tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583292346691035762024-02-19T07:36:33.674-08:00Married GeeksMarriedGeekshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03700222788110916169noreply@blogger.comBlogger355125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-13498263509504514282015-06-17T14:46:00.000-07:002015-06-17T14:52:48.475-07:00Musical Chairs. Only Not Chairs, Animals.<i>Posted by She Said</i><br />
<br />
Allow me to jump right in to a post and pretend it hasn't been a gajillion years since my last post. Pretty please? K, thanks.<br />
<br />
Remember <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/2009/09/out-with-old-in-with-turtle.html">Spikey Back Rockstar III</a>? She was our red-eared slider turtle that lived with us for nearly 6 years. She grew so large, at one point we purchased a larger tank for her. And then she outgrew THAT tank. *sigh* This time she had the opportunity to go live on a farm. No really! OK, not so much a farm as a friend's house with a HUGE pond on the property.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5YyvfS4G1L0qQ7BBjmyv_4yus7aqGYW35QF40Or8fRyQQTxE4fQIrGzc8K766Ip3wnzN-4LcScCVVRhpTNQsU71RXUGejxNfVNdEfzImZy1J0OeNKkydOupt-BOJXyjiXk864FhrBinf2/s1600/IMG_6448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5YyvfS4G1L0qQ7BBjmyv_4yus7aqGYW35QF40Or8fRyQQTxE4fQIrGzc8K766Ip3wnzN-4LcScCVVRhpTNQsU71RXUGejxNfVNdEfzImZy1J0OeNKkydOupt-BOJXyjiXk864FhrBinf2/s400/IMG_6448.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our friend's daughter made her a welcome sign. Love!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But it wouldn't be our house with a <strike>little bit</strike> lot of chaos. Prior to Spike's re-homing, we surprised the boy with a baby Bearded Dragon. Meet baby Echo.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4-R53-zbt5jwcYltZOYDX55qgGqsJyR37ChavLmA9T3eOlYPTqJhUM34XSfv6Rcpsdwf9sbCPvyn1WFoeTs69HSL27bEFTQJ3e5VWWJQzpbJ0BCCt9jmTM0tpaaWLpYjwKQJDbTPXbvV/s1600/2014-10-11+15.42.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4-R53-zbt5jwcYltZOYDX55qgGqsJyR37ChavLmA9T3eOlYPTqJhUM34XSfv6Rcpsdwf9sbCPvyn1WFoeTs69HSL27bEFTQJ3e5VWWJQzpbJ0BCCt9jmTM0tpaaWLpYjwKQJDbTPXbvV/s400/2014-10-11+15.42.44.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Not to be outdone, his sister had to have one and bought a Bearded Dragon with her own money. Meet M&M.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jVQFWj9HF8ivthQsklDkdu5sUgJQg0XGbu9DD1f2TKo-BLH6RtEJTOsZDZOc9kkR7fJkIyYjlTOAc-1uZ5kERLkl7UaY5-_cU7ZT5npv8PnSDRdGCm07NkCLzFAYGf4nxlOPm1PHZ9lw/s1600/2014-10-25+09.40.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jVQFWj9HF8ivthQsklDkdu5sUgJQg0XGbu9DD1f2TKo-BLH6RtEJTOsZDZOc9kkR7fJkIyYjlTOAc-1uZ5kERLkl7UaY5-_cU7ZT5npv8PnSDRdGCm07NkCLzFAYGf4nxlOPm1PHZ9lw/s320/2014-10-25+09.40.02.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
We weren't worried about the kids having them. They had long proven their affection for creatures of the reptile persuasion.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQeFzcBN38cpdhNkF-rErVUsswF3jynMVTLKqnLnnoLE9hyphenhyphenJT3xocQejxqBF91JQkiRrUIBTAjv8T7igQKL-wWsYCJXGoTFxcv7ob3EX3yShWEDFccQxD2qiSk5fRTKAS5mgW4lFQV2VM/s1600/2014-07-17+15.24.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQeFzcBN38cpdhNkF-rErVUsswF3jynMVTLKqnLnnoLE9hyphenhyphenJT3xocQejxqBF91JQkiRrUIBTAjv8T7igQKL-wWsYCJXGoTFxcv7ob3EX3yShWEDFccQxD2qiSk5fRTKAS5mgW4lFQV2VM/s400/2014-07-17+15.24.44.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Em, the lizard whisperer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
And behold! Everyone was happy.<br />
<br />
But not for long. Those little critters would cuddle and be so cute together. But then they grew up and became bitchy little teenagers. Echo started to dominate M&M. It turns out they are both boys. And yes, we checked their little lizard parts for proof. We've got mad skills over here, my friends.<br />
<br />
So, once Spike was basking in his freedom and swimming in his enormous pond, we moved Echo into her old tank. Only it not only looked awkward but it was hard to feed him or get him out of the tank, due to it's size and set up actually being built for fish. We bit the bullet and bought two really cool <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Exo-Terra-Glass-Terrarium-18-Inch/dp/B001B5ATYK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1434576429&sr=8-1&keywords=exo+terra+large+low" target="_blank">terrariums</a>. Greg built a shelving system for them. I present to you, his awesome handy work:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVR2QYmWpl6kr3sKgCsmQ86EYs-l_RTqwhxCgqbK21ndLOpiSWKEa1i6ODj-woober0Vn9Ekv50N_5fYRBKOoE0UVl6LhL3e6pRXAj6dPOaOLQZehCEviziBrLfm-ScM0J8wIQlhucE9f/s1600/IMG_6684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVR2QYmWpl6kr3sKgCsmQ86EYs-l_RTqwhxCgqbK21ndLOpiSWKEa1i6ODj-woober0Vn9Ekv50N_5fYRBKOoE0UVl6LhL3e6pRXAj6dPOaOLQZehCEviziBrLfm-ScM0J8wIQlhucE9f/s400/IMG_6684.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A geek and a handyman. Swoon!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So happy with the way it turned out. And these awesome little creatures aren't trying to kill each other anymore. Bonus!<br />
<br />
However, the setup is trying to kill Greg. Less than 24 hours after the glorious completion, Greg was feeding Echo (top). He leaned over to get some <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=dubia+roaches&espv=2&biw=1433&bih=685&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=H-iBVZ_xI8nwoATphoLIBA&sqi=2&ved=0CAcQ_AUoAg" target="_blank">dubias</a> to feed him, left the doors open, and when he stood up, the top of his head firmly met the open door, causing it to fall, creating a glistening sea of glass pieces on our floor. But not before hitting Greg's hand as he tried to catch it. Thankfully nothing but the door broke. Okay, and maybe a bit of his pride. Greg's head and hand are still in tact. We are currently waiting for a replacement door. Thankfully, we are a house with extras and still have yet ANOTHER tank for Echo to live in until it comes.<br />
<br />
Oh, did you see that I said we had dubias? Not just dubias - a COLONY of them. Oh, yes, don't even get me started. It's cheaper and more economical to create a self-propagating colony of roaches to feed them than to run to Petsmart for crickets every couple of days. Want to hear about the one that got loose? I'll tell you, but you'll still come over to the house for a visit, right?She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-86818505488835930862013-08-16T11:47:00.001-07:002013-08-16T11:47:50.531-07:00My Night in the Pet Cemetery<p>Posted by She Said</p> <p>You all remember <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/2009/07/love-american-style.html" target="_blank">Stella</a>, right? Yes, such a charmer that Stella. She gets so many looks, waves, and huge teeth-baring smiles from strangers young and old, you’d think I’d be jealous that Greg gets to drive her around and not me. Oh, Stella. Stella, Stella, Stella. She’s fantastic. Until she’s not. Like for example when she turns from charming VW camping van into the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098084/" target="_blank">PET CEMETERY</a>.</p> <p>You see, Stella has had (note the tense) a stowaway, a little mouse that would chew up the rolls of toilet paper, receipts, or the fries Greg would drop when he secretly snuck away to McDonald’s (and he thinks I don’t know). It would leave droppings in the craziest imaginable places, places that seemed impossible for even the tiniest of mice to squeeze into.</p> <p>At first this wasn’t such a big deal to me. Greg would often tidy up any evidence prior to my seeing it, with the intention of me being as comfortable in Stella as possible. He didn’t want me all freaked out about hantavirus while the four of us were sleeping, eating, and living inside her during our numerous camping trips. I just tried to think of this little guy as a cousin of Stewart Little. A cousin I didn’t ever have to see, clean up after, or think about.</p> <p>Until I met him.</p> <p>Our first encounter was during our first camping trip of the summer. Greg, the kids, and the family we were camping with had all taken a little day trip to a local brewery (‘cuz nothing says camping like getting to fill a growler with local brew!). I had decided that too much fresh air, combined with a night sleeping in very close quarters with Greg, marathon snorer, meant I needed a nap. A luscious, quiet nap. Oh, and that nap was truly spectacular. That is until I heard something nibbling on something. I slowly aroused from my decadent slumber to see Stewart’s cousin staring back at me from the front of the van. I quickly sat up and watched him freak out and run away to the front of the passenger seat. I ran to the front of the van to see where he was hiding, but he had already disappeared. I could not for the life of me figure out where he could have gone. No wonder Greg could never catch this guy; he was freakin’ Houdini reincarnated as this mouse.</p> <p>For a few weeks and several more camping trips (that I didn’t go on), Hantavirus Houdini kept hidden.</p> <p>Apparently, the little guy is attached to me because the next camping trip I went on? Yeah, he showed up. He left his little markers everywhere – tiny pieces of toilet paper – taunting Greg, who apparently was a stowaway-hunting pirate in a previous life.</p> <p>Greg had been booted to a tent so the rest of us could sleep and so his snores would scare away the bear that had lately been making an appearance right in our campsite. (Totally worked, by the way! Snorer-1, Bear-0). Braedyn had finagled his way to a sweet spot on a bed in the trailer our friends were camping in, so it was just me and Emily in Stella. Oh… and Hantavirus Houdini.</p> <p>On our third night camping, Greg had had quite enough of this mouse, so he set a trap in between the front seats and then went off to scare the bears away from his tent. Emily and I had quickly fallen asleep and were snuggled up against each other for warmth. It was once again a blissful sleep. Until…</p> <p><strong><font size="4">SNAP!</font></strong></p> <p>I popped up in bed and I instantly knew what had so abruptly woken me. Only it was completely pitch black and I couldn’t see to make sure. I wasn’t sure I actually <em>wanted</em> to confirm my suspicions. I thought, screw it, I’ll know for sure in the morning. But then, what if Houdini just set it off but wasn’t actually caught? What if he was PISSED? Would he venture to our bed and find something else to nibble on? My mind quickly raced through eleventy zillion different ways Houdini could get his revenge on us in that confined space. My mind was racing, and then I heard it, and my mind went completely quiet. There it was again. It was the sound of something moving around on the floor of the van. It sounded like something being dragged.</p> <p><strong><font size="4">SCRAAAAAPE.</font></strong></p> <p>(Silence.)</p> <p><strong><font size="4">SCRAAAAAPE.</font></strong></p> <p>(Silence.)</p> <p>Oh, dear gawd. I scrambled to find any light source I could, and upon finding one, I shined it upon… a trapped Houdini. Apparently the real Houdini never practiced getting out of a mouse trap that rested just above his hind legs, because I’m certain if he had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. He’d still be taunting Greg.</p> <p>Instead, he was fully trapped. And still alive. And dragging himself around by his front legs. I shined the light on him a little more and his top half of his body turned away from me and tried to claw the carpeting on the back of the driver seat. I turned off the light and sat there, unsure of what to do.</p> <p>Surely he’d just die, I figured, so I curled back up under the covers. A few minutes of silence passed, so I figured I could just let Greg deal with the corpse tomorrow.</p> <p><strong><font size="4">SCRAAAAAPE.</font></strong></p> <p>Oh, holy fuck. No! It didn’t die! Or maybe it did, and it was coming back because we were camping on top of some ancient burial ground. I turned on the light, fully intent on getting rid of Hopeless Houdini. I had to get him out of the van. I armed myself with my shoe. Then a cup. Then my shoe. Crap, I couldn’t get close enough to him to push him outside. Or was that not the right thing anyway? Would the bear think I was offering up some appetizer for him, luring him over?</p> <p>I did what I had to do. Turned the light off, crawled back into bed, and pulled the covers over my head.</p> <p><strong><font size="4">SCRAAAAAPE.</font></strong></p> <p>Please make it stop!</p> <p>Then came the silence. Fifteen or so minutes had to have passed as my senses were on high alert, just waiting for…</p> <p><strong><font size="4">SCRAAAAAPE.</font></strong></p> <p>Oh, hell no. I truly was living in a pet cemetery.</p> <p>It felt like hours inched by, riddled with silence and sounds of life. Until the sounds of life finally and completely stopped.</p> <p>The following morning, I acted as a human shield, quickly shifting my body between Truly Dead Houdini and Emily. I didn’t need her learning that she slept in a pet cemetery the night before.</p> <p>Next time, I will take my chances with the bear and sleep in the tent. Greg and Houdini’s ghost can be BFFs.</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-aFJBDEGYXiU/Ug5zz87dLTI/AAAAAAAATeQ/5TEDYXUYeA8/s1600-h/Houdini%25255B4%25255D.gif"><img title="Houdini" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: none; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; border-left: 0px; display: block; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Houdini" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8niRvGL-A9qCy_Elq9RDWp32TBVyrFatiYEyPtDWLwX15vXrTXSwqeelm4qgVSF6yey5FI3hNk-DfE0TwmiEw2QdlYtHiHSe5kE84xpIdMd1SIGnp3Bqnt5OqooB53peKlr4aiOEQqbP/?imgmax=800" width="341" height="486" /></a></p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-74502841929658286242013-07-27T16:45:00.001-07:002013-07-27T16:45:35.365-07:00Open Letter to Mr. Sheriff Wannabe<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>Dear Mr. Sherriff Wannabe,</p> <p>My children and I were shopping at Winco Foods yesterday, and as I was instructing my son where to scratch my itchy back, you walked by and smiled at us. I didn’t give you much thought at first because I was so focused on getting him to scratch <em>just</em> the right out-of-reach spot in the middle of my back. But then my daughter, who was sitting in the cart, turns to me and asks, “Mommy, is he a Sheriff?” This prompted me to take a better look. As I quickly scanned you, I got a kick out of your salt-and-pepper handlebar mustache, your open leather vest just begging for that star-shaped badge, your faded jeans, and your well-used cowboy boots. With my eyes twinkling and a grin on my face, I told my daughter that you weren’t a Sheriff; perhaps you were a cowboy! Then something caught my eye and I did a double take around your waist. Now, don’t blush Mr. Wannabe, I wasn’t interested in anything you were packing in your pants. Shame on you! No, I was more interested in the <strong>heat</strong> you were packing. You see, what got me staring at your mid-section was the holster slung to your hips, a holster proudly and openly cradling your handgun. </p> <p>A handgun. In Winco Foods.</p> <p>Now my friends know me as wildly liberal, but I grew up in Texas and am very familiar with how feverishly people are feeling about their 2nd Amendment rights. Particularly now that there’s an <whispering> <em>African-American man in the oval office</em> <em>who wants to take away all your guns</em>. *Eye roll* You see that happening, right? No, you don’t see that happening? Yeah, that’s because IT’S NOT HAPPENING, Mr. Wannabe! We can’t even get better background checks passed in this state!</p> <p>Which leads me to why your smug display makes me completely uncomfortable. I don’t know you! You may look endearing in your “I’m straight out of the wild west” get-up, but I. Don’t. Know. You. Either you are doing this for self-preservation because you are distrustful of your fellow shoppers, or you are doing this because you actually are taking on some self-imposed duty (to protect and serve!). You may feel all proud and puffed-up with your gun on your hip, and you may think that you are providing a service to those around you, like you could save us should a hail of bullets rain upon us (in Winco Foods). Mr. Wannabe, you are not providing me with a service. In fact, looking at you with your gun slung on your hip made me quickly think of hundred ways it could go bad. </p> <p>If a hailstorm of bullets did rain down on us, I’m thinking, “Great! Now I have to watch out for Mr. Wannabe’s gun, too!” I don’t know if you’re a good shot! I’d have to watch out for your stray bullets, too!</p> <p>I shudder to think what could happen if my children weren’t as well-behaved as they are and ran up and grabbed your easily assessable gun and shot you or some innocent bystander? What if they shot me? You are kind of getting up there in years; there’s no telling if your reflexes would stop that in time.</p> <p>What if I happened to look at you with a stink-eye? This wouldn’t be intentional, of course. Perhaps I was thinking of something unpleasant at the time, and you happened to be the recipient of my unintended glare. I have no idea if you just got out of some mental institution, because we know it is easy with the laws to get your hands on a gun regardless of any history of mental illness. So, it is entirely possible that  you, dressed in your adorable wild west attire, are just looking for a reason to start firing that thing!</p> <p>And of course, other than self-preservation or a desire to protect and serve, there is another offensive option. What if you <em>ARE</em> the bad guy? Remember, I don’t know you! Why should I assume you are good? Because you are wearing a handgun? Nuh-uh. In fact, quite the opposite! You make me more leery that you <em>are</em> that bad guy. Were you shopping, or were you looking for your ex-wife to settle some vendetta with her? </p> <p>In closing, Mr. Sheriff Wannabe, I implore you to knock these wild west antics off. I don’t need reminding in the middle of Winco Foods that the world is a dangerous place. I am acutely aware of that fact. And I don’t need you to try and “protect” me and my children from your preconceived notions of the dangers of being in the bulk section. I’m not coming for your gun, so simmer down; I just don’t need your weapon blatantly shoved in my face. </p> <p>In all sincerity,</p> <p>Susanne</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-16072486804928729832013-06-22T15:10:00.001-07:002013-06-22T15:10:21.476-07:00Now, Where Did I Put that Ninja School Application?<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>So, you know kids and boxes, right? Scrap the gift and just give them a box? I don’t care how old my children get, they still love to play with boxes. Or sleep in them. Yeah, that’s right, sleep in them. For Father’s Day, Greg got a shop vac (because he didn’t ask for me wrapped up in a new Victoria’s Secret outfit, but whatever, I’m not bitter…). Those handy suction devices come in pretty big boxes, and Greg bestowed the beloved box to our children, who were already dreaming up all of the possibilities. </p> <p>This cherished box actually made it through its first purpose in one piece. Braedyn, wearing his helmet (thank-you-very-much) sat in the box that had been precariously balanced on two skateboards. Then his friend pushed the skateboards down the driveway and was hurled into the street. Should I copyright that action in case <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jackass_(TV_series)" target="_blank">Jackass</a> starts up again? Yeah, maybe I should.</p> <p>Since it, and Braedyn, survived that stunt, Braedyn wanted to reward the box by sleeping with it. Errr, in it. And who are we to deny our children that kind of appreciation for a box?</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-RPicXaCnCQc/UcYgruz3wDI/AAAAAAAAOos/4evHBhVtkjk/s1600-h/BInBox%25255B10%25255D.jpg"><img title="BInBox" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: none; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; border-left: 0px; display: block; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="BInBox" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-TVgfoTdi_7U/UcYgvMvLcFI/AAAAAAAAOo0/NsdGRIhKPXQ/BInBox_thumb%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="501" height="454" /></a></p> <p>Now, anything big brother does, Emily wants to do too. So, the next night, she wanted a turn sleeping in the box. Just saying that makes me feel like a marvelous parent. Anyway, once again, who are we to say no? The only problem was Emily had to have a tooth pulled at the dentist that day. Here the kids are watching the distraction device mounted to the ceiling:</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-26NWIKNmJOA/UcYgwbu2faI/AAAAAAAAOo8/KSANoi1JM64/s1600-h/photo%252520%25252813%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="photo (13)" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: none; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; border-left: 0px; display: block; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="photo (13)" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpH7tmX2uoRdhEiSMXPYe_2Vix0onUSH2hqY6VwWV_ilqVhPh41T_JOURFqPKjiy6dZ18Ke-qy3eMrxZ1bW4qJ9CeLrnLgm1VZUDjyHpl5QhdAgIZwl7ygGVVNSchraqMnioAoOOyLkBY6/?imgmax=800" width="360" height="480" /></a></p> <p>Why is that a problem? Well, imagine this:</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-THr_frDywlg/UcYgyIsgGGI/AAAAAAAAOpM/Fv7Pf28r39I/s1600-h/photo%252520%25252814%252529%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img title="photo (14)" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: none; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; border-left: 0px; display: block; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="photo (14)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-xj_NjzcI2Gg/UcYgzKFujEI/AAAAAAAAOpU/nS4rPPVD8Q0/photo%252520%25252814%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="360" height="480" /></a></p> <p>And then think Tooth Fairy. And the tooth AND letter to the Tooth Fairy weren’t just under her pillow at the back of the box, they were INSIDE the pillow case.</p> <p>And who knew being a parent would require having an advanced degree in stealthy ninja techniques? </p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-62821316289891460132013-04-25T16:58:00.002-07:002013-04-26T08:40:16.672-07:00"Moove!"Posted by He Said<br />
<br />
I don't normally post work related content, but this was something I felt was longer than a facebook post and deserved some space here.<br />
<br />
I returned from a trip to the new local Human Bean coffee house to find this IM message on my screen from a fellow in the art department. Let's call him Fred.<br />
<br />
Fred: "I'm getting an error in my AlienBrain program, can you come help me?"<br />
<br />
Because I'm lazy, I didn't head over. I figured he could at least tell me the error.<br />
<br />
Me: "What's the error?"<br />
<br />
Fred: "It says something about out of memory?"<br />
<br />
Now remember, I said ART department. These people think that the word "memory" and "hard drive" can be used interchangeably and that using a web browser can be difficult. Yes. I'm making fun of them. I have an art degree, and I know how to use a computer, so I am allowed. I'm not saying they are dumb. I think they like to PLAY dumb. They like people to do shit for them because they are the "creative force."<br />
<br />
I hear more times during the day than I care to count how I am asking them to be too "technical". Have you ever tried to use a 3D program like <a href="http://www.luxology.com/modo/701/tour/" target="_blank">Modo</a>, or <a href="http://www.autodesk.com/products/autodesk-maya/overview" target="_blank">Maya</a>? You need to learn Klingon just to read the manual.<br />
<br />
Me: "Does it say you are out of memory or that your hard drive is full?"<br />
<br />
Fred: "It says 'out of disk space'. How do I get more memory installed?"<br />
<br />
I have a stain on my shirt from the coffee that came out of my nose at this point.<br />
<br />
Me: "Your hard drive is full, you need to make more room by deleting files."<br />
<br />
Fred: "So I can just delete everything?"<br />
<br />
At this point I wanted to say yes and then claim I never told him this. Would that have been bad of me? <br />
<br />
So, yeah, I had to walk over and show him how to choose what files to delete.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/24762526" target="_blank">MOOOOVE!</a><br />
<br />Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17011912439786824773noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-34832523080382968782013-02-20T11:09:00.000-08:002013-02-20T17:35:29.110-08:00An Open Letter To Our Principalby He Said<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I composed an email to my child's principal today and after some thought I have decided to post it here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">Mrs. xxxxxx,</span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
I am sure you get a lot of emails and I know that you are busy, but I hope you can find the time to sit and read this email and truly think about it.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
This week my son came home sad again, afraid to talk about his day. Embarrassed to talk about how two boys in particular are taunting him on the playground. This is not the first time, and it they are not the only children to have done this.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
As a young man I was taunted and teased. Bullied with words as far back as I can remember. My parents told me over and over again to just "ignore them and to walk away". In those days I didn't have a school that was touting itself as zero tolerance for bullying. I didn't have teachers who were supposed to be looking out for bullying. I was an emotional child. One who cried easily. My parents told me "its OK for boys to cry." The boys on the playground saw it differently and took joy and pleasure in poking and prodding me with words until the tears came. So I learned very quickly it was NOT OK to cry, which made it even harder to stop because I was made to feel weak. Children <span b4c_all_day="true" b4c_busy_status="b4c-green" b4c_date="today" b4c_id="0" b4c_time="10:00 AM" class="b4c-event"><span class="b4c-add-event" style="cursor: pointer; font-size: 15px; margin-right: 2px;"></span><span class="boomerang-meeting-text b4c_event_id0" style="cursor: pointer;">today</span></span> are no different.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
It rips me up inside to see this happening with my son. My history boils up inside and all I want to tell my son is to fight back. We all know from movies that punching the bully makes them go away. But that is<i>not </i>what I truly want my son to do. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
If the answer to ending bullying was to truly walk away and ignore it, then we wouldn't have a bullying problem, because kids who are bullied do try to walk away and hide from those that are taunting them. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
Our kids need advocates and while I understand deeply that teachers have enough responsibilities, my child has no one else to be his advocate on your watch than the teachers and staff who are monitoring the playground.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
When a child approaches a teacher and tells him or her that someone is bullying them, be it even with words (because we all know that words do hurt) that child <i>needs </i>to believe that something will be done. Our children must know that their words will be heard. It takes <i>more </i>strength to tell a teacher that they are being bullied than it does to just walk away. It takes <i>more </i>character to tell a teacher that you are being bullied than it does to fight back. Because telling makes you a "tattle tale," doesn't it. Approaching a grown up to say you are being taunted is a cry for help that needs to be taken very seriously.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
Our children need to believe and they need to feel that telling a teacher is the right thing to do and that if they do, something will be done. Because if nothing is done, then it's our children who are being hurt. Then our children won't tell when someone is taunting, name calling or teasing them, and that is heartbreaking to consider. Our children need to believe that something will come of their actions. Otherwise our "zero tolerance" policy is nothing but meaningless words, and our children will continue to pay the price.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
Does your school have an official bully reporting system? If not, what are your plans to establish such a system? Do you have regular training and assemblies to discuss this issue? If not, are there plans to create and schedule them? </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
Take a 8 minutes of your day to watch this video, come back and read my email again and then please, feel free to respond.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ltun92DfnPY?rel=0&wmode=transparent&showinfo=0&controls=1&enablejsapi=1&rel=0" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank" wotsearchprocessed="true">http://www.youtube.com/embed/<wbr></wbr>ltun92DfnPY?rel=0&wmode=<wbr></wbr>transparent&showinfo=0&<wbr></wbr>controls=1&enablejsapi=1&rel=0</a><br />
<div style="cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; height: 16px; position: absolute; visibility: hidden; width: 16px;" wotsearchtarget="youtube.com">
</div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
I have told my son that the next time he is being taunted to go straight to a teacher and say "I am being bullied." I expect that his words will be taken seriously. Please do whatever it takes to be sure that his and other children's words are taken seriously. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
Sincerely,</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
Greg XXXXX</div>
<div style="background-color: white;">
<br /></div>
<span style="background-color: white;">UPDATE: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">The principal responded very quickly with a short response promising a longer one later. She has taken the time to speak with our son already. The reason I asked about bullying programs was because I could find nothing on the school specific website. An important oversight in my opinion. He does not want talk about their conversation and we are honoring his requests. We will see where it goes from here.</span></div>
</div>
Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17011912439786824773noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-60227533969223682732012-12-18T15:18:00.002-08:002012-12-18T15:36:05.737-08:00Bathroom MusingsPosted by He Said<br />
<br />
And now for something a little lighter.<br />
<br />
Ask anyone in my family and they will tell you that when I go to take "my morning constitutional" as my father called it, I have a tendency to lose track of time. I might find myself reading a good news story, or shopping for my latest "<a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/search/label/Stella">obsession</a>".<br />
<br />
Many times though I find myself playing a game (get your head out of the gutter). It doesn't even have a name. It's one I have played since I was a young boy. Ok. Go write your dirty comments, then come back and finish.<br />
<br />
Lets call it Bathroom Musings for the lack of a better name. If I stare at an object, a shape or pattern I start pulling images from them. If I had any sort of artistic skills they would be great inspiration for drawings.<br />
<br />
The large tiles in our bathroom have a numerous number of animals, shapes and objects in them, and they change every time I stare at it. Especially depending on my mood.
Here is the main whole tile I see at my feet.
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88Xvg6wkuftmnwJ-j6UYHe31f1oNQzZvzZk_-Vs1sGATGb_qFFHE36F2taWPGs3cJhJnGzROwRGt0hZEbt1THcg2j39y_6UISo6Jgyoz5af2cPrREVXw-iKcH_rku_RJrVpT9AhJ2JDVB/s1600/WholeTile.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88Xvg6wkuftmnwJ-j6UYHe31f1oNQzZvzZk_-Vs1sGATGb_qFFHE36F2taWPGs3cJhJnGzROwRGt0hZEbt1THcg2j39y_6UISo6Jgyoz5af2cPrREVXw-iKcH_rku_RJrVpT9AhJ2JDVB/s400/WholeTile.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Just the other morning, I was in a good mood and the first shape I saw was a heart. A plain and simple heart. Do you see it...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaCdRBcbGNJPJ0c58DQGnro4K-JA4WHPOdhKLg8Z0kp0KkxshNGw02RDD5DVhzlaE8tJE7MPaJ6QNp8QigmMuvJSOhFit92vVwyI5E54_3rw0htDS0TSzkSqW6oJEsu8g3-DftcS_5ynVl/s1600/highlightedHeart.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaCdRBcbGNJPJ0c58DQGnro4K-JA4WHPOdhKLg8Z0kp0KkxshNGw02RDD5DVhzlaE8tJE7MPaJ6QNp8QigmMuvJSOhFit92vVwyI5E54_3rw0htDS0TSzkSqW6oJEsu8g3-DftcS_5ynVl/s400/highlightedHeart.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Then as I stare at it, it starts to get a little more complicated. Like the roaring lion! He is facing left. His nose is probably the most defined. Do you see it?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwenVLEd9YUx7oaplcZAqnEYW7DwHFPSUSlJWm8dxeTsgK4pWMx_RzxAI3Q65OZgrvt75xlvwVOtulUrfs1A-30mvHn34gBtPq9UxHqAw4NqWQa-GVVVo9fAaVumTh8qGBFM9XkxerDgw5/s1600/RoaringLion.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwenVLEd9YUx7oaplcZAqnEYW7DwHFPSUSlJWm8dxeTsgK4pWMx_RzxAI3Q65OZgrvt75xlvwVOtulUrfs1A-30mvHn34gBtPq9UxHqAw4NqWQa-GVVVo9fAaVumTh8qGBFM9XkxerDgw5/s400/RoaringLion.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Then on darker days there are evil characters sometimes. Demons and ghouls. Like this evil face with the Bob's Big Boy hair and depending on how you look at it, he might have an over sized head with a little black body riding on a broomstick. Yes. I have been watching ALL the Harry Potter movies with the kids.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPz4bBJ5Vm2SU2B-hORZP5xjUZNxHdVcYMR4bVYnz5HXqatPyyoTKrFsCJD5PvYNBCZnDyaGDvL6xCT7jdcsNSkHd9RlCLET9EAioAdba1nWU0Yty61IIVLd8OCGNg4JfWzGCGBstsecqs/s1600/GhoulOnBroomStick.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPz4bBJ5Vm2SU2B-hORZP5xjUZNxHdVcYMR4bVYnz5HXqatPyyoTKrFsCJD5PvYNBCZnDyaGDvL6xCT7jdcsNSkHd9RlCLET9EAioAdba1nWU0Yty61IIVLd8OCGNg4JfWzGCGBstsecqs/s400/GhoulOnBroomStick.png" width="380" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Maybe I will post some more as I see them (if you care to see more, let me know). Do any of you play a game like this?<br />
<br />Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17011912439786824773noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-47090793161152870202012-11-20T10:05:00.001-08:002012-11-20T10:41:35.096-08:00Power to the Tatas!<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>I need to get something off of my chest (ahem), so to speak…</p> <p>Turning 40 has been a wild ride so far, and I’m only 6 months in. It started with a celebratory tattoo, an awesome party with wonderful friends, and the running of three 5Ks, one of which included zombies. Forty ain’t so bad!</p> <p>But then it can be.</p> <p>Along with that number comes the need for annual boob squishings, otherwise known as mammograms. I had one at 38 because of my mother’s <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/2010/04/he-saids-43rd-birthday-in-beijing-my.html" target="_blank">breast cancer diagnosis</a>. I wasn’t thrilled to have to do this; hell, I doubt anyone enjoys them, but I did it. I was told that if the tech found anything, they’d give me a call the next day. I didn’t get a call, so woohoo!</p> <p>But then I got the letter!</p> <p>Apparently, someone forgot to make the call and I got the letter (almost two weeks later) instead. A strange mass was found on the mammogram and I needed to go in for further testing. BUT I DIDN’T GET A CALL! I thought I was in the clear, but here was the damn letter in front of me stating otherwise. Nervously I went in for the ultrasound, sweaty as all get out because you can’t wear deodorant. And when do I need to be wearing deodorant? WHEN I’M STRESSED.</p> <p>The doctor came in after reviewing the ultrasound findings and said I had what looked like a complicated cyst. I just needed to have a needle aspiration (how fun!) and a biopsy, and I’d be good. They are almost always benign, he said. Call my doctor, he said.</p> <p>Now, I’ll be honest, I’m terrible about doing my own monthly breast checks. Hell, I’m bad about doing them EVER. So, with sudsy, nervous hands in the shower, I felt around for this “cyst” and holy shit. There it was! AND queue meltdown.</p> <p>Fast forward to the surgeon’s office, and he’s feeling around and can’t find anything. He asked me to show him where I felt it, and I couldn’t find it either. I guess suds and a shower is to feeling a bump as a box a kleenex and porn is to Larry Flynt’s Friday nights.</p> <p>Two days later, I go in for the biopsy and needle aspiration (again, doesn’t that just sound like a good time?). I couldn’t feel anything, thankfully, because of the local anesthetic, but I could SEE everything he was doing since it was an ultrasound guided biopsy and the screen was right in front of me. AND queue deer in the headlights.</p> <p>After the biopsy, the doctor informed me that it was not a cyst but a tumor. The difference being that a cyst is fluid filled, and a tumor is solid. Given that it was almost an inch in length, he was not able to aspirate it through the needle. He again assured me it looked benign, and that it most likely was a <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0004482/" target="_blank">fibroadenoma</a>. AND queue painful waiting and some wicked bruising.</p> <p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmVDM5MGkR43dxL7cFAXuZDnXyG4rf3TR3wfUdIuKJYi-Sj0bJn4NMFLDW26tMa8US7AAj8qQ6n2xfLbzJEwQrj3IyYuMe_hSweZpIilBW5BsHMvoMbPVitjmPiG-7UyUIm7cL3byt1kg/s1600-h/Boob%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Boob" border="0" alt="Boob" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Mm9Nlh3j2Xg/UKvGTLb2oQI/AAAAAAAAOcw/cqlR_1ReMJo/Boob_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="304" height="214" /></a>(I know, gross. Sorry.)</p> <p>And more waiting, waiting, waiting…</p> <p>After doing a TON of reading (thanks, google!) about this, I discovered that fibroadenomas are usually found in younger women, while <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phyllodes_tumor" target="_blank">phyllodes tumors</a>, that look very similar, are often found in women in their forties and older. Thank you, forty, for being such an unpredictable bitch. Again, it is rare for one of these to be malignant, but there is a small percentage that are.</p> <p>After THREE (THREE!!!!!!) full days of excruciating, gut-wrenching waiting, the results came back, and the samples were benign (hoo-fucking-ray!!!) and it is either a fibroadenoma or a phyllodes tumor or possibly both. They won’t fully know until it is excised (a nice term for cutting that shit out) and sent to pathology. When asked if it could still be found to be malignant, he said there was a chance, but that none of the samples sent in had any sign of malignancy, so not to worry. He said that to <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/2008/12/hard-wired-worry.html" target="_blank">ME</a>, the person hard-wired to worry. But I am going to try and do just that, not worry.</p> <p>The surgery is scheduled in a couple of weeks, and I’m assured the scarring will be minimal. Good thing; I don’t want to lose that sweet pole dancing gig I’ve got goin’.</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-83369781703122031952012-10-22T19:30:00.001-07:002012-10-22T19:30:43.777-07:00Slap My Ass Like An American Athlete<p>by He Said</p> <p>Its soccer season again.. ok, it’s almost over, but that’s not really the point to my rambling here. It’s to tell you a story.</p> <p>Last week I’m at the park while B is at soccer practice. It’s a popular park for dog walkers and there is an older gentleman that I have seen there several times. It isn’t that he stands out that I remember him, but that he has a dog that looks like a walking cotton ball. A big white fro with legs this dog is. This particular evening I sat on the park bench on the patch this evening rather than on the grass.</p> <p>As the older gentleman (I’m using this term loosely as you will soon learn) approached his dog came to me and as a dog lover I naturally greeted it with love and attention. The man was was wearing his Veterans of Foreign Wars baseball cap and a jacket with military insignia, flags and the like. A proud vet. Being the grandson of a WWII veteran of the Navy on one side, and a Army Soldier on the other as well as a father who served in the Army I was raised to respect those who have served our country. Rightly so, I automatically give someone who has served our country proud a little more respect than the average stranger. </p> <p>As I am sitting there petting this “gentlemen's” dog I look up and smile and he says to me, “What’s with all these kids playing soccer? Why aren’t they playing baseball and football.” I tried to explain to him that they play football and baseball at the baseball and football parks.</p> <p>As though he didn’t hear a word I said (and maybe he didn’t, he had a few years on him) he said “When I was a kid, we played American sports like baseball and football. Not this pussy sport.”</p> <p>uh…can I stop referring to him as a gentleman and he dropped two notches of respect.</p> <p>So what the hell am I supposed to say to this guy who once served our country risking life and limb to guarantee the freedoms we enjoy today who just called my kids sport a “pussy sport?”</p> <p>I was flabbergasted. I couldn’t speak. I just looked at him, pet his dog one more time and looked away.</p> <p>When I told this story to a coworker he had a response that I WISH I had at the time. I wish I had said something like. “So right. Those ass slapping sports are SO much more manly.”</p> Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17011912439786824773noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-28851020490103872742012-09-13T14:25:00.001-07:002012-09-13T14:37:35.721-07:00To Stick or Not to Stick?<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>I recently freed myself of my mommymobile (aka minivan) and acquired a much more “I’m an outdoorsy type” Outback. It’s even a stick shift, which alone makes me feel 10 years younger. And in our very four-seasons climate, these “I can easily go kayaking! or skiing!” cars are very popular. (Not that I do either of those things, but still.) These cars are EVERYWHERE.</p> <p>So, I was trying to figure out how to make mine stand out a bit? I’ve been wavering on whether or not to put my politically-affiliated bumper sticker on the car, but in a fit of <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/2012/09/its-420-somewhere.html" target="_blank">Angry Susanne</a>, I decided to bite the proverbial bullet and put it on my car. And as I was smoothing down the final corner and checking Facebook at the same time (hey, not all multi-tasking skills left me with motherhood!), I saw a friend’s post about being opposed to putting any sticker on his car but would possibly consider this one:</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-qe7dtZ_tjks/UFJPUDxoj2I/AAAAAAAAOWQ/TdCaSb8L0eQ/s1600-h/sticker%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="sticker" border="0" alt="sticker" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-AH9louch_u8/UFJPUud_vjI/AAAAAAAAOWY/NI0EEPSZBpg/sticker_thumb%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="504" height="322" /></a></p> <p>Now, the geek factor alone on this gem seriously makes it worth sticking it on your own forehead and running around for everyone to see. Stick it, I say! Had I not just sealed the deal with my own sticker, I may have considered that one instead.</p> <p>So, anyway, I digress. Political bumper sticker. My car. Done deal. I am going to be acutely aware of any increases in one finger salutes in my direction and any increases in being cut off. Hopefully I’ll get a few thumbs up. At least my sticker just states where my support lay and isn’t one of those horribly blunt and downright rude stickers. I won’t say whose team (*cough Romney cough*) I keep seeing them for, because, you know, that would just be tacky.</p> <p>Still pondering my choice to commit to the stick at the grocery store today, I happened to park next to a car with one of those aforementioned snarky stickers. This was no ordinary car either; it was also plastered with the name of the person’s floral business. If I were the owner of a small business, I would definitely consider the fact that I could be pissing away half of my customers by mixing my political beliefs with my business. </p> <p>All I can say is thank goodness I’m a slacker and don’t have my own business! I can piss off whomever I want! (Sorry, parents.)</p> <p>So, what do <em>you</em> think about political stickers on cars? Are only certain ones upsetting? Do you stick? Or do you avoid sticking? Inquiring minds want to know!</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-48482845552112084172012-09-11T12:35:00.001-07:002012-09-11T12:35:14.891-07:00Fifty Shades of Ducky<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>You all know my <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/search?q=devil+duck" target="_blank">ducks</a>, right? Well, one of them has been <strong><em>really</em></strong> naughty lately, and I think I know why. That little sneak has been reading <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifty_Shades_of_Grey" target="_blank">Fifty Shades of Grey</a> (on our Kindle, of course).</p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gOPjkorfQYygFGaBaYgVJC8absqsniOnqRqaVEQfVwnxUPxmv9J5q-Nm8cEkkBMg8FEiYAeWZLFH2mdRpoxDi01iYnMoERD15qTw4plWA-0siUzRwAax3Am6CzaE14RziW7WDYT2NNF7/s1600-h/_IGP0676%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="_IGP0676" border="0" alt="_IGP0676" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-TnFGWd3b2j8/UE-SZN10nuI/AAAAAAAAOVI/kPcmxVgdjZ8/_IGP0676_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="382" height="484" /></a></p> <p>Apparently she’s gotten herself pretty tied up in the storyline, and now even her peers aren’t sure what to make of her. They are always whispering behind her back.</p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-4NQ-6lCybvU/UE-SZn63jOI/AAAAAAAAOVQ/8e4PssTLL7c/s1600-h/_IGP0674%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="_IGP0674" border="0" alt="_IGP0674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowZ5PLmLhs9OKiTPCCblaDu10NAd4VmVTc3A-cm7lRR0e9b90lB4DLYilyATYM8jTYxjh86FykBy6yZBfBDX2eoRVrMfwvzje6hq0-_0OZbEzwyL5J05C3NPKUvqEDRZmH69nwc1Kwyer/?imgmax=800" width="504" height="235" /></a></p> <p>Maybe they are just jealous, who knows? But the biggest question is where does she hang out during the day? There’s certainly no way she can hang out at the tub with the others. Even though she brags to them about how she is water proof and can vibrate. Seriously, where exactly does a duck of her, um… character hang out where the risk of ogling children’s eyes isn’t an issue? Do you think she has a secret playroom in the house somewhere?</p> <p>Maybe her new, shall we say, attire can be attributed to our other new ducky addition:</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-zn6evO6YIO8/UE-Sa0bZNqI/AAAAAAAAOVg/1Ip2C2xzp40/s1600-h/_IGP0680%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="_IGP0680" border="0" alt="_IGP0680" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-expblycwnys/UE-SbKz3pDI/AAAAAAAAOVo/gdorxTb8oFY/_IGP0680_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="504" height="234" /></a></p> <p>Yeah, she looks innocent enough, but I bet she’s had a wicked influence on the others, don’t you think? All joking aside, there’s no way one could get into this getup alone. Is there?</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-vwWChCtA0f4/UE-SbuK5CBI/AAAAAAAAOVw/Jk_OPPtPKWQ/s1600-h/_IGP0677%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="_IGP0677" border="0" alt="_IGP0677" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOfLCc7ZRTzTvs2qDBMsutHlFZUe3Qc2uKh-TkBmW1RtnoepcuI1RBcWvdrwJJpmosrM3jdM38i2auNv6cRFjguM-_2DnJa2MOUMS_ykhsBixWweZUo7bBvqVForaYqb2CToPlR5qPyKI/?imgmax=800" width="342" height="484" /></a></p> <hr /> <p>So, yes, I have been given several more ducks for my ever-increasing collection. I’m not sure if that says something about me or the friends I keep. Either way, keep ‘em coming! Ahem, so to speak.</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-55849880545782180502012-09-04T15:43:00.001-07:002012-09-04T15:43:23.375-07:00It’s 4:20 Somewhere<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>It is obvious I have been married to my beloved for a long time. I have clearly become Angry Susanne, counterpart to Angry Greg. The difference however is that Greg has chilled at work and people no longer distinguish him from the other Gregs at work by referring to him as “Angry Greg.” OK, yes they do, but it is done more in jest instead of well, the truth.</p> <p>I need to follow suit and chill. It is obvious I have been, ahem, angry lately. Angry at stupid white men trying to take women back 100 years and to discriminate against people “other” than them. OK, damn! There I go again.</p> <p>Breath.</p> <p>So, OK. I promise to try and talk about fun and light things and keep my political ramblings to a minimum. Not completely stop, but minimize. I’ll try. Pinky promise. Hey, how about every time I bring it up, we do shots!? We’ll call the drinking game Angry Susanne!</p> <p>So here I go trying to be light. And funny. It’s a little story about how technology can bite you in the ass…</p> <p>Greg and I have parental controls on our Netflix account to keep the kids from watching things we don’t want them to see. It works perfectly! Well, until it doesn’t because you forgot to turn them back on after a grown up night of TV.</p> <p>The kids have been watching this Japanese anime cartoon through Netflix, and where I don’t actually sit and <em>watch</em> shows with them, I do <em>listen</em> to them, keenly from the other room. I kept asking Braedyn what the rating was on the show, and he kept rolling his eyes at me and informing me it was TV-PG. Now, I didn’t think TV-PG shows were allowed with our settings, but I figured Greg set it, so he must be ok with it. What I heard wasn’t terrible, just a little surprising with its occasional “damn” and “what the hell?”. But there were princesses! and classical music! and well, I let it go.</p> <p>Then last night Greg and Braedyn were watching something together and some guy was trapped in a car. </p> <blockquote> <p>Braedyn: <calmly> Why don’t they just break the damn window?</p> <p>Greg: What?</p> <p>Braedyn: <again, calmly and truly inquisitive> Why don’t they just break the damn window?</p> <p>Greg: You know, bud, damn is not a word you should use. It is a swear word.</p> <p>Braedyn: What? I didn’t <strong><em>call</em></strong> anybody it.</p> </blockquote> <p>It’s true. Good point. If you are going to swear in this house, you damn well better know where it goes in the f#cking sentence. It’s just good parenting.</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-27337082639443088662012-08-30T11:24:00.001-07:002012-08-30T11:24:38.998-07:00Time for a Push<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>I’ve always believed our culture evolved in a manner similar to a pendulum moving. Advancements in women’s rights and GLBT rights, for example, come with a pushing back by those who don’t want change, but change comes nonetheless. It may not be as fast or as complete as those pushing may want, but advancements ARE made. The push, and subsequent push-back, mimics the movement of the pendulum. Our culture evolves from this motion.</p> <p>Recently, however, there has been such an incredible insurgence of people pushing our culture back, back, back. That pendulum is flying so hard back to the early 20th century that I feel like I’ve been bitch-slapped. And what are those that fought so hard for advancements in women’s rights, in GLBT rights, and in science doing? I for one feel like I have been standing here watching the train wreck that is our culture. I’m so shocked by stories in the news, <em><strong>DAILY!</strong></em> news, of things being said and done that are chiseling away our advancements, and not subtly either. These are big chunks coming out of culture’s advancements. And all this hate and intolerance is just pulling all the crazies out, making <em>them</em> mainstream. It wouldn’t be an ordinary day anymore without hearing about some other white man redefining rape or “traditional” marriage.</p> <p>You know what I’m talking about, right? <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/21/us/politics/rep-todd-akin-legitimate-rape-statement-and-reaction.html" target="_blank">Legitimate rape</a>. <a href="http://www.examiner.com/article/new-law-arizona-states-pregnancy-begins-two-weeks-before-conception" target="_blank">Life begins two weeks before conception</a>. Don’t want to get pregnant? - <a href="http://2012.talkingpointsmemo.com/2012/02/santorum-backer-friess-gals-used-to-put-aspirin-between-their-knees-for-contraception.php" target="_blank">put a dime between your legs</a>. Magical vaginas that know how to “<a href="http://www.theblaze.com/stories/why-does-todd-akin-think-rape-victims-dont-get-pregnant/" target="_blank">shut down</a>” a pregnancy resulting from rape. Radio station <a href="http://www.lgbtqnation.com/2012/08/radio-station-cancels-public-affairs-program-over-interview-with-lgbt-advocate/" target="_blank">cancels public affairs program</a> over interview with LGBT advocate. Don’t look like a white politician? <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arizona_SB_1070" target="_blank">Better carry papers</a>. Want contraception? - you must <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/double_x/doublex/2012/03/rush_limbaugh_calls_sandra_fluke_a_slut_how_sex_positivity_has_recharged_the_feminist_movement_.html" target="_blank">be a slut</a>. <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Blotter/michele-bachmann-exclusive-pray-gay-candidates-clinic/story?id=14048691#.UD-jrdZmSSo" target="_blank">Pray the gay away</a>! <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/09/29/AR2006092901628.html" target="_blank">Evolution is a theory</a> and can’t be taught in schools. And the list painfully goes ON and ON and ON.</p> <p>My stages of grief over this attack on our advancements have been clearly visible. I have certainly been in <em>denial</em> about this cultural war. Certainly this craziness has got to stop! I’ve been <em>depressed</em> about this backlash on women, immigrants, the GLBT community, science. This is all so unbelievably sad! Now, I am <em>angry</em>. I’m absolutely pissed that hate seems to be the norm for so much of our society today. I’m pissed that people are publically speaking their racist, homophobic, misogynist, and anti-reason minds and HAVEN’T BEEN CALLED OUT ON IT ENOUGH. I’m pissed that our push-back hasn’t been as loud and visible as the crazies has been. I’m pissed that so many haters don’t see it as JUST THAT – HATE. </p> <p>But I guarantee there will be one stage of grief I will never reach. I will never <em>accept</em>. I will never accept that hate will win out over love. I will never accept that there are more intolerant people in our country than those who cherish and respect differences in others. I will <strong>never</strong> accept.</p> <p>It’s time we woke up and dust off our <<em>insert any number of groups under attack here</em>> rights signs and proudly display them again! Get out there and have your voice heard! Enough is enough. Let’s push back, people! PUSH BACK!</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-32756290759332257142012-08-29T14:59:00.001-07:002012-08-29T14:59:05.132-07:00Ready, Set, GO, GO, GO!!!!<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>I absolutely adore this time of year. I cherish the change in the air, that crispness that tells me fall is coming. I’ve been noticing some leaves in our neighborhood starting to change color. Granted, I hope they aren’t DYING because of the lack of water around these here parts lately – I shake my fist at you climate change!</p> <p>The oranges and lush warm hues that seem to work their way into every store window makes me happy. The idea of curling up with a book by the fireplace under a soft throw thrills me. Yes, fall is my favorite time of year! </p> <p>And it’s not.</p> <p>Sadly, my idyllic image of quiet fall strolls through leaf covered streets falls short of reality, the reality that is our life this time of year. Fall  signals the ramping up of the busiest four months of the year for us. </p> <p>It starts with soccer. Two kids, so two soccer practices and two games a week – both at different places, but sometimes at the same time! That’s in addition to all the gobs of stuff they are suddenly responsible for in school. Projects? Book Reports? Homework! </p> <p>Both of the kids’ birthdays are also sprinkled around Halloween and Christmas. Oh, all the holidays! There’s Halloween, VOTING DAY!, the Married Geek’s Binary Anniversary, Friendsgiving (our version of Thanksgiving), Christmas, and New Years! OK, I’m just kidding. New Years hasn’t been a holiday since I was in my twenties! It’s more of a “Do you want to try and stay up <em>this</em> year?” kind of event. But still. You get the point. Busy, busy, busy!</p> <p>So, it is possible that over the next few months I may seem a little crazed (or more than usual), but now you’ll know why. I’m probably trying to blog on my phone and cheer for someone’s team at the same time. Or wrapping presents while typing with my toes. But I love it, because in the end my love of this time of year wins out. Hands down.</p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkHsKgRhBoOOwwUzzFhCp7iOxg3mb1mA3Og5QgDeDKSDBJQO5tMJ8u5YfUyJn1JGEXW7PH-vIarpw6F409rgKdPe-8jFyrR_S1_Gj0y4Lt09QHQj57FaK3J8pDestzK7hotOjmRHfNQUT/s1600-h/P1000374%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="P1000374" border="0" alt="P1000374" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-eh7wErD4yhg/UD6Qp5ROtRI/AAAAAAAAOUw/UXLKCDEcyuw/P1000374_thumb%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="519" height="484" /></a></p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-79873410128609464452012-08-23T14:04:00.001-07:002012-08-23T14:04:24.925-07:00HGTV Needs to Hire Me<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>You probably read the title of this blog and figured I think of myself as a master decorator who wants the likes of <a href="http://www.hgtv.com/" target="_blank">HGTV</a> to hire me for one of their numerous design shows. If that’s the case, your guess would be akin to pitching during a football game – yeah, that far off. Unless there <strong><em>is</em></strong> such a thing as a pitch during a football game??? Ugh, I should know better than to use sports metaphors??? I am sports illiterate after all. </p> <p>So, no. I don’t think I’m a great designer, or even above-average for that matter. I think HGTV needs to hire me because I have what I believe to be a really cool idea for a TV show. I even googled “how to submit a show idea to HGTV”, and I found a result! Yeah, a result that sucked. They can’t accept show ideas from the average joe schmo because of legal reasons. According to their site, they will only accept proposals “<a href="http://www.hgtv.com/about-us/questions-for-hgtvcom/index.html#Q14" target="_blank">from television production companies with national or major market production credentials</a>.” If you could see how hard my eyes are rolling right now, you’d certainly be impressed.</p> <p>Since last time I checked I was not a member of one of those groups, I’m going to share this idea with the three of you! (If you are new here, you’ll see self-deprecating humor is BIG.)</p> <p>I want a show to chronicle the building of a house. Here’s the twist: the house will be made entirely out of materials being given away for free off of Craigslist. Seriously! How cool would that be? I see all kinds of stuff being given away! Just a random perusing of Craigslist in our area revealed the following:</p> <ul> <li>Four 4’ x 8’ Pegboards – wouldn’t that be great in a garage?</li> <li>Lots of Rolls of Carpet, Great For Burning Man – OK, I can’t speak for the quality of the carpet, but hey, FREE CARPET! (Not to take from the burners. Peace, dude.)</li> <li>5 Gallon Buckets with Handles – Needed for the paint we’ll find for free!</li> <li>Door – Duh.</li> <li>Free Scrap Metal</li> <li>Free Hot Tub!</li> <li>9’ Wood Horizontal Blinds</li> <li>Bathroom Sink</li> <li>Ceiling Fan</li> <li>Mirrored Closet Doors</li> <li>Fill dirt</li> <li>Windows!</li> </ul> <p>I know I went a little crazy with the list there, but that was all on the FIRST results page! Get the idea? What a great way to be green (reduce, reuse, recycle!), frugal (can’t get better than FREE), and make me a star all in one awesome idea?</p> <p>So, anyone reading this who is a member of a national or major market production credentials (*cough* <a href="http://libbylogic.blogspot.com/p/about-logical-libby.html" target="_blank">Libby</a> *cough*) and who thinks this could lead somewhere, holla!</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-54384493155335299432012-08-21T16:59:00.001-07:002012-08-21T17:47:39.805-07:00Scratching the Literary 7 Year Itch<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>For seven years I have been a stay-at-home mom. SEVEN years. </p> <p>Seven years of not earning a paycheck. (Boo!) </p> <p>Seven years of not having to clock in anywhere. (Yay!)</p> <p>It truly has been the best of times. It’s also been the worst of times. I haven’t missed the stress of a “traditional” job, but staying at home hasn’t been all Oprah and bonbons. My journey of meeting other like-minded parents has been akin to water-boarding, but now that the kids are in school, that hasn’t been such torturous issue.</p> <p>But my journey is taking a radical turn next week. Our youngest is going into first grade, which means both kids will be at school ALL DAY. I am fortunate enough to have a husband who deeply values having me stay home to take care of all the day-to-day stuff, stuff that could oftentimes bore me to tears. Laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning the kitchen over-and-over-and-over again – all things that done throughout the day frees up time when he is home for us to do family stuff. You know, like play Mindcraft. Now, I’m not saying I’m the best at all of those domestic shenanigans. My house isn’t immaculate 24/7. I generally wait until we have no clean clothes before tackling the mountain of dirty clothes. But, whatever, it gets done.</p> <p>But now! Now I am going to have HOURS each day. BY MYSELF. And oh, dear lawdy, I do not want to have my children think all I do is clean and shop for food. In fact, I’ve been saying that this is the year where I get to reinvent myself! So, before I say what I am going to attempt to do, I must first tell you what I am going to attempt NOT to do.</p> <p>I do not want to clean all day. Or grocery shop all day. Or do laundry all day.</p> <p>This next one is something that worries me. I do not want to play solitaire for hours on end, because as pathetic as it sounds, I can whittle away time doing just that. I’m going to show you something. I’m outing myself here, so don’t judge me.</p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4yhzbShgO7_MWocaGC6LlA4SR_SraIeg7QUdWWorutLP8IJtZqbvpw7xr-s4zMrQ2XTa7RGyz2bpZGx0GFsnd1QceF_jAmuOTlL4_tC2GzLp22cgcwwUaK3BXLvYMOgF8RhWNKZvKWB0/s1600-h/solitaire2%25255B1%25255D.gif"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="solitaire2" border="0" alt="solitaire2" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-I2GLzucWdEk/UDQg7I2MAUI/AAAAAAAAOSo/9RO_nzb3smw/solitaire2_thumb%25255B1%25255D.gif?imgmax=800" width="504" height="200" /></a></p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-XqiohmAVoGA/UDQg7vCw7MI/AAAAAAAAOSI/c1VaWlAFh9Y/s1600-h/solitaire1%25255B2%25255D.gif"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="solitaire1" border="0" alt="solitaire1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtLKYa8Ln8Ii1_HsZpKGxJxgoykH6g9AfZLXGlU7ZX4hQZhVCGyg6zN5NvfLRS5BdG3PYVb1ZL_ZQo0YYuqmpilSheVRkvJWa0IJlWFHkoQb6FmBAFGFTHRj29ocfr0r1a32DFXrfw1upc/?imgmax=800" width="342" height="288" /></a>(OK, judge me a little.)</p> <p>So, on to what I WANT to do. I mulled over ways to reinvent myself, and when I decided upon a path, I talked to Greg, and I asked him to tell me if he honestly thought I could do it. His answer stung like Anastasia Steele’s ass getting spanked in Fifty Shades of Grey but wasn’t nearly as fun. He said, “I think you can do it, but I think you’ll struggle with motivation.”</p> <p>Ouch.</p> <p>But you know what? That may have been the best motivation of all. To prove him wrong. (Again.)</p> <p>As part of my motivation technique, I’m throwing it out for all to read! That way, I’d not only have to answer to Greg if I fail, but I’d have to hang my head in shame to you all as well.</p> <p>I want to write. I’m going to <strike>attempt</strike> (there is no try, only do) throw my hat into the scary, overpopulated world of freelance writing! And <strike>if</strike> when I get something published, I am going to have a bigger smile than Christian Grey gets from doing all that spanking.</p> <p>And that, my friends, you can get in writing.</p> <p>(Wish me luck!)</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-84356403265567492632012-08-06T15:57:00.001-07:002012-08-06T15:57:30.360-07:00Wine In a Box? The Married Geeks are Thinking Bigger!<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>When Greg and I started dating, I was thrown into his world of beer making. I’d help bottle and cap his latest home brew. I’m not much of a beer drinker**, but we had a great time doing this together. My favorite was the Jolly Rancher beer made from a Corona Clone, created by using a Jolly Rancher as the final priming sugar. We’d drop a particular flavor into the bottle right before capping it. And they were scrumptious! My favorite was the watermelon. Or maybe the cherry. OH! Green apple! Yum!</p> <p>For our wedding favors, we even handed out our private label home brew:</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-06S0oiVdyAw/UCBL0FnmRkI/AAAAAAAAOP4/ZRXE0cnHZD0/s1600-h/_IGP0596%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="_IGP0596" border="0" alt="_IGP0596" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-zZ4b1LUk3dI/UCBL0pCFOYI/AAAAAAAAOQA/c3OdbZhC6qU/_IGP0596_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="292" height="484" /></a></p> <p>And then years of marriage flew by, and out went the beer making, and in came the <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/search?q=box+wine" target="_blank">box wine</a>. We’ve adjusted wine fridges to accommodate these glorious things! We’ve figured out how to best camp with the box! (Remove box, insert plastic bag directly into ice in cooler!) Hell, we’ve even adjusted the shelves in our main refrigerator to work with the average height of the boxes. Folks, we are educated in all things box. </p> <p>We know people that will snub their noses at the box and swear they are worth nothing more than to be used as props for the next Deliverance movie. To them, I say, I think she looks good in a canoe!</p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-MdiBueFxsOs/UCBL1AsItdI/AAAAAAAAOQI/Vo4bRVW12JQ/s1600-h/BoxDeliverance%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="BoxDeliverance" border="0" alt="BoxDeliverance" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/--9uh9q7KBVc/UCBL1pMyQPI/AAAAAAAAOQQ/jTVLbxojFb4/BoxDeliverance_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="504" height="338" /></a></p> <p>But I digress. Something in Greg must have been missing the creativity that comes in the form of booze production. So, I came home to this:</p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-N22cmd3WVsY/UCBL16Cd-zI/AAAAAAAAOQY/5oFdljxSwL4/s1600-h/_IGP0597%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="_IGP0597" border="0" alt="_IGP0597" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-7Ue9mKvf9E0/UCBL2Ue1jXI/AAAAAAAAOQg/kB1KXJ4Gm8E/_IGP0597_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="325" height="484" /></a></p> <p>Yes, my friends, that is a five gallon bucket of “Coastal White” wine in the making. Because who needs a box when you can have a BUCKET?! Now, are we just going to tap the sucker or fill boxes with it? Decisions, decisions.</p> <p>** Except when I am.</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-57108911682049291062012-08-03T11:40:00.001-07:002012-08-03T12:20:31.902-07:00An Open Letter to Chick-Fil-A<em>Posted by She Said</em><br />
It is with heartfelt enthusiasm that I write to you today. You see, I need to get a few things off of my chest, and how better than with the written word to completely express the way you have made me feel over the last week?<br />
<br />
When the news hit of your open financial support of organizations that oppose gay marriage, I felt anger, gut-wrenching anger. And it’s not like I even inadvertently supported you in your lofty goal of inequality because we don’t even have a Chick-Fil-A around here! No pennies of mine went to such a blatantly intolerant and hateful goal! Nonetheless, the anger I felt was palpable. Why be so cruel as to spend millions on stopping love? And don’t quote any biblical source for your reasoning, because I think that is a lot of blather anyway. Frankly, your “divine” book serves as nothing more than a scapegoat for your hate and intolerance, and that’s all I’m going to say about that. <br />
<br />
People on both sides of the equality debate were up on arms about your announcement! When Thomas Menino, the mayor of Boston, urged you to stay out of his city, honestly I was thrilled at first! Hooray for a loud, public voice standing up to your message of hate and intolerance by denying you access to the city! But then I realized that was not the answer. I used to work in public access television and had to educate everyone, even those with messages of hate, on how to create television shows. I did it out of a reverence for free speech. So, where I appreciate the sentiment of Menino’s letter, I do not approve of denying your rights. So see, I am truly the bigger person here because I will stand up for your right to try and deny others theirs. I know you don’t see it like this, but come on, let’s call a spade a spade. You can open up a franchise in my city even, but I vow to you today that I will never support your goal of inequality. I will never drop a dime on your fast food. I will never will take my children to your establishment, and I will openly and honestly explain to them why. <br />
<br />
Lastly, when the blogosphere and Facebook exploded with those who oppose you and support you, your message had another unforeseen affect on me. I am originally from Texas, so you can probably correctly guess that I have some kin that proudly ate up your intolerance sold in the form of a chicken sandwich on your Chick-Fil-A appreciation day. Oh, they boasted about it on Facebook! All that did was show me what I suspected already, that they support you in your mission to prevent people from being equal. So, thanks for that. You outed the intolerance in my family. I had to go and hide some of my own family on Facebook so that the spikes in my blood pressure wouldn’t put me in the hospital! You may think I am joking, but I am not. I <em>desperately</em> want my family to embrace equality, to fight for it even! But instead your “appreciation day” put the proverbial nail in the coffin of my dream of a family fighting for justice.<br />
<br />
Some say this whole thing is blown out of proportion and is stupid at its best. So, why am I writing this letter? Years from now I want it to be publically known, to my children especially, that I was on the right side of history on this. I don’t ever want them to look back and think I didn’t <em>do</em> anything, didn’t <em>say</em> anything. They will have seen their mother stand up for equality for all. I will continue to do so by exercising my right to not spend my money in your establishment and through my vote.<br />
<br />
Regards, <br />
SusanneShe Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-84393964104143895092012-06-22T18:34:00.000-07:002012-06-22T18:33:22.197-07:00Out of the Mouth of Babes<p>I am going to update these sayings as they occur. I don’t want them to be lost. <br /> <br /><u>June 2012 <br /></u>Family friend: Hey, Blondie! <br />Emily: I’m not Blondie. <br />Family friend: Yes you are, Blondie! <br />Emily: <in her disgruntled voice> I am not! I used to be but then I cut my hair! <br /><u>August 2010</u> <br />Susanne had a conversation with Braedyn trying to explain evolution and how man evolved from monkeys.  A few days later I am telling a story and explained that it happened to me a long time ago.  Braedyn asks: <br />"Is that when you were hairy and had a tail?" <br /><u>July 2010</u> <br />Heading through the agricultural checkpoint Braedyn says: <br />"This is where they check to make sure you don't have bugs in your hair. Right?" <br /><u>January 2010 <br /></u>We had a few great friends over one night for a dinner party, and one couple has a sharp, witty, and beautiful little girl one year younger than Braedyn. The adults were all sitting around the table after dinner talking about Food Inc. and life in general over some wine when Braedyn comes running out of his room to say: <br />Braedyn: <beaming> Guess what? Lola kissed me! <br />Adults: <chuckles> <br />Me: Where did she kiss you, Braedyn? <br />Braedyn: <boisterously> In my room!!! <br /><u>November 2009 <br /></u>Me: Would you like to go to a park? <br />Braedyn: I was kinda wanting to get a donut. <br />Me: <chuckling> I was hoping to get you outside while it is nice and let you play. <br />Braedyn: <with a big smile> Well, we could go outside to eat our donuts! <br /><u>October 2009 <br /></u>Greg: Did Bo [Braedyn’s teddy bear] get a bath today? <br />Me: No, I didn’t get another load of clothes going. <br />Greg: <jokingly> slaaaaaaaaaaaacker! <br />Braedyn: slaaaaaaaaaaaaacker! <br />Emily: slaaaaaaaaaap her! <br />Me: Ow! <doubled over with a cramp in my side> <br />Braedyn: Are you ok? <br />Me: Yes, thanks. It’s just a cramp. <br />Braedyn: Maybe it’s growing veins. <br /><u>August 2009</u> <br />After spending a lot of time following the directions to build a Spiderman space ship made of Legos: <br />Me: That is SO cool, Braedyn! It kicks bum-bum! <br />Braedyn: <big smile and a giggle> Yes, it does. Spiderman could save the world with this. <pause> If it was bigger. <another pause> And if it wasn’t made out of toys. <yet another pause> And if it was real. <br />DIY Network was on when the TV was turned on, and Braedyn wanted to watch the construction activity going on the show called Wasted Spaces. I turned it off thinking that’s what he wanted, and he got upset and said, “I want to watch Wisted Spices!” I replied, “You mean, Wasted Spaces.” He got upset again and said, “No, it is called Wisted Spices, WISTED SPICES!!” I couldn’t help but laugh because the show is hosted by an English dude... with a thick accent. <br /><u>June 2009</u> <br />After brushing his teeth tonight, Braedyn had blue toothpaste smeared all over his mouth. Greg filled the palm of his hand with water and asked Braedyn to put his mouth in the water so he could wipe off the toothpaste. Braedyn leaned over and inhaled at the same time, causing him to get a nose full of water. Greg said, “Buddy, I just wanted you to put your mouth in the water,” to which Braedyn replied, “But my nose is too close to my mouth!” <br />While sitting at the table coloring, Emily made up her own song with these lyrics: “Sometimes Mommy says yes! And sometimes Mommy says no.” Then she told me she didn’t want to go to jail. <br /><u>5/20/2009 <br /></u><em>Dad:</em> Emily, since today is your mommy’s birthday I need you to listen to her words, make good choices, not fight with your brother and just try to give mommy a great day. ok? <br /><em>Emily:</em> Ok daddy, after I finish my movie. <br /><u>5/2009 <br /></u>I handed Emily a green goldfish cracker while she was coloring. She picked up the green crayon and said, “This is the same color!” In my forever attempt to teach Emily her colors, I asked her what color it was. She replied, “It’s the fish cracker color.” <br />After seeing a bulging vein in my arm, Emily points to it and says, “That’s what aliens have.” <br />After finally noticing a wedding picture of Greg and me in the hallway, Emily says to me, “Mommy, when I get bigger, will you marry me?” <br />I’ve had a cold, so the kids know that I can’t give them kisses on the lips because I don’t want them to catch it. When Greg went in to Emily’s room to kiss her goodnight, she told him not to kiss her on the lips. She had the “hippups” and didn’t want him to catch them. <br /><u>4/2009</u> <br />While telling ghost stories in the dark in my closet, Braedyn says: And the monster turned into a giant! A huge giant! Huger than the other giants. Huger than trees! HUGER than squirrels! <br />Braedyn: Are there people inside the Ninja Turtles? <br />Greg: No, they are supposed to be <em>real </em>turtles. <br />Braedyn: <look of slight confusion> But, they aren’t very slow. <br />Greg: And thus the irony of NINJA turtles. <br />Emily: Color with me, Mommy. <br />Me: OK. What color is this? <holding up a marker> <br />Emily: Ummmmm, I don’t know. <br />Me: Can you guess? <br />Emily: No. You guess. <br />Emily: <dancing> <br />Me: <smiling at Emily dancing> <br />Emily: <notices me smiling at her> Stop it! You interrupted me! <br />Me: Are you sure you aren’t a teenager? <br />Braedyn: <waking up too early…AGAIN> <br />Me: <ready to tell him to go back to bed> <br />Braedyn: Daddy! Did you hear the birds twittering? <br />Me: Awwwwwww! <br /><u>3/2009</u> <br />Emily: I want to catch a fish. <br />Me: Fun! You want to be a fisherman? <br />Emily: No! <indignant> I be Fisher EMILY. <br /><u>2/2009</u> <br />Emily: Mommy, can I have a scissor? <br />Me: You mean scissors? Yes, you can have some scissors. <br />Emily: No, Mommy. Scissor. Just one. <br />The following is a conversation between Braedyn and Greg during the bedtime reading of the book, <em>The Nightmare Before Christmas</em>: <br />Braedyn: Daddy, that dog doesn’t have any legs. <br />Greg: Right. He’s a ghost dog. <br />Braedyn: But how does he float? <br />Greg: He floats because he’s a <em>ghost</em> dog. <br />Braedyn: But he doesn’t have legs. How does he float? <br />Greg: He’s a ghost, a ghost dog. <br />Braedyn: But how does he float? <br />Greg: He’s a GHOST. <br />Braedyn: But he doesn’t have any legs. How does he do that? <br />Greg: It’s magic ghost powers. <br />Braedyn: <clearly satisfied> Oh. OK. <br /><u>1/2009</u> <br />Braedyn: Do flies poop? <br />Me: Yes. Everything poops. <br />Braedyn: Only people, fish, birds…and strangers poop. <br /><u>12/2008</u> <br />Emily: Daddy, your hair is growing. You have to mow it. <br />Braedyn: Mommy, can I get Hot Wheels for doing chores again? <br />Me: I don’t know, Braedyn. I’ll have to think about it. Chores are things you really should do to help out around the house without necessarily getting a toy to do it. I mean, I do a lot around the house all the time and I don’t get rewards for it. <br />Braedyn: Mommy, I’ll let you have one of my Hot Wheels after you do stuff around the house. <br />As I opened a gift that included a bottle of wine: <br />Emily, pointing to the wine: HEY! That’s daddy’s cup! <br />Me: No. His looks like a <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/2008/08/ants-in-my-pants.html" target="_blank">box</a>. <br />Braedyn: Emily, your mom doesn’t have a force field on your planet? <br />Emily: No, she doesn’t. <br />Braedyn: Mine does. <br />Emily: Mommy, I want you to sit in my lap. <br />Me: You would like me to hold you? <br />Emily: No. I want you to sit in my lap. <br /><u>11/2008</u> <br />Braedyn: When Granny was here last night, she let us have ice cream. <br />Me: Well that was a special treat! <br />Braedyn: Yeah, she splitted us. <br />Me: You mean she spoiled you? <br />Braedyn: Yeah, she spoiled us. <br /><u>11/04/2008</u> <br />Me: Today is an important day in our country. We are going to find out who the next President is. Mommy voted and hopes the person she voted for gets the job. <br />Braedyn: Yeah, but when Daddy gets home can I show him my new Power Rangers phone? <br /><u>10/2008 <br /></u>Emily: Mommy, what’s your name? <br />Me: Susanne. <br />Emily: What's my name? <br />Me: Emily. <br />Emily: What's Braedyn's name? <br /><u>09/2008 <br /></u>Greg to Emily: Who’s your Daddy? <br />Emily: Mommy is. <br />Me: How did you get all that ink on your legs? <br />Braedyn: I don’t know. It just bounced off the paper onto my legs. <br />Braedyn after I snuck up on him: Agh!!! You fartled me! <br />Braedyn: Mommy! Emily is going to tell on me! <br />Braedyn: EMILY! Be quiet! I can’t hear the lightning with you talking! <br /><u>08/2008</u> <br />Braedyn: Mommy, Emily wants an Elmo party on her planet. <br />Emily: Take a picture of my bones. <br />Braedyn: I can’t! Your skin keeps getting in the way. <br />Emily: Mommy, turn off the wind! <br />Emily: (Covering and uncovering her eyes) Pee poo! <br />Me: Peek-a-boo! <br />Emily: Pee poo! <br />Braedyn: Mommy, when I trick my treat, can I be Batman? <br />Braedyn: Daddy, I remember when you were a kid. <br />Emily: Daddy, you’re an old guy. <br />Braedyn: (While trimming his toes) My big toe is getting old. <br />Braedyn: Mommy, Emily is taking a long time to grow up.</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-22077424268764055932012-04-24T15:08:00.001-07:002012-04-24T19:40:56.660-07:00Now Where Did They Put That Unfriend Button?<p><em>Posted by She Said</em></p> <p>An issue has come up several times in my life over the last few months that has finally shown its festering head and is ready to be popped by means of this blog post. I’m squeezing that bitch. It may get political, so if you don’t want any on you, consider yourself warned.</p> <p>Facebook has always been an outlet for me to express my political views, views which have turned me into the black sheep of my family and the black sheep-in-law in Greg’s. Other than through Facebook, these scandalous views have only been expressed at my own dinner table with my own husband or with like-minded friends. What views? (Hey, you were warned!) The firm belief that every person should have the right to marry the love of their life, regardless of sexual orientation. I know, GASP! The belief that the issue of women’s health and birth control is deserving of a respectful discussion, without booing and hissing from an audience. I know, I’m a dreamer, right? The belief that I’m not going to succumb to right-wing fear mongering. There are others, but I think you get the point. I lean left.</p> <p>So, anyway, Facebook. I have used the social networking beast to express those beliefs. Lately, after a few comments from several of my posts, I am doubting this outlet. Around family, I am polite and pull my proverbial head into my shell when it comes to politics and religion and keep my mouth shut. To their credit, they generally do the same around me. Why rock the boat, right? But Facebook feels like a gloves-off kind of arena, where kicking, biting, and spitting all fall under the rules of fair play. That is why Greg has decided to stop posting political commentary on Facebook and put it on that other social networking site. Damn, what’s the name of it again? Oh yeah, GooglePlus. I’ve kind of stuck to my squirt guns and kept on posting whatever I felt like on Facebook.</p> <p>But now, I’m questioning this. I’m questioning this because of the political lurkers. You know, the people who are your “friends” on Facebook but ONLY comment on your political posts. They ignore all the cute anecdotes about your kids. They ignore all the cute pictures of your puppies. They ignore the fact that you are checking in at the gym, busting your ass trying to get in great shape by your <strike>40th</strike> 29th birthday. But the nanosecond you post something political, <strong>BAM!</strong> they have to let you know how much they disagree with you, how much they feel they have the superior belief, and how much they think you are a douche for having the beliefs you do.</p> <p>Is this a form of cyber bullying? Seriously. I don’t feel like I need to put up with this. I’d had it with one lurker and ended the Facebook “friendship” after sending what I felt to be a polite email explaining why I was doing so. Don’t get me wrong, I can handle a political discussion – when it is possible. It’s the snark-filled, rude comments for which I have no energy, no willingness to dust off my debate skills. Those kinds of comments do not pave the way for a healthy discussion. Seriously, why bother? They’ve already essentially told me they think I’m a douche for my beliefs, and I doubt any kind of wicked debate skills would reduce my douchery level in their eyes.</p> <p>How do you handle this? Do you sensor your posts? Do you maintain better control of your friends list than I obviously do? Do you comment on political posts with which you do not agree? And if so, how do you do it? If it starts with “Hey, douchebag…” then I think you missed my point and you don’t need to answer the question.</p> <p>Ah, hell. It’s spring. Maybe it is time for a Facebook friends list spring cleaning. Thoughts? </p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-64925518631205834462012-04-20T22:40:00.001-07:002012-04-20T22:48:06.014-07:00Nerdiest Post On MarriedGeeks EVER<p>posted by He Said</p> <p>So yeah, I have been really slacking about blogging lately. Now I know I can blog using the web interface with blogger, but I use Live Writer.</p> <p>Since December 11 of last year I have been receiving this annoying error.</p> <p>"C:\Program Files (x86)\Windows Live\Writer\WindowsLiveWriter.exe"<br>The application has failed to start because its side-by-side configuration is incorrect. Please see the application event log for more detail. <p>And it has stumped me for months. I have been googling and googling and I even tried binging a few times. What did I find? Forum post after forum post of people with similar errors for all sorts of windows applications. <p>Tonight I found a post that went into this workaround. Run the program, find the error in the application error logs, edit the XML file (WindowsLiveWriter.exe.config) and it is supposed to magically work. Now he failed to say what exactly I was supposed to put in this XML file. <p>So I followed the steps and event viewer gave me this REALLY insightful message. <p>Activation context generation failed for "C:\Program Files (x86)\Windows Live\Writer\WindowsLiveWriter.exe".Error in manifest or policy file "C:\Program Files (x86)\Windows Live\Writer\WindowsLiveWriter.exe.Config" on line 1. Invalid Xml syntax. <p>Great. Line one is fucked up. Helpful. <p>So I opened the WindowsLiveWriter.exe.config file (not for the first time ever mind you, because I CAN read the error message), and what do I find in it? <p>One line. One miserable line that reads: <p><configuration> <p>Wow. So in a fit of angry passion I deleted the file. That’s right, I just flat out nuked it. Then I double clicked the applications EXE expecting a big middle finger. <p>Instead, the program runs, it doesn’t create a new .config file and here I am ranting about it. <p>Tomorrow I will rant about the Republicans since I have so much pent up frustration I am sure that is why I just deleted the config file without a care in the world. <p>If I could only delete Republicans that piss me off so easily.</p> Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17011912439786824773noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-52283670080646270522012-02-17T11:38:00.001-08:002012-04-24T19:41:38.121-07:00And The Verdict Is…<p>Posted by She Said</p> <p>My poor dad has been waiting with baited breath to see how Braedyn’s Penicillin challenge turned out. Seems I’ve been slacking in the blogging department. I can’t help it! I’ve been too busy busting my way into the inner circle of moms at the kids’ new school!</p> <p>Yeah, no I haven’t.</p> <p>Been busting (or <em>buying</em> my way) into that iron clad circle, that is.</p> <p>But that’s another story.</p> <p>So, Braedyn. After eight long years of believing he was allergic to Penicillin, it turns out… he isn’t! The process of this discovery was grueling. Mostly because Dr. IKnowEverythingAndYouKnowNothingAndIAmGoingToTryAndMakeYouLookBad was an ass. I mean seriously. Who says, “When was the last time he had Cetirizine hydrochloride?” Can you just say Zyrtec? You are reading his chart which says he takes ZYRTEC. But no, Mr. Man, you like to boost your ego by hearing us non-medical-degree types say, “What’s that?”</p> <p>Oh, and another tip, Dr. ILikeToFreakOutChildren? Don’t say things like, “Then we’ll place a needle under the skin and give him a shot of Penicillin and another shot of <insert some other long medicine name here>.” Because seriously? You could have told me that in private. Or at least in code in front of my son, because that was the last thing poor Braedyn heard. So, he spent the earlier part of the FOUR-HOUR challenge completely stressing about getting not one, but multiple shots.</p> <p>And then after I to literally hold him down and try and calm him down during the shots? Yeah, Mr. SmartyPants had the nerve to say, “Well, that went pretty well…considering.”</p> <p>I’m thrilled to know that Braedyn is in fact NOT allergic to Penicillin. I could have done with an weensy bit more child-friendly bedside manner from Dr. IAmTheOnlyDoctorInTownThatDoesThisChallengeSoSuckIt.</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-18344362868149354842012-01-03T16:39:00.001-08:002012-01-03T18:51:05.350-08:00Oh, Allergies, How I Despise Thee<p>Posted by She Said</p> <p>I’m dreading tomorrow. I’d rather go for a Brazilian. Wax, that is. THAT’S how much I am dreading tomorrow.</p> <p>Tomorrow I take Braedyn to the doctor to “challenge” his allergy to one of the three antibiotics he has reactions to. We may have <a href="http://www.marriedgeeks.com/2011/07/label-readers-unite.html" target="_blank">food allergy</a> issues with Emily, but with Braedyn, we suffer in the allergies to antibiotics department.</p> <p>Since this is what happens to him with penicillin, we aren’t going to bother challenging its affects on him:</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/--tkNTMriT9k/TwOfxLt-R-I/AAAAAAAALR8/rph2N4iN5wg/s1600-h/100_0130%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="100_0130" border="0" alt="100_0130" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-hxEfR0V9oyo/TwOfxfuoq1I/AAAAAAAALSE/i-BWm2SpT2k/100_0130_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="363" height="484" /></a></p> <p>The reason a challenge is even in order is because we are becoming more and more limited on what he can take. The last time a simple sinus infection hit, he ended up getting too much of a very strong antibiotic (one of the few determined he could take) and ended up with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clostridium_difficile" target="_blank">C Diff</a>, which suffice it to say is a really gruesome intestinal infection. And I became Doctor Disgusto as I had to take multiple samples for testing. I already knew I didn’t have it in me to be a doctor, but THAT CONFIRMED IT.</p> <p>This C Diff only has two antibiotics that can beat it. And guess what? Braedyn is allergic to one of those two. And to add insult to injury? He still had the blasted sinus infection at the end of it all!</p> <p>The challenge consists of giving him a dose of the antibiotic in question and sitting there for four hours while they monitor him. The best case scenario is we walk out of there with one less allergy on his list. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same.</p> She Saidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12217616042989979008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-66259007992746734302011-12-04T14:10:00.000-08:002011-12-04T14:10:28.692-08:00A Little Norwegian Baking AnyoneI recently ran across a Reno resident on the internets and found her writings, and photography interesting. I started following <a href="http://www.adventurejournalist.com/" target="_blank">@Teepoole</a> on twitter and saw her post this very gorgeous <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/tonyapoole/3158757000/" target="_blank">photo</a>, of krumkake which inspired me to write down my history with traditional Norwegian baking. My photos are not nearly as pretty, but it’s the thought, right!<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/tonyapoole/3158757000/" target="_blank"><img alt="Photo by by teepoole " height="261" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3077/3158757000_6fae943fce.jpg?v=0" title="Photo by by teepoole " width="389" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo by by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/tonyapoole/"><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">teepoole</span></b></a><br />
For generations my family has been making <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krumkake" target="_blank">krumkake</a>, sandbakkelse and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosette_(cookie)" target="_blank">rosettes</a> during the holiday season. The tins, tools and recipes used have been passed down over the generations. Sadly, both the krumkake iron and rosette iron (both made of cast iron) were dropped and broken before being handed down to me. I have purchased new rosette irons (2 now) and still have the sandbakkelse tins that have been passed down from my great grandmother (as I understand it) . I still have the krumkake iron, but it’s broken at the hinge which makes it unusable.<br />
My mother used to slave over these cookies every holiday. If you are new to the making of these cookies, here is a little background. <br />
Rosettes are made by dipping a hot iron in batter and deep frying. This is slow and tedious process and the reason I have two irons. When baking by myself, I always have one iron in the fryer. When my son Jacob helps, as he has for the last 2 years, we both have an iron. This is a big help. Thanks Jake!<br />
The instructions I have from my family were always very basic, and the method for making the best rosettes was always handed down orally. So I have written down my method and will share with you here. You will need a rosette <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Norpro-3286-Rosette-Timbale-Maker/dp/B0000VLYB8/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=home-garden&qid=1230913814&sr=8-1/mahesashsa-20" target="_blank">iron</a>. When you get good at it, two is faster.<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Rosettes</span></strong> <br />
Makes about 42 <br />
Ingredients: <br />
2 Eggs <br />
1 Cup Whole Milk (from your best cow) <br />
1 Tsp Vanilla <br />
1 Cup Flour <br />
1 Tbsp Sugar <br />
Fat for frying (original recipe called for lard) <br />
1/4 Tsp Salt Powdered Sugar <br />
<br />
In a bowl combine the eggs, granulated sugar, and 1/4 Tsp salt; beat well. Add flour, milk, and vanilla; beat smooth. Heat a rosette iron in deep hot fat (375°). Dip hot rosette iron into batter, being careful batter comes at least to 1/4 of the way to the top but NOT over the top of the iron. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_cP9O5bzhBG-wl4htc8jmRgBcAb5UPrRuhAnYoA1NXtxUPdbWum6uIJZm9ja1hqQu-m3krD5x9m16dwudUVzoIFT7-tBhctcvatxDDW5fJ8bTEvhSfp_IYldcw9rJO_4xaHkdAu6B0IH/s1600-h/IMGP2642%5B4%5D.jpg"><img alt="IMGP2642" border="0" height="364" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_nRCj18-h4pY/TZQMxFIe4rI/AAAAAAAE35A/8bfqBkHi2UE/IMGP2642_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="IMGP2642" width="515" /></a><br />
TThe technique for frying is to lower the rosette into the fat slowly until you see the batter “flower” away from the iron. If you do not do this you will struggle to get the rosette off of the iron. Note the batter separating from the iron as it is allowed to “flower”.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZE8F8916kf57p7aE-UolcHg8jFw8RjG_DEm5r3Ha-Rkpat-R9odCuAVr0PzzOjf4ICcQIaZ1C2ruLt-9Cnac6qQ4gpn09iA83bIIdSJpTnl2m2OMke5nUac-DUQ9fkS94ptPtAXZz2M9/s1600-h/IMGP2641%5B8%5D.jpg"><img alt="IMGP2641" border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIOJbQTwM0vvfOfggctNmtFvXBnEgeXHPPrNthMq1HsvKPLScD8lYqTX9ZaxO7888ywTuT_dFmwYz9KrwAunbh8nnttbB0K8HFh0wwupwxDF2MCd6eabHaKhcRMTjyeZASGpTolB2RMD2/?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="IMGP2641" width="514" /></a> <br />
It is at this point that you can lower it fully into the oil. Fry rosette in the hot fat till slightly golden, about ½ to 1 minute (they will continue to cook after removed). Lift iron out; tip slightly to drain off excess fat. Using a fork carefully push rosette off iron onto several layers of paper toweling on top of several layers of newspaper. As each rosette cools, move to a newer layer of paper towels to allow for additional drainage of oil. Replace towels as needed. An oily rosette is a yucky rosette. Allow rosettes to cool overnight. Do not put them in a sealed container or they will remain soggy. Sift powdered sugar onto rosettes. <br />
<em>Note: The first few rosettes will be “tasters” and each following rosette may require additional time adjustments till you are satisfied with the results. Practice, practice, practice.</em><br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_nRCj18-h4pY/TZQNaADDXLI/AAAAAAAE35U/IaHteqOsudo/s1600-h/IMGP2645%5B8%5D.jpg"><img alt="IMGP2645" border="0" height="493" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvV4F_eqFuky_4mx7C6NI2nv748bvGY1mjHoOjDTZQl9lY1eCexW5-ULNaQrwMdXWknHjjOv9EAQDzKhpL7DQ9BMyaB9dkn7hjUfS_piBYhJ1yoKsW53H7aqOn3lzo9hXFEZMABA03QTfp/?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="IMGP2645" width="514" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Sandbakkelse</strong></span> <br />
On to the sandbakkelse. This traditional cookie is typically made using almonds or almond flavoring. I am not a big fan of the almond flavoring, so one year I substituted vanilla for the almond, and it was a big hit with a family who has been eating them every year for all of my life, and my mother for all of hers. Yikes, breaking one tradition, and creating my own. The cookie is then traditionally filled with jam, jelly or lemon tart filling. We have always just eaten them plain. One year I made a barbaric break from tradition and dipped a few of the cookies in a family fudge recipe. I half expected to hear “blasphemy” shouted at me from all sides, but instead I heard “why didn’t you dip them ALL of them in fudge!!!???” That was the clincher. For the last few years I have made them the same way.<br />
The key tool you will need are sandbakkelse tins. Also called sand tins. The trick here is to get older seasoned tins. I have tins passed down from my family as well as newer shiny tins. Frankly, I find the new tins nearly impossible to use. I recommend getting “vintage” tins if you can find them. The new tins tend to be too slick, making it hard to press the dough into them.<br />
Newer tin (not so good) <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3eroHg-i9BWEUkgZPTLyHbExpITWvzcQMtXB4Ct6yP6or155H1ZHlRuopzDYMBEhV-l2e8TEf3X0omuOuQ8DGW43-LZPbw5F4DY-9SvNoEhC-7yEi5wch0XWMX-MNe-AKz_3CQNLzh19Y/s1600-h/IMGP2801%5B5%5D.jpg"><img alt="IMGP2801" height="396" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_nRCj18-h4pY/SV5NRhX4eLI/AAAAAAAAx6c/yUS-kHCMOgs/IMGP2801_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px;" title="IMGP2801" width="410" /></a><br />
Vintage tin (best bet) <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvhMLD-_vCKDlMloVqCFhK00ONI-o3Jto8rdy9hKrQYyVWzgJslzFgshLsGmU73Hryd1kt1bHCrzXbsC8x7ytxzOhXck4Qe9-kVr-DgQAcZhF4kus_y3CNeOaUKL7M4NzI2gDPcraZMzr/s1600-h/IMGP2800%5B1%5D.jpg"><img alt="IMGP2800" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9-bDOde2pdhZJ25GjwySRzE93EyynoK7-JO-y9pwGoavzR8URfzS6As3WXDbRcO7zJaLb-iH8BPDXOLcZZ3VX5JKjFzV4tByvUtnRAjCM_nHn97QvvDnvUUblA3BCYI__KaNGNaYaDwO/?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px;" title="IMGP2800" width="412" /></a><br />
The Sandbakkelse Recipe: <br />
Makes: a lot <br />
Ingredients: <br />
1 lb. soft butter <br />
2 teaspoons vanilla (or almond) <br />
2 cups sugar <br />
1 egg <br />
about six cups or more of flour<br />
Wash hands thoroughly (trim nails, you will see why when you press the dough). Mix ingredients in order given. Use more flour if necessary so dough can be easily handled and so it will leave the bowl. Most recipes call for chilling the dough. In my experience this actually makes pressing the dough into the tins more difficult. The technique I employ is to press the dough into the bottom of the tin, rotate, press, rotate, working the dough up the sides of the tin. Press the dough until it’s almost thin enough to see through. I then brush the dough off the edges of the tins and press the rim into the palm of my hand to create a smooth well formed rim. Fill half of your tins and then bake at 350° for about 10 minutes or until slightly golden. While the first batch is baking, you can continue pressing dough into the tins so that you create a round robin of tin filling and baking.<br />
Your first batch will most likely be done baking before your are done pressing dough into the rest of your tins. This will allow the first batch to cool enough to remove them from the tins. Cup the bottom of the tin in the palm of your your hand and gently squeeze the tin at the rim as you rotate the tin in your hand until the sandbakkelse is loose and falls from the tins. This method works better for me than using a fork or other method to remove the cookie.<br />
The first batch will be “tasters” and will most likely stick to the <br />
tins until you get the hang of it. Do not wash them, just scrape out what you can and go again. Successive batches will be easier to press into the tins as they will be warm from the prior batch. I actually leave the dough and tins on the top of the stove near the heat vent so they stay warm. <br />
I then make a batch of our fudge and dip half of the cookie in the fudge, place it on parchment paper and place in the fridge to cool.<br />
<br />
UPDATE: Adding the fudge recipe by popular request.<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mama Moyle's Fudge</span></b><br />
<br />
Ingredients:<br />
1/4 lb butter<br />
18 oz semi-sweet chocolate chips (roughly 2 1/4 cups)<br />
1 - 12oz can evaporated milk<br />
4 1/2 cups sugar<br />
2 tsp vanilla<br />
1 jar marshmallow whip<br />
<br />
Be sure you are prepared to dip the Sandbakkelse cookies before you start. Have enough cookie sheets with parchment paper prepared ahead of time. Once this process gets rolling, there is no changing direction. If the fudge cools too quickly you will not be able to dip the Sandbakkelse. It is also helpful to have all the butter unwrapped, the vanilla measured out and the marshmallow jar opened and the safety seal removed.<br />
<br />
In a large pot (as the milk and sugar will foam to a large volume), stirring CONSTANTLY bring the milk and sugar to a rolling boil.<br />
Maintain a boil and stir constantly for 9 minutes. You will need to adjust the heat, but a boil is important as you are working to caramelize the sugar.<br />
When the 9 minutes is up reduce heat to a simmer and stir in the butter until melted.<br />
Stir in the vanilla.<br />
Stir in the marshmallow until melted.<br />
Stir in the chocolate chips until melted. Based on the thickness, you may choose to NOT put all the chocolate chips in, or you may wish to add additional marshmallow fluff to allow for a thinner consistency. This all comes with practice.<br />
<br />
At this point I put the heat at the lowest setting and start dipping Sandbakkelse into the fudge. Dip in half way and place on a parchment sheet. Allow to cool.<br />
<br />
I usually try to put them in the fridge to set the fudge, but after that, they do not HAVE to be kept in the fridge.<br />
<br />
I hope you give these recipes a try and enjoy them as much as our family does.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCHNNMtZ4LpfbyJUxVFeMnpT4D2LvEvflemlDBs1UaScgBg6CqjM5101KL7Mg7kqQ0uaiFLs6ZDYU2sn_qbBXxB-wlSOdvXiSN-KrmiAJJSog1zfe0l053csh0uqJCjgA5XP70WNWZg6nB/s1600-h/_IGP9388%5B4%5D.jpg"><img alt="_IGP9388" border="0" height="781" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_nRCj18-h4pY/TZQNcaOx2XI/AAAAAAAE35g/i1641WXjMU0/_IGP9388_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="_IGP9388" width="525" /></a>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17011912439786824773noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958329234669103576.post-62839224728208667052011-10-25T12:54:00.000-07:002011-10-25T12:54:14.020-07:00Time To Beef Up Securityby He Said<br />
<br />
So, yeah. I'm gonna post something. I know you all thought we were dead, or had forgotten the password to our blog site. It's really been none of the above, but just plain laziness. I don't see all of YOU blogging everyday. So this might be a bit rambling, or even boring, but I need to get back into it so you all have to suffer through it. All four of you!<br />
<br />
Braedyn has a new canned response he gives us every time we film a funny video, or take a funny picture or even laugh at something we think is hillarious! "Don't you put that on the internet!" he will scream at us.<br />
<br />
I am not sure how I am supposed to respond to that other than by doing this.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/EviwnKIvkHA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
That's not why I started this post. Today is really all about Emily and her new found fears. Fears of going to the bathroom unless one of us is STANDING there watching her. I don't know what she is afraid of, and she just says "I'm scared" and will stand in the hallway crying until:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li> I give in and follow her down the hall into the bathroom or</li>
<li> She pees her pants.</li>
</ol>
<br />
I never let us hit number 2. <br />
<br />
This fear has now extended to the nighttime routine. I tuck her into bed and if I scoot her over to the wall, you know, next to the deep dark crevasse of evil where the wall meets the bed, I have to be careful because the claws come out and embed themselves in the nearest area of my flesh. That's when the ear curdling cries start as well.<br />
<br />
So, I have learned NOT to scoot her towards the wall. <br />
<br />
Most recently she began telling me she didn't want to sleep on the lower bunk. She was scared.<br />
<br />
Me: "What are you scared of Em?"<br />
Em: "I hear noises at night!"<br />
Me: "Emily, that's probably Charmin walking around, or me getting up to check on you because you moan at night, or mommy getting up to go potty."<br />
Em: "No, they are other noises. Its not Charmin."<br />
Me: "What kind of noises?"<br />
Em (speaking in COMPLETE seriousness): "I can hear a man walking around the house and he is carrying a sword he wants to stick in me."<br />
<br />
Now I try to be a good dad. I try not to laugh when my kids say really funny stuff. This time I kept my composure, but I swear I heard Braedyn chuckling in the upper bunk.<br />
<br />
Me: "Have you ever actually seen the guy walking around the house with a sword at night? Because I think I do a pretty good job at keeping strangers with swords out of the house at night."<br />
Em: "I'm SERIOUS!"<br />
<br />
And she was.....<br />
<br />
I keep looking for evidence of a late night swordsman. If you see one in my neighborhood, or yours, please, let me know.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17011912439786824773noreply@blogger.com2