say he knows about it now. I know a woman who would put a sign on her door that said “moo” to alert co-workers… as if the chugga-glug of the Holstein machine wasn’t enough to warn everyone.
The flash: version 2. This is when your little guy figures out that there is a world beyond that blankie over his head while he is eating lunch in public and, dammit, he wants to see it. Who doesn’t enjoy a nice view while they dine?
You can (I hope) read Part I here:
http://http://whomadethismess.blogspot.com/2005/04/boobcycle-review-part-i-background.html
Monday, May 30, 2005
My mom
1. She is tall & gorgeous and does not know it.
2. She likes horses.
3. She has a really goofy striped shirt that she wears during harvest that makes her look like Ernie (as in Bert and….) and I will post a picture if I have one just to make my siblings laugh.
4. I’m pretty sure her grandson is her new favorite thing EVER.
5. She always yells at us for driving too fast.
6. She would rather be in the barn than in the house.
7. She makes the best meals.
8. She knows how to sew leather.
9. She doesn’t mind baby animals sharing her house as long as they stay in the basement.
10. She is always making lists… I learned that from her.
2. She likes horses.
3. She has a really goofy striped shirt that she wears during harvest that makes her look like Ernie (as in Bert and….) and I will post a picture if I have one just to make my siblings laugh.
4. I’m pretty sure her grandson is her new favorite thing EVER.
5. She always yells at us for driving too fast.
6. She would rather be in the barn than in the house.
7. She makes the best meals.
8. She knows how to sew leather.
9. She doesn’t mind baby animals sharing her house as long as they stay in the basement.
10. She is always making lists… I learned that from her.
My mother-in-law
1. She loves her family.
2. She produced a hotty-body son.
3. Her rheumatoid arthritis wears her out but she keeps going.
4. She loves the ocean and the beach.
5. I think yellow is her favorite color.
6. She always has cute hair & she looks good grey.
7. She is the “tall” one in her family…. She is not tall.
8. She is an excellent writer & poet.
9. She has great taste… even if she doesn’t think she does.
10. Gardening brings her great joy.
My grandma
1. Peonies were her favorite flowers.
2. I had my own toothbrush & a drawer at her house for clothes… I stayed that often.
3. She loved to go, go, go…. Someplace exotic or to a basketball game… it didn’t matter.
4. She could sew anything… without a pattern.
5. She drove really fast…. She taught me to drive.
6. She could cook really well but her kitchen always looked like a tornado hit.
7. She liked “The Young & The Restless.”
8. She said things like, “Raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock.”
9. She HATED mice.
10. She taught me how to haul dinner to the field.
My grammy
1. She made the best waffles and said she didn’t trust anyone who ate just one waffle.
2. She had a pink refrigerator.
3. She preferred bright clothes and good jewelry.
4. She loved going to the casino… just for lunch, of course.
5. She took us swimming and she would swim with us and not just sit on the shore.
6. She went to Reno every year for her birthday.
7. She traveled all over the world with her little red suitcase.
8. She came to the US as a little girl and didn’t know the language.
9. She cooked her coffee in a percolator on the stove… a pink stove.
10. She tried to teach us the value of working hard & then playing hard.
2. She had a pink refrigerator.
3. She preferred bright clothes and good jewelry.
4. She loved going to the casino… just for lunch, of course.
5. She took us swimming and she would swim with us and not just sit on the shore.
6. She went to Reno every year for her birthday.
7. She traveled all over the world with her little red suitcase.
8. She came to the US as a little girl and didn’t know the language.
9. She cooked her coffee in a percolator on the stove… a pink stove.
10. She tried to teach us the value of working hard & then playing hard.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Like you don’t already know the ending….
Freakin’ “Titanic” is on NBC tonight. I’ve never seen the entire movie…. Although I’ve had to endure portions of it. This is the problem with only getting NBC & PAX on the downstairs tv…. Yes, I could go upstairs & readjust the rabbit ears and take my chances with the offerings on ABC or CBS, but, really, what is the point?
Thursday, May 26, 2005
In which I don't refer to The Girls as Boobages... not even once.
Breasts.
They are odd.
I mean really.
To be perfectly honest, I haven't had the opportunity to view a whole lot of them (with the exception of showering after basketball games, I guess).... but the ones I have seen on real women never look like what I imagine ideal breasts look like. I don't know what I think ideal breasts look like under the clothes & special undergarments. There is a lot to be said for special undergarments.
So I was looking at breasts this morning. Specifically, before & after pictures of lifts & reductions (don't ask... it is a long story). I realize that I have no concept of cup size. I mean, how do they decide what a "b" cup is.... I looked at the pictures.... some were big and some were little. Where is the science? I want science.
I always think I am a "b" cup. Even now, when I pop the snaps on a "d" nursing bra and amply fill a "dd" and can even successfully wear the one black nursing bra I have... and it is an "e" cup. In my head, I'm sure I am a B.
I was wearing my "b" bras when I was almost 9 months pregnant and couldn't figure out why the pregnancy books were recommending I get new, bigger bras. My best friend came to visit from out-of-state and said, "Yeah, you're a B for bbbbb-barely in there." (The good news is once she knew I was large & in-charge she sent me a bunch of nursing bras. I believe her comment was, "I would have never believed YOU could be that large." I never would have believed she & I would wear the same bras... she has a gigantious rack!)
And nipples! I saw some of the oddest nipples this morning. Really. I am flummoxed. I had to stop and say a little “thank you” to the powers that be for giving me such cute nipples. I should call my mom and tell her thanks for the genetics. Having hideous nipples is something I didn’t even know I should be worried about.
I think I will go ask my husband what he thinks…. He’s always so insightful on topics like this. Then maybe I will post the story about the first time I wore a WonderBra… it is a good one, I promise.
They are odd.
I mean really.
To be perfectly honest, I haven't had the opportunity to view a whole lot of them (with the exception of showering after basketball games, I guess).... but the ones I have seen on real women never look like what I imagine ideal breasts look like. I don't know what I think ideal breasts look like under the clothes & special undergarments. There is a lot to be said for special undergarments.
So I was looking at breasts this morning. Specifically, before & after pictures of lifts & reductions (don't ask... it is a long story). I realize that I have no concept of cup size. I mean, how do they decide what a "b" cup is.... I looked at the pictures.... some were big and some were little. Where is the science? I want science.
I always think I am a "b" cup. Even now, when I pop the snaps on a "d" nursing bra and amply fill a "dd" and can even successfully wear the one black nursing bra I have... and it is an "e" cup. In my head, I'm sure I am a B.
I was wearing my "b" bras when I was almost 9 months pregnant and couldn't figure out why the pregnancy books were recommending I get new, bigger bras. My best friend came to visit from out-of-state and said, "Yeah, you're a B for bbbbb-barely in there." (The good news is once she knew I was large & in-charge she sent me a bunch of nursing bras. I believe her comment was, "I would have never believed YOU could be that large." I never would have believed she & I would wear the same bras... she has a gigantious rack!)
And nipples! I saw some of the oddest nipples this morning. Really. I am flummoxed. I had to stop and say a little “thank you” to the powers that be for giving me such cute nipples. I should call my mom and tell her thanks for the genetics. Having hideous nipples is something I didn’t even know I should be worried about.
I think I will go ask my husband what he thinks…. He’s always so insightful on topics like this. Then maybe I will post the story about the first time I wore a WonderBra… it is a good one, I promise.
Car Seats Today
Travel with children has changed. We all have memories of snoozing in the back window of the Pontiac on long family trips. One time my dad made a platform/pen in the back of the Grand Torino for a trip to Washington.
When we were a bit older, we had a baby blue, four-door, diesel Volkswagon Rabbit. It only had two seat belts in the back so dad took an old belt out of the Plymouth (it is still parked under our tree house at Grandpa’s) and installed it in the middle for my sister’s car seat. She was the dividing wall and my brother and I fought over her in the car seat all the way to Grammy’s house… it explains so much. Yes, people, that is correct. 3 children & 2 adults plus gear in a RABBIT for a NINE hour (plus construction & potty breaks) drive.
Now we have rules. I just learned that in New Jersey the law for car/booster seats is 8 years or 80 pounds. I wasn’t 80 pounds until I was freshman in high school. (almost) Seriously. I was one of those skinny kids who got a “more pounds than inches” party (with cake) when I was finally heavier than I was tall (oh, how I long for those days). I know, the law says I would have been out of the booster at age 8 (Fourth Grade). I just can’t see my fourth grade self in a booster. Most kids where I grew up were driving a grain truck in the fourth grade.
The most expensive gear we have purchased for our child is car seats. We got the infant baby bucket as a gift from my parents. We dropped about $120 (on sale, of course) for an Evenflo seat that looks like a papsan chair. We spent $170 (sale price again) for a Britax Roundabout for Andy’s rig. Britax is supposed to be THE car seat to have. It has a nice plush cover. As I look at our baby budget I realize car seats have cost us more than ALL the other baby furniture we have purchased. By a long ways. True, I am very cheap and admit I love hand-me-down stuff (crib, exersaucer, swing, basinet, pack-n-play, backpack, jogger stroller). We got some great gifts (baby bucket seat, high chair & bouncy seat). The only big things we bought new were the two carseats, the breast pump (ebay), the baby jail (you MUST have one of these), the stroller (clearance $40) & the crib mattress (I just couldn’t use the hand-me-down one that had been in the Quonset with the mice). Oh, and the $20 humidifier & FP crib aquarium that SAVED MY SANITY in those first few months.
This post started out as a serious essay (hah!) about the pros & cons of increased measures for the safety of children and turned into a laundry list of baby gear. Do you see what is wrong with my life? Focus and the ability to create a cohesive thought are not high on my “ability” list right now.
When we were a bit older, we had a baby blue, four-door, diesel Volkswagon Rabbit. It only had two seat belts in the back so dad took an old belt out of the Plymouth (it is still parked under our tree house at Grandpa’s) and installed it in the middle for my sister’s car seat. She was the dividing wall and my brother and I fought over her in the car seat all the way to Grammy’s house… it explains so much. Yes, people, that is correct. 3 children & 2 adults plus gear in a RABBIT for a NINE hour (plus construction & potty breaks) drive.
Now we have rules. I just learned that in New Jersey the law for car/booster seats is 8 years or 80 pounds. I wasn’t 80 pounds until I was freshman in high school. (almost) Seriously. I was one of those skinny kids who got a “more pounds than inches” party (with cake) when I was finally heavier than I was tall (oh, how I long for those days). I know, the law says I would have been out of the booster at age 8 (Fourth Grade). I just can’t see my fourth grade self in a booster. Most kids where I grew up were driving a grain truck in the fourth grade.
The most expensive gear we have purchased for our child is car seats. We got the infant baby bucket as a gift from my parents. We dropped about $120 (on sale, of course) for an Evenflo seat that looks like a papsan chair. We spent $170 (sale price again) for a Britax Roundabout for Andy’s rig. Britax is supposed to be THE car seat to have. It has a nice plush cover. As I look at our baby budget I realize car seats have cost us more than ALL the other baby furniture we have purchased. By a long ways. True, I am very cheap and admit I love hand-me-down stuff (crib, exersaucer, swing, basinet, pack-n-play, backpack, jogger stroller). We got some great gifts (baby bucket seat, high chair & bouncy seat). The only big things we bought new were the two carseats, the breast pump (ebay), the baby jail (you MUST have one of these), the stroller (clearance $40) & the crib mattress (I just couldn’t use the hand-me-down one that had been in the Quonset with the mice). Oh, and the $20 humidifier & FP crib aquarium that SAVED MY SANITY in those first few months.
This post started out as a serious essay (hah!) about the pros & cons of increased measures for the safety of children and turned into a laundry list of baby gear. Do you see what is wrong with my life? Focus and the ability to create a cohesive thought are not high on my “ability” list right now.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Monday, May 23, 2005
Friday, May 20, 2005
I’m So Sorry.
It has been pointed out to me that not every location has Fat Tire Beer.
For this, I am truly sorry.
Baby Socks.
Ever gone to work with a baby sock trapped in your clothes? Yeah, me too. But I’m here to preach the solution. Lingerie bags. Keeps the washer & dryer from eating the socks. Makes them easy to match up. ( I was going to say “mate them” but I know my readership…. I can just see my brother putting on a Barry White disc and leaving his Smart Wools with his silk ski boot liners and hoping for some baby argyles.) So go get yourself some lingerie bags. Yes. Amen.
Simple Pleasures
Oh, so I see you think you already know what this post is about… simple pleasures. You think I’m going to wax eloquent about life in the country, my favorite fishin’ hole and snacking on Hint o Lime Tostitos. Well, that’s not what this is about. (Although I do love me some Tostitos.)
This post shall be subtitled: An Essay on the Subject of Bigotry.
I’m talking to you, Downy….. you, with your sweet-smelling product encased in a bigoted bottle. That’s right. (no pun intended) Try opening and pouring from that lovely bottle when you are left-handed. The cute little swirly-gigs at the top are designed for maximum gripage for the right-handed crowd. Oh, the discrimination.
And while I’m at it… here are a few other things.
Scissors. (Do you say scissor or scissors? A pair of scissors.)
Water fountains. (At least the one at Blue Sky High School.)
Target pistols. (But that’s a good thing because who needs another expensive, useless hobby?)
Computer mice.
Keyboard number pads.
Ergonomic grip toothbrushes. (Ergonomic grip anything, usually.)
Can openers.
Fancy dinnerware. (You should see me try to use the butterdish knife at my mother-in-law’s)
College writing desks
Oh, I thought of a bunch of other things driving in my car today but, of course, I don’t have one of those suction-cup note pad thingies to write on because they only work for the RIGHT-HANDED.
In my family pretty much everyone is left-handed so I didn’t discover this discrimination until I went to school. (When I also discovered that milk comes in cartons but that’s another story…..) Now I’m married to the enemy and I secretly laugh each and every time my Sweet Boy throws a perfect pitch to the dog with his left hand. (I can even admit he throws perfectly well with his right hand.) Do I wish on him the creativity & desirable baseball playing ability that is left-handedness? Or am I cursing him with my own (how do I golf-bowl-throw-a-frisbee?) awkwardness? As he approaches one year of age we still can’t tell which hand he prefers.
I swear a solemn oath to love and accept my son…. Straight, gay, left, right or am(bi)dexterous.
This post shall be subtitled: An Essay on the Subject of Bigotry.
I’m talking to you, Downy….. you, with your sweet-smelling product encased in a bigoted bottle. That’s right. (no pun intended) Try opening and pouring from that lovely bottle when you are left-handed. The cute little swirly-gigs at the top are designed for maximum gripage for the right-handed crowd. Oh, the discrimination.
And while I’m at it… here are a few other things.
Scissors. (Do you say scissor or scissors? A pair of scissors.)
Water fountains. (At least the one at Blue Sky High School.)
Target pistols. (But that’s a good thing because who needs another expensive, useless hobby?)
Computer mice.
Keyboard number pads.
Ergonomic grip toothbrushes. (Ergonomic grip anything, usually.)
Can openers.
Fancy dinnerware. (You should see me try to use the butterdish knife at my mother-in-law’s)
College writing desks
Oh, I thought of a bunch of other things driving in my car today but, of course, I don’t have one of those suction-cup note pad thingies to write on because they only work for the RIGHT-HANDED.
In my family pretty much everyone is left-handed so I didn’t discover this discrimination until I went to school. (When I also discovered that milk comes in cartons but that’s another story…..) Now I’m married to the enemy and I secretly laugh each and every time my Sweet Boy throws a perfect pitch to the dog with his left hand. (I can even admit he throws perfectly well with his right hand.) Do I wish on him the creativity & desirable baseball playing ability that is left-handedness? Or am I cursing him with my own (how do I golf-bowl-throw-a-frisbee?) awkwardness? As he approaches one year of age we still can’t tell which hand he prefers.
I swear a solemn oath to love and accept my son…. Straight, gay, left, right or am(bi)dexterous.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
A quick fairytale….
Magically, miraculously, a Fat Tire Ale appeared in my fridge. (Ok, 3 Coors Light also appeared but who cares about that?) I believe it was the beer fairy. I’m praying to the beer goddess that it happens again soon. I am going to plant a divine hops plant by the porch to entice the beer fairy to visit more often. Yeah beer!
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Reasons I may never get a tattoo
1. There is no part of my body so perfect that I want to highlight it with skin art. I mean, hey, the whole package ain’t bad but if you look close, each tiny piece has flaws. If you focus on one little flawed part then pretty soon all you see are the flaws. I don’t need that.
2. I still harbor hopes of someday being a top secret spy. And everybody knows spies can’t have any obvious identifying marks.
3. My sister says they hurt.
4. I already have one… two actually. Two little black dots on my back.
5. I can’t decide what color to paint the bathroom…. And that decision can be covered up…. You see the problem.
It ain't chocolate & peanutbutter.....
So I’m eatin' jelly bellys.
I get a cinnamon one.
I grab another one and THINK it is cinnamon. So I’m thinking it will go nicely with the cinnamon one already in my mouth.
IT IS ROOT BEER.
Glack. Can you think of a worse jelly belly combo than cinnamon and rootbeer?
Nope? Me neither. But I’m still eating them so I’ll let you know if I come up with anything really disgusting. I’m pretty sure it will be buttered popcorn and something…..
I get a cinnamon one.
I grab another one and THINK it is cinnamon. So I’m thinking it will go nicely with the cinnamon one already in my mouth.
IT IS ROOT BEER.
Glack. Can you think of a worse jelly belly combo than cinnamon and rootbeer?
Nope? Me neither. But I’m still eating them so I’ll let you know if I come up with anything really disgusting. I’m pretty sure it will be buttered popcorn and something…..
Friday, May 13, 2005
Locals
Remember-
Spaghetti feed benefit Saturday, May 14th at 5:00 pm. Lots of good silent & live auction items. I will be the one accidentally bidding on things while waving to friends.
Spaghetti feed benefit Saturday, May 14th at 5:00 pm. Lots of good silent & live auction items. I will be the one accidentally bidding on things while waving to friends.
Happy Friday the 13th
And a very happy 21st birthday to my little sister.
Sister-
Stay away from the three wise men and have fun in Vegas!
xoxo
Big Sis
ps. Tell all your friends not to get married there this trip.
Sister-
Stay away from the three wise men and have fun in Vegas!
xoxo
Big Sis
ps. Tell all your friends not to get married there this trip.
No Feed the Doggie
It suddenly occurs to me…. I am home on a Friday. I can actually post a pet-picture and be cool like all the other bloggers out there. So here he is…. In his favorite place…. Right next to the high chair.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Poet Laureate Montana
And, in honor of my most recent poem.....
I provide you with this link http://www.art.mt.gov/
The state of Montana is gettin' a Poet Laureate.... Nominations are due by May 13th....apps on the website.... for some reason I don't think I will be winning......
I provide you with this link http://www.art.mt.gov/
The state of Montana is gettin' a Poet Laureate.... Nominations are due by May 13th....apps on the website.... for some reason I don't think I will be winning......
Aw, LadyBug, Thanks...
I was unofficially tagged by LadyBug for the "Turd in a Punchbowl" Party....
Here are my contributions:
Turd in a punchbowl
Resembles Cher in a way
Turd in a punchbowl
Sell it on Ebay
Turd in a punchbowl
Constipation is no fun
Turd in a punchbowl
Try some Fiber One
And now I pass the torch. If you want to give it a try.... the deal is this: You leave "Turd in a punchbowl" as lines 1 & 3 and create your own lines for 2 & 4.
Here are my contributions:
Turd in a punchbowl
Resembles Cher in a way
Turd in a punchbowl
Sell it on Ebay
Turd in a punchbowl
Constipation is no fun
Turd in a punchbowl
Try some Fiber One
And now I pass the torch. If you want to give it a try.... the deal is this: You leave "Turd in a punchbowl" as lines 1 & 3 and create your own lines for 2 & 4.
This one is for Greenie
Ok, I’m going to share a very special personal breakfast recipe with all of you.
Vanilla yogurt (I prefer Mountain High low-fat)
Fiber One cereal
Chocolate sauce
Mix & eat.
This recipe does several important things.
1. It helps with regularity. (A problem I and, apparently, many other bloggers suffer)
2. It makes your work-mates laugh. (Chocolate for breakfast and all…)
3. It gives a good and yummy chocolate fix.
4. It gives an all-important dairy fix.
5. Fiber One doubles as squirrel food.
See people, chocolate… it IS an important part of a healthy breakfast.
Vanilla yogurt (I prefer Mountain High low-fat)
Fiber One cereal
Chocolate sauce
Mix & eat.
This recipe does several important things.
1. It helps with regularity. (A problem I and, apparently, many other bloggers suffer)
2. It makes your work-mates laugh. (Chocolate for breakfast and all…)
3. It gives a good and yummy chocolate fix.
4. It gives an all-important dairy fix.
5. Fiber One doubles as squirrel food.
See people, chocolate… it IS an important part of a healthy breakfast.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Now we have a smoking ban… again.
The guv just signed the new smoking ban into effect. Beginning October 1st there will be no smoking in public places with the exception of designated hotel rooms. The ban has a provision for casinos and bars… they will be given 4 years to “ease into” the ban on smoking. There is also a provision that no town can have a smoking ban that is more strict than the statewide ban.
The city of Helena passed a smoking ban several years ago. Much ado has been made nationally about how the heart attack rates were reduced during that time… I would post a link to the study but I don’t know the address. The ban was repealed based on a technicality and then recently reinstated… now I guess it will be repealed again because it is more strict than the statewide ban.
I have a couple of points to offer up for consideration.
1. The state just enacted an increased tax on cigarettes. So, we are hoping to raise some cash for education and whatnot by taxing cigs… and then we ban them everywhere? (Or is the point of the tax to get people to quit?)
2. Before the original Helena ban, a friend of mine who is required to frequent taverns for his job was very excited… he doesn’t like coming home smelling like an ash tray and the smoke hurts his eyes. After the ban went into effect he was lamenting the loss of income from the gaming machines. So are we hurting the -admittedly shakey- Helena economy beyond the bar & casino owners? (Go ahead, apply multipliers and all that stuff I vaguely remember from my college economics class.... although the most striking thing from that class was my prof's red Chuck's & her amazingly cool accent.)
3. Oh, and "I only smoke when I drink" cigarette sales in bars are a major source of income, right? (So are we actually hurting education by taking away a healthy (ha, no pun intended) source of income (see tax in #1) for schools?)
3. What does this do to businesses that rely on OTHER businesses allowing smoking as a “draw” for themselves? I’m talking about the smoke free casinos & bars that advertise themselves as such. I know we often frequent The Brewhouse because there is no smoke… so will they actually lose business because of this now that we can go anywhere?
4. What about the freedom to make your own rules for your own business? You know what I’m talking about. Slippery slope and all.
What do ya'll think?
URTHEIS... Part II
Craig (mtpolitics.net) says, “Montana is a small town with long streets.” This was proven true yet again by my “URTHEIS” post. Not only did someone post the meaning of the plate, but the actual OWNER of the vehicle posted! Yeah!
So, URTHEIS, the green Cherokee (or bluish Camry?) with the perplexed looking driver that was tailgating you on Benton frowning at your license plate the other morning… that was me. And next time I see you around town I am honking. Be prepared.
PS. It was not “Urt, He IS”… as a tribute to my tiny son’s alter ego. It means “You’re the Eyes” and it is a Grateful Dead Song.
So, URTHEIS, the green Cherokee (or bluish Camry?) with the perplexed looking driver that was tailgating you on Benton frowning at your license plate the other morning… that was me. And next time I see you around town I am honking. Be prepared.
PS. It was not “Urt, He IS”… as a tribute to my tiny son’s alter ego. It means “You’re the Eyes” and it is a Grateful Dead Song.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
A Truly Clever Post....
... will have to wait.
I'm ok. A combination of computer problems, travel, family illness, busy-ness, death, and, well, you know, life.... keep getting in the way. I promise something vaguely clever in the next week or so....
For now I will leave you with a poem STOLEN. I don't have the proper credits but this poem is by Ginger Andrews and a friend gave it to me... I don't know the source beyond that tidbit.... just know I'm wearing my red dress and ya'll are invited over for cake later.....
"The Cure"
by Ginger Andrews
Lying around all day
with some strange new deep blue
weekend funk, I'm not really asleep
when my sister calls
to say she's just hung up
from talking with Aunt Bertha
who is 89 and ill but managing
to take care of Uncle Frank
who is completely bedridden.
Aunt Bert says
it's snowing there in Arkansas,
on Catfish Lane, and she hasn't been
able to walk out to their mailbox.
She's been suffering
from a bad case of the mulleygrubs.
The cure for the mulleygrubs,
she tells my sister,
is to get up and bake a cake.
If that doesn't do it, put on a red dress.
I'm ok. A combination of computer problems, travel, family illness, busy-ness, death, and, well, you know, life.... keep getting in the way. I promise something vaguely clever in the next week or so....
For now I will leave you with a poem STOLEN. I don't have the proper credits but this poem is by Ginger Andrews and a friend gave it to me... I don't know the source beyond that tidbit.... just know I'm wearing my red dress and ya'll are invited over for cake later.....
"The Cure"
by Ginger Andrews
Lying around all day
with some strange new deep blue
weekend funk, I'm not really asleep
when my sister calls
to say she's just hung up
from talking with Aunt Bertha
who is 89 and ill but managing
to take care of Uncle Frank
who is completely bedridden.
Aunt Bert says
it's snowing there in Arkansas,
on Catfish Lane, and she hasn't been
able to walk out to their mailbox.
She's been suffering
from a bad case of the mulleygrubs.
The cure for the mulleygrubs,
she tells my sister,
is to get up and bake a cake.
If that doesn't do it, put on a red dress.
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