little known fact

I am a violent sneezer.  When I sneeze, it's LOUD and obnoxious and I double-over and my entire body jerks with the force of expelling boogers and saliva out of my nose and mouth.  When I sneeze, everybody within a 20-foot radius knows it.  The sound and the atmospheric pressure tips them off. 

Knowing this, I crouch and bend my head low to the ground, assuming a position similar to the one we learned would protect us from a nuclear blast during the 70's.  

Only instead of covering the back of my head, I cover my face.

I also try to maintain an upright or prostrate position for fear of throwing out my back.

Right now I've got about 5 minutes before I can leave the house to grocery shop and swing by the post office.  I have to time my errands with my cold medication.  About 15 minutes after I take cold medicine, my body launches into a sneezing fit.  For about 10 minutes after the initial sneezing fit, I'll periodically heave out a random "ATCHOOOO!" and then I'm good to go for about 2 hours before I'll sneeze again. 

When I sneeze, I'm worthless.  I can't hold them back, muffle their force or function because my body's jerking and I'm busy keeping both hands up to my face.  I definitely don't want the sneezing to hit while I'm in the produce department--spewing germs all over my fellow shoppers and the food for sale.  Then there's the inconvenience of leaving my shopping cart while I flee to the bathroom to scrub my hands.  It's scary to start sneezing while driving in the Momvan, too.  And there's no rhyme or reason to the amount of mucus expelled when I sneeze.  Could be a real juicy one, could be fairly dry.  There's no way to predict it which leads to more potential public humiliation.  And a sneezing fit leaves me a little exhausted and breathless from all the exertion.

So I watch the clock after swallowing a couple Advil Cold/Sinus.  Bide my time quarantined in a safe place until they're over.  Then I can catch my breath, scrub my hands and leave the house.  

Spill it, reader.  On sneezing--are you one of the delicate sneezers or a full-blown expeller of bodily fluids like yours truly?

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mom's got balls

Because we're a sporting people at Chez Green Girl, there are always lots of balls at my house.  Today I want to brag about my new ball.  Not the fancy, black tie type.

Not bowling, though you are an exceptionally fine ball, Jan.

I'm not even referring to the king of balls at this house.

Nope, I'm talking about one of these:

Fun fact:  I've never tried to impale my new fitness ball with a scissors nor have I sat on it wearing a swimsuit and tennis shoes because who wears shoes in the house? 

I've been reading about core fitness and how some people use these instead of chairs to do desk work because balancing on them strengthens their core.  Evidently there are tons of strength building exercise one can do while balanced on a big-ass ball, push ups, sit ups, and so forth.  While at Target last week I saw the fitness balls on sale for $15 and figured that was cheap enough to give one a whirl.  The ball I bought is almost the same height as my desk chair and Team Testosterone thinks it's the cat's ass that mama has a big-ass ball in the library.

Not sure if my abs are sore from sitting on the big ball for a couple days now while working on the computer or from all the nasty stance work we're doing in the dojo, but there's a certain roly kind of fun to be had in using a ball instead of a desk chair.  But if abs of steel is the price I have to pay for rolling and bouncing in place while I type this, I'm willing to make that concession.  I find that if I brace my feet and legs against the base of the ball, I sit up a little taller, too, so my posture might benefit from this lifestyle change.  The only disadvantage is never finding my new ball-chair in the same spot after I get up to answer the phone or refill my coffee.


Spill it, reader.  What fitness fad have you bought in to?

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up my sleeves

I'm sitting on so many secrets, making so many plans.  The behind the scenes plotting, meeting with people, lists and conversations is taking up more and more of my life lately.  It's much worse than being in 5th grade and finding out Debra Petras has a major crush on Gary Thompson and pinky-swearing-on-my-father's-grave from my sleeping bag next to her on the bedroom floor that I wouldn't tell a soul.

Actually, as secret-keepers go, I'm pretty good at it.  Just compartmentalize the information, right?  If you tell something in confidence, it will go with me to the grave. 

They're not all long-term secrets, fortunately.  Several are the birthday-related type.  The end date to those secrets are in sight.  I feel a bit like a squirrel, stuffing packages into hiding places, then scurrying to the door to discover the UPS guy on my front porch again.

So much is hushed up right now that I'm struggling a little bit to keep it straight.  I keep flipping open my little notebook to double-check names and dates.  Does she know about this?  Have I mentioned this to him?  I probably should hold off on telling them until January...

This isn't intended to be a coy post.  I am NOT pregnant.  No one is sick.  None of the things up my sleeve right now are bad for anyone.  

For the fun of it, though, I'll share a few secrets here that I've never told anyone.

Once I stole a book from the public library because I liked it so much.

Sometimes I crave beer the way people crave chocolate.  I just want to taste the dark, malty, bitter richness of a stout across my tongue.  I worry that makes me an alcoholic.  But I don't want to get drunk, I just want to drink.

The very first time I felt sexually attracted to a man was when I saw David Lee Roth in Van Halen's "Jump" video.  He isn't even my type, but something about his long hair and the way he writhed his skinny body around awoke something in me that winter when I was twelve.  It was the very first time I thought something about the opposite sex other than "He's cute."  I saw that video on MTV and realized "OH!  THAT'S what they mean by 'sexy.'  I get it."  Yep, I felt that "tingle" described so aptly in the V.C. Andrews books.  And then?  I LIED everytime I agreed with my friends that yes, Eddie Van Halen is so cute with his smile while privately thinking David Lee Roth was so hot.  I was so embarrassed to be attracted to the wrong guy in that video.

I'm kind of blushing about that last one especially, so reader?  PLEASE don't mock me in the comment box.  Keep that last secret especially on the down low.

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vices

It started Monday night while at karate class--the pain gripping my skull, twisting behind my ears, down my neck, across my forehead and even through my teeth made me want to vomit.  I shuttled the gang home early, skipping our 2nd degree lesson in a traditional Japanese-style open hand form which I shall phonetically spell as "Nung-duck-dong."  Or was it "Muck-luck-wong?"  I can't remember. 

Anyway, I woke up yesterday a snot-gobbling, aching, feverish wreck. Since the vise squeezing my head entitled me to a sick day on the couch, I contemplated what slothful vices to pursue.

Television seemed easiest, but did you know that even with 60-odd channels, there's not a damn thing interesting to watch in the morning? 

I thumbed through books, but the whole focusing on print made my stomach woozy.

My biggest vice is playing mah-jong on Mr. T's ipod touch, but Mr. D hid it from me (good call, he is wise indeed) and Mr. T changed his user password (another good move--these dudes don't stage interventions when I've got a gaming addiction, they just cut me off cold turkey).  No mah-jong for this mama.

Internet surfing?  Again with the focusing of the eyes and the stabbing painpainpain of the ol' noggin.  (Besides, is it just me or have people stopped posting much lately?)

I lay against my pillows too hepped up on cold medication to nap.  Perhaps a movie would entertain and relax my addled mind.  Something light and refreshing, no hard-edged drama, no kung-fu, no car chases, no deep reflection on the human condition. 

This is when I realized I have a weakness never before detected  Here's a list of the movies I considered watching:

Notting Hill
Love, Actually
Sense and Sensibility
Four Weddings and a Funeral
Bridget Jones's Diary
Bridget Jones:  The Edge of Reason
American Dreamz
Chocolat

That last film aside, do you see the trend? 

'Tis true.  I've got the Hugh Grant Film Collection in my DVD library.  (Except for Four Weddings and a Funeral, that's VHS, yo.)

Admit it, Green Girl, you have a thing for thing for foppish British fellows like me who blink excessively, stammer and run their hands through their thick brown hair.

Guess I do.  Who knew?

I blew my nose, adjusted the heating pad and indulged.  (Though it must be said that Rowan Atkinson totally steals scenes in Four Weddings.  And is it just me or was Andie MacDowell just flat and weird in that part?)  I prefer him best as Daniel Cleaver or William Thacker, how about you reader?

Thankfully I rallied by evening and was able to stay awake for my other, more disturbing vice, Sons of Anarchy.  (Loved how Opie returned to Jax's side.)  Today I'm running at 80% and thankful the pressure's off my head.

Spill it, reader.  What vices do you turn to when you take a sick day?

 

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conversations with myself.

After spending the last 4 days lounging around, grilling out, drinking beer, golfing, hanging with friends, I feel compelled to spend today swimming while Team Testosterone starts school.  It's hot, muggy, my hair is big, my skin is sweaty and I've got no ambition for anything but reading.

What are you reading, Green Girl?
I've arrived late to The Book Thief party and I'm tempering the violence of the Holocaust with Tina Fey's Bossypants.  Also taking notes on II Timothy for leadership training.

How's your golf game?
Sucktacular.  I took more than my share of mulligans on the course yesterday.  My putting was okay, my driving was decent, my long game put me in almost every sand trap at the course and I lost two balls.  I also found three balls, so in that respect I came out ahead.  I drank a couple of Fat Tire Ales during the 19 holes.

What did you eat?
For years people have talked up this podunk supper club on the eastern shore of Lake Winnebago.  Some friends picked us up Saturday evening to head over there and I could hardly wait.  The place was cute, the service great, I drank that awesome summer shandy by Leinenkugel, the music was live and the view was terrific.  After perusing the expected supper club menu offerings, I convinced Mr. D to split the prime rib and perch for two with me.  Oh, my hopes were high and my mouth watered.  The soup arrived, steaming hot and tasty.  Dinner spiraled down from there.  Worst perch I ever ate.  Terrible prime rib.  In a rare moment I actually gave the dog the doggie bag.

Have you honestly been that lazy for four whole days?
Basically, yes.  I've read a lot, froze several quarts of tomatoes, did a little laundry and sat around drinking beer with Mr. D and various neighbors and friends.  Mostly New Glarus and Capital Brewery beers, though today I'm sticking with coffee and ice water.

What's been the highlight?
From lawn chair to hammock and every spot in between I've enjoyed being unplugged and resting up for the crazy month of September.  But the best was the most darling baby girl our friends are adopting--I got to hold her for quite a while and watch her do cute 11 month old stuff like figure out how to climb up a step and kick her feet in the pool.  She smelled great and her skin was like silk.  I sure appreciate babies more now that I don't have any myself.  I strongly suggest finding one to bounce on your lap for a while if you haven't done so lately.

Spill it, reader.  What was the highlight of your long weekend?

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everywhere I turn, I hear the sound of Darth Vader breathing

The team is into ninjas lately, always sneaking around and jumping out at me.  I feel a bit like Inspector Clouseau, with my own version of Cato lurking around the corner, poised to attack.  This experience is honing my ninja-like reflexes.  I'm constantly listening for strange sounds to tip me off to their location--their mouth-breathing, the creak of the stairs, the footstep.  Conversely, I'm a lousy ninja, my crackling knee joints make sneaking around impossible, so I'm on the defensive all the time.

Speaking of heavy breathing, Mr. G's hyperventilating from excitement as the first of his birthday gifts arrived in the mail.  The kid cannot stand the excitement.  The countdown to his big day continues.  We still don't know when to cram his party into the schedule between games and tournaments, so I'm hyperventilating a little, too.

Early Sunday morning I sat in the library working on Monday's Eco Women post when I heard a steady whooshing noise, like Darth Vader was right above me.  I looked out the window and behold!

I ran outside to get a closer look and heard the whooshing noise right above me--so I craned my neck back and saw another one:

Right above my head like that.

I stood around watching the excitement wearing pajama pants and bed head.  Jax joined me.

They blasted fire into the balloon while it lay on its side, eventually giving it the lift it needed.

And then that balloon floated away. 

Spill it, reader.  What's got you breathing heavy lately?

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die hard

I've been reading, reading, reading.  Last night I flopped on the bed and switched on the TV to rest my eyes.  I'm used to finding nothing good in 60+ channels, but to my surprise I found Die Hard on channel 60 and Little House on the Prairie on channel 61.  The LHP episode was right after Nancy got adopted by the Olsens and goes around town being a total bitch to everybody, including locking one girl in an ice house overnight, requiring a visit to Doc Baker.  Naturally Pa is the hero, but Laura implements a plan of vengeance the whole town enjoys.  Happy endings all around.  I couldn't recall the revenge, so I kept flipping over to LHP during commercial breaks to find out.  Aha.  A "mermade" tank, where people can dunk Nancy and her sausage curls. 

But Die Hard--oh weren't the 80's a grand time for movies?  Top Gun, Beverly Hills Cop, The Goonies, Tootsie, Caddyshack, Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Princess Bride, Ghostbusters, Hoosiers, Big, almost everything decent by John Hughes.  (Notable films NOT on my list include all the horror flicks which I refused to watch even though my friends did.  I hid my face during most of Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, Chucky and The Exorcist.) 

I adored "John McClane/Roy's" vendetta against the European terrorists, led by Hans Gruber played by Alan Rickman who provided me with one of my earliest moments of inner conflict.  (Another early moment of inner conflict involved David Lee Roth in the Jump video, but that's a story for another day.)  Here's the thing:  he's the head bad guy in this movie, but I kept finding myself oddly attracted to him.  Was it the accent?  Certainly not the beard.  The suit?  The scene where he thinks fast on his feet and tells John he's not a terrorist, please don't shoot when he's looking for the detonators?  Of course I rooted for Bruce Willis as the cowboy hero, but Hans Gruber had his own strange appeal. Bruce Willis was cocky, sexy, clever and brave.  I'd nursed a crush on him starting back in his Moonlighting days.  But what was up with this Alan Rickman fella?  Now I know, but when I was 16 I didn't.

Do you blame me?  See for yourself.  Then:



Now:



Die Hard, like most of my other favorite movies, mixes up action and comedy.  Even though I've watched it at least a hundred times, I watched it for the 101st time last night.  I remembered how in high school we'd rent it on VHS and bring it back to Sarah's house and hang out in her den, eating chips, drinking soda, rooting for Bruce Willis and quoting all his best lines.  "Yippie kai yay, motherf*cker."  "Nine million terrorists in the world and I gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister."  " No f*cking shit, lady. Does it sound like I'm ordering a pizza?"  " Eeeh! Sorry Hans, wrong guess. Would you like to go for Double Jeopardy where the scores can really change"   "Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs..."  " That was Gary Cooper, asshole."  " Welcome to the party, pal"

Ah, I could still quote so much of the movie.  That was the great thing about being a teenager in the 80's--we'd rent those videos over and over and over again and commit every scene to memory.  Do kids still do that these days?  

The Avengers was magnificent, but Die Hard is still terrific.  Despite the ginormous 80's hair and computers I loved it all over again.  And that Bruce Willis.  After all these years I still adore him in that role as John McClure.
  

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muttonchop monday

It's been too long since the last Muttonchop Monday. Today let's focus on a man whose musical chops and muttonchops have made me feel weak in the knees and short of breath for decades.
He's comfortable blue jeans, broken in.
Weathered.
Sexy.
Did I mention the guitar?
Or the gravel-edged voice?
The way his butt looks in those Levis?


How he makes me sing at the top of my lungs every December when I hear him on the radio--Santa Claus is Comin' To Town.
How he makes me want to straddle a motorcycle and ride through a desolate landscape with wind raking my hair and his voice urging in my ear, Baby, we were born to run.

He makes my heart ache with melancholy.
He makes me proud to be Born in the USA.
He's leather.
He's sweat.

He's soul.
He's working class.
He's heroic.
He's gentle.
He's tough.
He's rock and roll.
He's rebel.
He. Is. The. Boss.

Sixty-two and still rocking my world with his talent and that face.
True story: when he sings Secret Garden to me it makes me feel beautiful. If you haven't heard him sing it to you, reader, you really should.


Raising my coffee cup to The Boss, this morning. One bad-ass rock star with muttonchops and heart.

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and speaking of

The clock change made my kids really, really crabby this morning. I'm pretty certain whoever's in charge of daylight savings time does NOT have children. If they did, they'd never, ever screw with the clock in 60 minute increments. Mr. T was positively grumpy like an old man, Mr. G cried and Mr. B refused to speak or eat. Tomorrow has got to be better than today.

The pro-haircut votes were overwhelming, so I've got an appointment with Kristy tomorrow. Just in time for these events:

This Thursday, 10:00 a.m. Atlas Coffee Shop--cafe conversation as part of the Fox Cities Book Festival

This Friday, 2:30 p.m. UWSP Alumni Book Club
What's needed to participate: 1. An email address from Google (gmail). If you don't have one, you can register for gmail on the Google website. It's free! 2. Access to a webcam. Many laptops have built-in cameras. 3. Questions for Melissa about her book.

So, if you're local or not, you can participate--cool, eh?

And speaking of books, Sex With Kings by Eleanor Herman was a fascinating study of mistresses through history. I definitely wouldn't want to be queen or mistress the the king. Sure, the clothes and architecture were gorgeous, but all the disease, backstabbing and bleeding to death after childbirth makes Medieval times seem pretty awful. And the politics. Good grief.

And speaking of politics, I'm trying to find spots for my few remaining campaign signs. My kitchen is clean, I hung laundry outside and I got to babysit the sweetest baby boy on Saturday. No kidding--this little bean sat on my lap and watched Mr. G play basketball without making a single PEEP, then he slept for 2 hours, then he woke up and ate a whole bottle, then he laid there smiling and making cute noises. I never had such an easy baby in my life. I followed up babysitting by nursing a few excellent margaritas at a friend's house--a group of karate gals got together and hashed out all the drama and intrigue at the dojo.

The hot dojo gossip was nothing compared to the heat wave that blew in Saturday night. By midday Team Testosterone had their shirts off. We played basketball, baseball and football. We swung on the swingset, rode bikes, tooled around the field, chased Jax and generally relished the fact that spring has arrived.

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if you used a pensieve on me today...

here's what you'd find in my mind:

Having an ice and water dispenser in the door of one's refrigerator is a marvelous thing.

I do wish the Colts well--I am nurturing a fantasy where Peyton becomes either a TV sportscaster or a coach. It will seem so odd seeing him play for any other team. And if he plays for the Seahawks, well, that would open a new can of worms for this particular NFL fan. If he must keep playing, I'd prefer he play for a team I already pay attention to.

A robin outside my window! Sweet springtime is here!

After delivering campaign signs hither, thither and yon today, I should really bake a treat for Team Testosterone and their pals who are spending the night. Especially since dinner will be a boring meal of grilled cheese sandwiches because it is Lent and 3/7 of the people at the table are Catholic.

Level Up is one of the shows Team Testosterone watches together--I sat on my bed last night and for the first time watched it with them. It was more intelligent than I expected and I kind of liked it. Sometimes when they talk to each other, it's tough to understand, so I have to keep up with this sort of stuff.

Sarah sent me a link for leprechaun traps. The boys have decided to make all of the traps. I need to figure out how to make wee green hats for the "leprechauns" to leave behind...

Hangover II was perfectly dreadful. If you must watch it, rent it.

Yesterday somebody told me that I'd get a lot of votes for school board since I'm a woman. I replied that should be my slogan, "Vote for Estrogen and Experience!" Actually, if I lived in a more liberal community, I think it would play well. (Although the women in this town are more progressive than they seem at first glance--especially the older ones.)

Next week I have 2 book events and I'm torn between getting a haircut and waiting until after the events to get a haircut. I'm getting long and shaggy--it's not out of hand, nothing a little effort can't make look presentable--but a fresh cut might make me look better. The conundrums a not-so-very-famous-writer faces.

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indulgences

It's a day of feasting, so let's begin by feasting our eyes on him:

That's Iain Glen, the actor who plays Sir Richard Carlisle on Downton Abbey. Thanks, Crazy Mom Tats!, for the yummy kickoff to Fat Tuesday. He is divine.

And speaking of marvelous Downton things, I want these paper dolls. Check them out.

And this--well, this is hilarious. Mr. D sent it to me last week. Keep the volume down, it's a bit racy.



I had an online author interview over at Elizabeth Caulfield Felt's Blog--deep secrets revealed!

The first election for school board is today--weeding out one candidate before April's election. I wonder if they call me with results or if I wait to read about them in tomorrow's paper? I don't mind waiting, surprises are fun.

Spill it, reader. What's your favorite indulgence lately?

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she'd talk your ear off if you let her

It's Monday and if we were sitting on the rug in Kindergarten this morning having sharing time, I would totally monopolize the conversation.

"I finally watched Bridesmaids this weekend! SO funny!"
"We grilled steaks and drank beer on the patio, it was so warm!"
"Tuesday is the primary election! I think it will be so weird to vote for myself, don't you?"
"We went to the PS auction night and I talked to Bill Jartz and Mr. D finally won a football helmet--after bidding himself up on it."
"My friend Alice is exactly like the Dowager Countess on Downton Abbey. I can totally picture her saying the same lines--like when Sir Richard bids her farewell and says 'We'll never see each other again' and she replies, 'You promise?' Mr. Bates broke my heart, I predict next season will be ALL ABOUT Edith and Daisy--who's with me? I liked the storybook ending for Matthew and Mary, but I fear the writers wrap up too much too quickly and they'll pace themselves into dumb plot lines at this rate. And I shall ever more quote Lady Crawley by saying 'I'll be part of the bucking up bridgade.' Oh--and Daisy and William's dad--who else was deeply touched by those scenes?"
"I finally settled on what to serve for Bumble Book Club on Thursday night--inspired by Mardi Gras, I'm kicking it Cajun-style."
"It's President's Day, but we don't have the day off of school here. I've been thinking about Presidents--you know how everyone's ga-ga over Lincoln? Yeah, not me. He's great, not like JFK who I think was overrated because he was young and martyred, but he's no Washington who, let's face it, was a rock star. FDR strikes me as one of the better ones, much like Clinton in terms of getting stuff done for the people, only he kept his cigars chomped firmly between his teeth--amIright? I'm intrigued by John Adams, LBJ strikes me as exceedingly capable, Hayes was a man of integrity and Wilson deserves a nod. But my personal favorite is Thomas Jefferson. I think it's the whole intellectual appeal--he accomplished SO MUCH in terms of establishing America as a powerhouse nation--he literally DOUBLED our nation's land holdings, really embraced expansion, had so many interests, scientific, political and so forth. He was about people's individual RIGHTS, which is still so very relevant. I wonder what he'd say and write about America in light of that today. Yep, my vote's for Jefferson as most impressive and accomplished president."
"When left to their own devices, Team Testosterone voluntarily shut off the TV and Wii this weekend and actually went outside to start a bonfire and play basketball and shoot Nerf guns at each other. I think we did the right thing not setting up any play dates."

Okay reader, your turn to share.

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anglophiled out

I woke up this morning yearning to tell Carson I'd take my tea on the terrace. I desperately wished for cook to whip up a healthy breakfast while an upstairs maid got my children ready for school. I felt so tired this morning--that second hour of Downton Abbey wore me out. It's exhausting to sit at the edge of one's bed, hands clenched, breath held, eyes bugged out while those characters die, marry, fall ill, vow, lie and confess. I cheered for Sybil. I wept for Anna and Mr. Bates. I felt SO DAMN CONFLICTED towards Cora. I wanted to bitch-slap Mary.

This came on the tails of a weekend marathon entrenched in the War of the Roses as I wrapped up reading The Lady of the Rivers by Philippa Gregory--which of course meant I had to skip through The White Queen because I can't read historical fiction out of chronological order. WHYWHYWHY did you write this trilogy in such weird order, Ms. Gregory? And how does the House of Lancaster turn from York to Tudor? I forget. My mind is bogged down with details. And it doesn't help that all these characters share the same name (I swear, the women are all named Anne, Mary, Elizabeth, Catherine or Margaret. And the men are either John, Edward, Richard, George or Henry). And title. When one Duke of York dies, another character gets named Duke of York and is referenced as such. One wishes Ms. Gregory would notate her novels-- (Duke of York: Richard, the one whose brother Edward became king, son of Richard Duke of York, Grandson of Richard Duke of York, AKA the evil brother with aspirations to usurp his brother's crown and kill his 2 nephews in the Tower, given humpback in Shakespeare play.)--that would help so much. Simon & Schuster could publish an entire line of Philippa Gregory books, the British History Annotated for Idiots Edition.

And the hours I've spent poring over pictures of the castles, manors, palaces referenced in these books to get a stronger sense of place. I would dearly love to make another trip back to England just to see some of these historic spots.

This behavior requires gallons of tea. And a long hike with a dog at my heels before returning home to slippers and scones fresh from the oven.

Spill it, reader. Did you spend your weekend as an Anglophile?

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funny, funny, football

Funny story: we've been working on a bo staff module in karate. Pretty tame stuff, so I've tried to run a bit on the side just to keep fit. I ran yesterday, felt a bit breathless afterwards, but didn't use my inhaler (Yo! Mikey! A shout-out to all my asthmatic cronies!) figuring I'd get my wind back later.

asthma icon Mikey from "The Goonies"

Wouldn't you know we deviated from the regular bo staff routine and had a hard class. Many kicks, elbow strikes, leg throws and knee strikes later, I wheezed my way back home with my boys. Regrettably I'd opted to wear a "nice" bra to class, and now it was covered in sweat and stench. I spent the evening "feeling the burn" in my legs and puffing on my inhaler.

Next Funny: In the last month I've filled out the paper work to run for public office and to work as a substitute teacher. I've had to fill out FOUR TIMES the paperwork, establish my citizenship, get a background check and provide references to substitute teach. I had to provide my name and address to run for public office. People working with children are screened much more thoroughly than people wanting to run our government, which might explain why our government is filled with crooks. Maybe this isn't funny.

Football: A casual survey over breakfast showed all 5 of us will cheer for New York on Sunday. Unparalleled consensus. Heck, even last year we had a traitor in our midst. I know a fair number of my readers glaze over when I mention pigskins. For those of you who care, Green Girl Football Fun Facts:
1. I live near an NFL team--so near that when the plans fly over Lambeau, they fly over my back yard seconds later
2. I live with all men
3. Football (unlike politics) is a safe conversational piece in most circles around here--especially for men
4. Football is like chess and war, full of strategy and opportunity, brutality and power
5. I give a crap about college football
6. I care slightly more about high school football
7. I adore professional football because it's played at such a refined level--there's a reason why players do not leap from high school to the NFL.
8. It's complicated. The more you watch it, the more you realize this.
9. As you begin to understand the complexity of the game, you begin to appreciate it even more
10. I care madly and deeply about the Packers.
11. I am a selective NFL fan. I care about Detroit, Indianapolis, New York, New Orleans and Pittsburgh. Frankly, if any other teams are playing in the Super Bowl, I'd half-watch it. If Dallas or Cincinnati or St. Louis were playing, I wouldn't even turn on my TV. Swear to God.
12. The excitement of the game aside, I also enjoy the camaraderie of the fans. Any time you bring together people sharing a passion, whether it's music, literature, politics or sports, it's powerful.
13. It's the only sport I watch. I take in baseball because that's the law around my house. I think basketball is full of thugs and don't spare any time for the NBA or NCAA. I'd rather bowl or golf than watch them on TV. I really don't understand soccer. I have no interest in car or horse races. I ignore figure skating, gymnastic, swimming and skiing unless they're part of the Olympics.
14. There's something so jaw-dropping about that perfectly placed pass, that perfectly timed reception, that perfectly coordinated tackle. Sure, you'll have fumbles, penalty flags and interceptions, but when football is played flawlessly, it's artistic and moving and inspiring.
15. There's also something pretty cool about generations of fans watching their sport together.

I hope your Sunday is super, reader, however you spend it. Go Giants!

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more new stuff

It's good to know most of you are dedicated tire-well-snowpack kickers. Here's another one for you to chew on: wtf was Target thinking when it added on a pharmacy without adjusting the store layout? Instead of bumping out some room, they slammed an entire pharmacy counter right against the regular-spaced aisle, which already is too small to accommodate two passing shopping carts. Bad enough to be wedged up against all and sundry when the pharmacist is asking about your digestion tract/itchy rash/contraceptive needs. But you're also stuffed against the Cold and Flu/Pain Relief aisle, so everyone walking past is oozing contagion. Only a real moron would design a store that way. (Writes the girl who prefers the drive-thru window at Walgreen's because FAST! CONVENIENT! NO IMPULSE PURCHASES! PRIVATE!) Target, you're making it awfully easy to quit you.

On the "new experiences" front, I took Mr. T to see a local high school production Saturday night. It was charming. I was glad to introduce him to some straight drama (actually, a comedy, but no songs). The performances were quite good for high school and we both enjoyed the night out. And cheap--even with a treat afterwards, I spent less than $20.

Today I got called in for my first shift as a substitute teacher. A couple weeks ago the school secretary at PS told me how difficult it's been to find subs. I asked what the requirements were--only a bachelor's degree. Well, with my Masters in Curriculum and Instruction and nearly a decade of teaching experience, I might be able to help you out... My application hasn't even been fully processed and my phone rang at 6:15 this morning. I got the gravy shift--middle school language arts. A morning of mostly vocab review, a little C.S. Lewis, and some grammar instruction, which I was fully equipped to teach. Go ahead--ask me anything about adverb phrases or adjective phrases.
The bonus is that this particular teacher only works until noon. It's a particular sort of person (me) who wants temporary work (me) on a part-time basis (me) with kids (me) without having to work in the summer (me). (Pop quiz: how many prepositional phrases were in that last sentence?)

Spill it, reader. Your thoughts on the Target pharmacy, high school theater or substitute teaching.

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holiday chores

I'm wicked late for this year's Christmas card. There are issues with content. There are issues with format. And then the camera batteries died. Above is one of the rejects from this year's session. Team Testosterone looks festive, don't you think?

There's been much talk about Advent calendars. Behind them you'll see a calendar my mom made for me. I grew up with a similar one. You velcro the ornaments to the tree and are supposed to put the star on top Christmas Eve. Try telling that to Mr. G. I keep reading about people putting together Advent calendars that involve opening wee gifts and trinkets and treats. The whole logistics of putting such a thing together (times THREE, natch) blows my mind. So reader, let's make a deal. I'll never tell your kids our kid-sized four-wheeler, pool and the boys' man-fort out back if you never speak of Advent calendars with daily gifts to mine, okay?

Blue jays and cardinals are hitting the bird feeder.

Had lunch with J and her darling baby T yesterday. I will so miss her when she returns to work after Christmas. Seriously, girlfriend makes me laugh so hard.

I awoke this morning to the sound of an ornament hitting the floor, but the tree still stands upright.

St. Nicholas filled stockings with tiny Lego kits and chocolates last night. This morning Mr. G informed me that "St. Nicholas gave me a Ninjago set, but it's okay because he'll tell Santa because they live together." It slays me how kids makes sense of these things in their own way. I guess I always thought St. Nicholas was Santa, on a teaser run to let you know where you stood on his Naughty or Nice List.

The hybrid is a GO! Squee! We don't do new cars around here, the hybrid is barely used, and the first new vehicle for probably 6 years. In our discussions about whether to buy this car, we realized that the Momvan is over 8 years old. That startled me for some reason.

Tonight is the season finale of Sons of Anarchy.

Nine days until the Stevens Point book launch party, when I hold a copy of Whipped, Not Beaten in my hands.

So much to look forward to. Spill it, reader. What are you anticipating?

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when you take a ninja to the groctry store...

It's baking weather here--a free day on Friday with naught to do but add a little PLOT to my manuscript and hang out laundry. And indulge my urge to bake cookie bars. I'll need some comfort food when I get home tonight from candidate training at the dojo. Baked goods and a glass of wine will be a nice treat. I've got tape for my ankle, pills for my elbow and butterflies in my stomach. Hopefully Mr. O sticks with a traditional easy first night and then kills us tomorrow...

Which brings me to a funny story. This week I had to spend 3 hours taking VIRTUS training so I can keep volunteering at the parochial school. The movie we watched was something else--complete with a stereotypical creepy dude in glasses and long ponytail leering at the children from behind a bush beside a playground. (What really cracked me up was how the one mom marches over and pulls her daughter away leaving all of the other children behind in the company of the suspected pedophile in the film segment titled Protecting All God's Children. Anyhoo...) It was a good thing I wasn't sitting next to my BFF or I'd have made snarky comments all the way through instead of listening respectfully like I actually did.

At the karate school much is made of "Stranger Danger." Too much. In reality, most assaults and abductions involve people we already know. Strangers account for a mere fraction of criminal activity involving children. But nevermind, the parents all feel happy when their kids learn about "Stranger Danger" at karate class.

One of the nifty things we teach the kids is to YELL things like "You're not my mom!"

Cut to the grocery store where I'm trying to wrangle Team Testosterone to submit to my will without coercing them Oreos and Mountain Dew. Sure they give me sass, but then one wise-ass in the group will yell to me, "You're not my mom!" That clever little phrase we learned at the dojo.

Poor little monkey doesn't count on his mom being smarter than average. I reply (in front of customers, cashier and bag boy), "YOU just wait until we get home and I tell YOUR FATHER what you did today." (It wasn't the first time I disowned my kids in the check-out aisle. I'm fond of telling them, "Your mother will NOT like to hear how you behaved today.")

As we're fond of saying around here, "the family that kicks together, sticks together."

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we're that family

the one that quotes movies. All the time. We have our favorite lines:

"The sun is shining, the tank is clean ..."
"You're killing me, Smalls!"
"Squirrel!"
"Go ahead. Make my day."
"My Precious."
"These aren't the droids you're looking for."
"As you wish."
"I do believe in fairies!"
"For Narnia!" (usually declared with a flourish of sword, spoon or plastic light saber)
"To the Batmobile!"
"'Ello, Poppet"
"You want s'more? S'more of what?"
"Bond. James Bond."
"Fish are friends, not food."
"Just keep swimming."
"I find your lack of faith disturbing."
"The Force is strong with this one."
"Help me, Obi-Wan. You're my only hope."
" I shall call him Squishy and he shall be mine and he shall be my Squishy. Come on, Squishy Come on, little Squishy. Ow. Bad Squishy, bad Squishy."
"To action! We surrender! Not that action, you idiots! The kung-fu thing!"
"Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine."
"Cheese, Grommit!"
"Skadoosh!"
"Oh, I do love a bit of gorganzola!"
"Sharkbait. Hoo ha ha!"
"You dum-dum. You give me gum-gum."
"You are a sad, strange little man."
"Way to go, I-Da-Ho!"
"That was totally wicked!"
"Just smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave."

We do use original dialogue, but you're guaranteed to hear any of the above quotes throughout the average week at Chez Green Girl.

Spill it, reader. What movie quotes are in your clan's running dialogue?

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rainy day plans

No need to water today, no swimming, no hanging out clothes on the line to dry. The berries are picked (for now) and gleam deep red in jam jars. The floor feels clean and smooth beneath my bare feet. I've no karate class to help teach, no soccer practice to run to, no party to plan.

I've got a couple of books, a stack of magazines and some blogs to read.

Mr. T and I will play cribbage, Mr. G and I will read together. I will challenge Mr. B to a rematch of Memory Match Game. Then the boys will head off to spend their day playing with Bey Blades and Nerf guns and battle castles.

The new PTA president and current vice-president will come over and I will hand over all the files from my 6 year term. I've got meeting minutes and agendas dating back to 2004, all the instructions written out month by month and several folders detailing events and fundraising. I'll teach them how to maintain the website and get their way with the principal while we eat raspberry pie. Then they'll leave bearing the burden I've carried.

I'll scrub down the basement bathroom, clean up the desk I recovered from Grandma's basement and drink a cup of strong coffee. Team Testosterone will choose a movie and I'll iron while we watch it.

What's not to love about a random rainy day in July?

Spill it, reader. What's your rainy day plan?

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from the desk of Green Girl

Dear Jax,
Stop barking. Your new kennel is very nice. One of the nicest ever built. Nicer than our basement. Accept your new digs.
And stop peeing on my flowers. My perennials are turning brown, totally unacceptable and expensive to replace. Pee freely and with abandon on the 59 acres of unlandscaped turf.
Thank you,
Green Girl



Dear Rain,
Go away. Mr. T has planned a pool party today. All his friends want to play. Go away.
I appreciate your prompt response in this matter.
Green Girl


Dear Mr. D,
Yes, I'm out of sorts. I'm sorry. We need to talk--for longer than short phone conversations. There's a lot going on and we need to stay connected better.
Love,
Green Girl



Dear Head Baseball Coach,
Give Mr. D a schedule if you expect him to help. Duh.
Green Girl



Dear New Refrigerator,
I really really really really like you. Your ice dispenser is neat. I like that all of your drawers are stacked together in the bottom of the fridge side. I like the bigger freezer space. I like that you are clean and white and bright. Never change.
Green Girl

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