Help a sister out

One of my loyal readers is participating in the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 3-Day, which raises money to fight the battle against breast cancer.

Each participant in the walk is required to raise a pretty big chunk of money. If you can help - anything at all - click here to donate: Shelly's Team,

I donated this morning in memory of my grandmother and in celebration of my mother, because my life has been inexorably altered by breast cancer.

She didn't ask me to do this, by the way. I just think it's the right thing to do.

Please help if you can. Oh yeah, and tell her Lady Steele sent you.

I know, I know

I've been thinking about you. I promise. I said in my last post I was going to try to ditch Dark & Twisty Lady Steele. She's still hanging around, so I'm not blogging right now.

Well, I'm blogging in my mind. I have lots of things swirling, some I've been thinking about for a long long time. If I ever string the right words together, I'm going to have some fabulous new posts for you.

Until the good witch returns, I am going to brew a little longer. I'll leave you with this, which I think is hysterical....

The neighborhood accountant-in-a-box joint has been paying temps to dress up like the Statue of Liberty and dance on a street corner in an effort to attract clients this tax season. LittleG and I have been debating for three months now why a tax office wants people to dance on the corner, and why for the love of Pete do they think it works?

At any rate, yesterday when we drove by, one of them was holding up a big sign that said "The End is Near."

I don't know why, but it tickled my funny bone, and it is bringing me some measure of lightness even now.

Ever forward, friends.....

Yes, please

I had an email from my BFF late last night and part of it said, "I loved the blog today, but do you need a vacation?"

Well, yes, I do, thank you for asking.

I guess I've seemed a bit dark and twisty lately. Tell you what - I will do the best I can to find the amusing and sassy Lady Steele and see if I can get her back here for you.

Best Regards,
Lady Steele's Dark & Twisty Evil Twin

How to self soothe with ony 4,327 calories

Mentally, the past two months have been a disaster for me. I've worried about the economy. And my job. And MrG's job. And my sister's job. And my mother's health. And my friend's mother's health.

Two of my friends lost their mothers, so then I had to worry about them. (The friends, not the moms).

I had a really tough discussion one day this week with a coworker. It was a lot harder for the other person than it was for me. It was not a pleasant conversation, but I'm glad it happened because I think it needed to. Some things were said that needed to be said, and now we can move on.

I have another co-worker who is on my VERY. LAST. NERVE. My filters are worn totally thin with this person. I am finished. In fact, I fear I may push this particular offender down the stairs at the first opportunity.

As you can imagine, these situations are not improving my outlook on life.

The Desiderata says "do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness." I've tried to use that as a motivator, but it is amazingly hard to play mind games with yourself.

So the mental aspects notwithstanding, physically I've been in some discomfort. My foot still hurts - since January! I've had an annual gyno exam and some dental work done. I am quite certain I've been violated in damn near every orifice in the past two weeks.

The nice dentist gave me pain medication, but the gyno didn't even buy me dinner. I'm feeling a little cheap right now.

Mother Nature cannot seem to decide what season it is. One day in February, it was 88 degrees. When I got up this morning, my outside thermometer showed 36 degrees. WTF?

It's allergy season, and I'm pretty much sniffling, sneezing, dripping and draining. Not adding to my feeling of well being, or improving my mood. Not one little bit.

MrG's response to my mental and physical state of being? "Boo-effen-hoo!" Someone please tell me again why I married him?!

Since Mr. Sensitivity isn't being much help, I'm kind of on my own, so I've been running through my self-soothing options. Exercise? Hah! Even if I wanted to, I couldn't do it - the foot hurts too much. Fresh air and sunshine? Yeah, right. Only on alternating days when it's not freezing or raining. Drugs? Too illegal. Wine? Too hang-overish.

So, what's left?? I've turned to my kitchen. The center of home and hearth. Solace and peace in this topsy turvy world.

Despite my near mental and physical breakdown, my family is in pretty good shape. Why? Because I've turned out some terrific homemade pita bread, a decent atttempt at naan, a most excellent pot of white beans, some really yummy oven-fried fish, and some respectable banana bread. Did I mention that banana bread makes the BEST french toast EVER?

Nothin' says home cookin' like Mommy losing her mind.

I've also bought and consumed Girl Scout Cookies, and Easter candy of all shapes and sizes. On the upside the Girl Scout cookies are long gone. And the Easter candy is, for the most part, the least worst kind - jelly beans, Peeps, marshmallow eggs. Not an m&m or Snickers in sight! And in all fairness, I bought the candy because I needed it for LittleG's Easter Egg hunt (or the more politically correctly named Spring Holiday Egg Hunt).

In my defense, I've also made some healthy food discoveries. I found Brothers All Natural Fruit Snacks, lovely freeze dried bags of fruit that run about 40 to 60 calories. They have lots of varieties (banana, pear, and apple are my favorites) and are sweet, crunchy, and packed with the same nutrients as fresh fruit. Yummy!

Thank heavens summer is on its way because at least every third day or so, we are able to go out and grill dinner. It's fast, it's healthy, and I don't have to wash a dish!

I'm looking forward to getting this whole worry thing behind me and feeling good again. Fresh air, sunshine, healthy food. All bodes well for my mental health. Which is good, because soon it will be hotter than the hinges of hell and I'll have something else to gripe about. Ever forward, friends.

I gotta go. There are some pink Peeps calling my name.

Real Life

So I am surrounded in my day to day life by these people I think are crazy. Certifiably. At the very least, part of them lives constantly in an alternative world, a lot like the bizarro Seinfeld episode.

LittleG spends much of our time together debating "which one" she wants to be. Doesn't matter what we are looking at - flowers, cartoons, characters in a book, oranges - she wants to identify with one of them, and she wants me to identify with one of them. Doesn't matter to her that five minutes ago she wanted to be the cute pudgy cartoon character with the yellow face. Now she wants to be the white daisy with the yellow center. And what's scary is, it doesn't seem to faze her. A. BIT. I, on the other hand, feel perpetually like the stupid kid at school - I never seem to keep up with her as she changes subjects and characters.

She tells these long colorful detailed stories about her and her sisters (she's an only child, mind you), where there are fairies and balloons and secret castles. My BFF told me once that children who have fertile imaginations tend to be intellectually gifted. If that's true, watch out Ivy League, here we come!

She makes up rules to games I've never heard of, uses words that have absolutely no connection whatsoever to the only language we speak in our family, and constantly barrages me with questions about life and nuggets of information that only she understands the significance of.

Then there is MrG. He spends a lot of time on his Xbox or his computer playing one game or another. Sometimes he's a big scary looking monster who has magic powers. Sometimes he's an army guy shooting good guys. Or Zombies. I can't keep it straight. There is nearly always some type of violence involved, no matter the medium.

The only violence I participated in today was some really horrible arm waving at this idiot in front of me who apparently didn't understand my sense of urgency for getting to work TODAY. Oh, and I squished a bug in the grass.

The point is, sometimes I feel like I'm the only one connected in any way whatsoever to reality. While LittleG is curled up in bed with Mr Duck, her dad is down the hall shooting guys on the TV screen and speaking entirely too loudly to his buddies who are somehow magically now connected into our game room through his headset. Many nights, I creep in quietly and kiss him on the forehead silently, because I'm afraid a big wet goodnight kiss will be broadcast all over cyberspace or Xboxland, or where ever the hell he happens to be that night.

Don't get me wrong. My husband could be out drinking and carousing. He doesn't beat me, doesn't cheat on me, doesn't gamble away the family fortune. And my kid? She could just totally ignore me, as I know she will eventually. But instead, she includes me in her fantasy world and engages me constantly with that little mind that is expanding so quickly.

While my family escapes into whatever it is that drives them, I am faced with the stark reality of real life. My laundry is piled in its basket - a basket that never seems to be empty. The clothes get dirty, the clothes get washed, the clothes go in to the basket, and the whole cycle starts all over. I cannot imagine a moment in my life when that basket will ever truly be empty.

(Note to those of you not getting it - the clothes basket is a metaphor for the skutwork in my life - laundry, dishes, groceries, bills. Keep up here, folks).

At least my escapes are sane ones - some crappy reality TV, Castle (I heart Richard Castle!!), the 30 or so of you who click in to read my words of wisdom every day. (Please invite your friends, I'd really like to be at about 50).

I spend a lot of time in my own brain trying out phrases, thinking of words that paint a picture. And that's been really good for me. Gives me a tiny escape from reality. So I guess I do get a little respite from Real Life. But my stays in Bizarro Life are short and sweet, and I always come back down to earth.

I've had some comments that I've not blogged every day during Lent. Trust me. I have. I just haven't published it all yet. And some of it you may never see. Because once it's out there, it becomes reality. And a girl's gotta have a little escape sometime.

Way to go, Iowa

I am celebrating tonight, for my friends who are not like me.

I've laid it out for you before. I'm married. Never strayed, not even once, even though I work in an industry once dubbed "spring break for grown ups." I will cop to the occasional impure thought, but those don't really count, since 9 times out of 10, I tell MrG about them.

I like boys, always have. And I was lucky enough to marry one nine years and nine months ago. Most of the time I like him pretty well, and sometimes, I like him a whole damn lot. Never tried the girl thing. And although I love some women dearly, they are friends to me, not sexual objects over which I obsess.....

But I have friends who fall in a different demographic. None of them are in what I consider the Lady Steele Inner Circle, although there are a few pretty damn close. In other words, I do not have a vested emotional interest in this - my best friend, my brother, my uncle, my aunt - none of these are affected by the current marriage laws in our country. I have no axe to grind here, I promise.

But I do have friends who are affected, and for them, I am happy tonight.

Iowa has become either the third or fourth state to recognize gay marriage. I say it that way, because it depends on how you view California - they were in, but now they are out. Either way, folks of the other sexual persuasion can now make their unions legal in the fine state of Iowa.

So why does this matter to me, Lady Steele, whitebread heterosexual that I am?

I happen to believe, with every cell in my being, that folks don't just choose to be gay. I don't think that anyone suddenly decides one day to rock the boat and that the best way to do it is to crave the love and attention of someone of the same gender. Who wants that for themselves, really?

Thank God I ended up straight, because I remember being in first grade or Kindergarten and having it B.A.D. for a cute red headed boy named Billy. Really hasn't changed much in 35 or so years, and I am thankful every day that I am wired the "right" way and that society doesn't judge me for my taste in mates and sexual partners, (The Boy) notwithstanding.

I have a friend who lost her daughter after she and her partner split up. Because of adoption laws in Texas, my friend and her partner had to choose one parent as the legal delegate when they adopted their daughter. And despite the fact that my friend went through the exact trials and tribulations that her partner went through - diaper changes, teething, first steps, rotavirus - my friend lost all legal ties to her daughter when she and her partner split up.

Common decency dictates that my friend's ex keeps her in her daughter's life, but Texas law does nothing. So my friend, who has the distinct disadvantage of having chosen a total raving bitch as a partner, now has no legal ties to the daughter she raised as her own for 4 years. She is as much of a parent as the other woman, but because the other woman's name was the only one recognized by the law, my friend finds herself alone without any rights. And her daughter? She finds herself without one of the the women she called Mommy.

I have other friends who are same sex couples whose lives are inexorably challenged by their sexual orientation. One male friend has a partner who is having some health challenges. They have been together for years - ten or more. And yet, my friend, who is closer to his partner than anyone else on this planet, has absolutely no say whatsoever in his significant other's care. He doesn't have the right, according to Texas law, to make decisions about his partner's health care. And if things go south, he doesn't have any right at all to be in the room with is partner in the event of a critical health situation.

Did my friend wake up one day and decide he'd mess with his mom by liking boys? No, he knew very young - elementary school - that girls were not his cup of tea. Did he think he'd just piss off the cool kids at school by ignoring the girls and hitting on the boys? Nope, my friend is who is he is. He likes boys. And he was lucky enough to find one. And they've been together for the entire time that I've known them - more than a decade. They've bought a home together (more than one, actually), built a life together, they've attended church together. They are a family, as much as me and MrG and LittleG.

And yet, we heterosexuals, climb up on our high horses and call these guys sinners and condemn their "lifestyle" like it was some type of choice they made just to lash out at society.

What the heck difference does it make to me, as a heterosexual female, if two men choose to be together? Does it somehow affect my marriage, my relationship? I think not.

You can stand on your scripture, if you so choose, for your proof that homosexuality is wrong. I'll give you that. If you're going to go that route, I encourage you take a good long look at the other things that the bible says are wrong - who among us hasn't coveted a neighbor's lawn/new car/new TV/fabulous wardrobe/perfect children?

Who hasn't lied, stolen, cheated? In the eyes of biblical law, we are all sinners. So it's not just the gay folks who are rocking the boat. It's any red blooded heterosexual who cheats on his wife, or the woman who desperately wants her best friend's Dooney & Bourke bag, or the couple who lies to their family about how happy they are. It's your neighbors, and your friends, and the folks you're related to. If you say a homosexual couple has an effect on my marriage, it's got to count for the heterosexual sinners, too.

Keith Olbermann said it very well last fall here: Thank you, Keith

I can assure you that no other couple straight or gay, has any effect whatsoever on my relationship with MrG.

And they shouldn't on yours, either, whether you are gay or straight. What goes on in someone else's mind or bedroom has no bearing on your life or the sanctity of your union.

So I'm so excited tonight, to see that Iowa has jumped into the fray by recognizing gay marriage. It is going to be terribly unpopular here in my heterosexual Texas life, to put a big fat check mark on the work of the Iowa legislature, but I'm going to do it anyway.

So, I'm sorry Mom, for putting this out there. I know this is likely to cause you some psychic pain.

But for you, Nora, Mauri, Jeff, Kim, Bill, Bill, Paul, Mike, and others, I am so damn glad for you. Our families matter. All of them. And it's about damn time that the government recognizes it.

Math, Lady Steele Style

Fresh air + sunshine + ten bags of mulch + family = good

Five year old + actual, honest to God worms + fresh dirt = bad

Water hose + dirty siding = good

Five year old + water hose + fresh dirt = bad

White beans + Zatarains white bean seasoning + Crock pot + 10 hours = good

Laundry in washer + 48 hours = bad

Bottle of white wine + exhausted grown ups + sleeping late in the morning = good

MrG + Lady Steele + LittleG + Home Depot + American Express Card = we'll see in the morning

I cannot tell you what a blessing it is to come home after a week like this and spend some in the yard with fresh bags of mulch and the people I love the most!

We had a great time in the yard and it looks fabulous. And yes, we used 10 bags of mulch in the FRONT yard. Came in to a terrific meal - I heart my crock pot!! And now, we will relax with some tivo'd shows and a nice bottle of wine. Take your happiness where you get it folks, and be thankful.

Happy Weekend.

My brave new world

I wrote a few months ago about a friend who had changed jobs after 25 years and what I leap of faith I thought it was. A brave new world. My situation pales in comparison, but as my friend so eloquently put it this week, "change is change."

I have on purpose not addressed the changes that took place at my office last week. That's because some people I really like were affected deeply by the changes, and I would hate to say something in an attempt to be amusing or funny that could be misconstrued in any way. The worst thing for me would be to alienate someone I care about by using a poor choice of words. So, I've left it alone until now.

Anyway, one of the changes is that I got a new boss. I don't purport to understand the hows and whys of our new arrangement, but I have to think that the folks I work for are really smart, and they wouldn't make a decision like this unless it was the right one.

But, I digress. So I got a new boss, and she's a woman. Actually, I got two new bosses, and both of them are women. One was more or less a contemporary of mine, but now I'm reporting to her, and together we are reporting to the new head honcho boss.

I had a female boss when I first got into the industry in 2000, and she was a Beeyotch with a capital B. Since then, it's been just men, and only two of them. I think having a female boss again will be an odd thing. For example, she sent an email this week to her new team, asking each of us to tell her about our favorite drink, our favorite dessert, our favorite color, our pet peeves.

Are you kidding me?

I doubt that the men I used to work for even recognized that I might have a favorite anything. And even if they did, they certainly didn't care enough to ask me about it.

Don't get me wrong - I love it that she recognizes that we are all individuals and have our own likes and dislikes. She met with each of us and visited with us about what we need from her and the best way to manage us. Again. Are you kidding me?

I am optimistic about things for now, although I do not expect this to be all rainbows and sunshine. She's got more backbone than a lot of men, and she's been with the company since college, on a meteoric rise to the top. So, while she's all huggy and kissy with her management style, I expect she will be a total ballbreaker at the same time.

It has been a tumultuous few weeks, and I am actually looking forward to settling in and doing my thing under the new regime. Charles Darwin said, "It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change."

So, ever forward friends, as I find find my place in this brave new world.

My exciting Wednesday

I thought of all sorts of fun things to tell you today, since I had plenty of time to think while I waited at one medical office or another.

My day started at the foot doctor for some hocus pocus foot therapy. During therapy, no one turns the lights down low and speaks in a soothing voice, encouraging my foot to just let go. Nope, there is a fancy contraption with magic suction cups attached to my foot. For 30 minutes, the machine zaps me while I sit there feeling silly. After my appointment, I have two big hickies on my foot where the suction cups were attached. That's about it. On the upside, one of the techs told me today that most patients feel better after therapy at least three times a week for three weeks.

My next stop was the annual gyno appointment. I won't trouble you with the details of that one, except to say that when you're over 40, they begin to screen for indicators of colon cancer. Oh, joy. Use your imagination, folks, and write your own joke here.

LittleG was the guest of honor at our next stop. Dr. Bob the pediatric dentist filled cavities for her for the first time. We were told not to tell her about the appointment since the dentist has his own words for things like shots and x-rays, so I basically did a drop-and-run, then spent the next 45 minutes feeling like Questionable Parent of the Year.

Back to school for LittleG after a stop for ice cream, because she couldn't eat, and her appointment was scheduled....wait for it.....at lunchtime. So not only did I leave my five year old unattended for a procedure she was unprepared for, but then I fed her ice cream for lunch. Get your ballots ready, friends.

And the last appointment today was the best. Just the best. I got a root canal. And a new crown. Regretfully, on two different teeth, in places far enough away that I had to get a whole round of numbing shots for each location! It's two times the fun!

This is not the first time at the rodeo for Dr. W, and he knew he'd have to get me all liquored up. Bring on the nitrous, folks. What should have taken an hour and a half actually took almost three full hours. I have a teeny tiny mouth, and the only thing holding it open at the end was a little rubber block thingy that Dr. W shoved in my mouth. My jaws both hurt, and the anesthesia is wearing off, so the crown site is now throbbing. On the upside, the front tooth is still numb, so I'm happy to say I can not feel the drool dripping down my face.

So during my extended stay at Casa Nitrous Oxide, I came up with lots and lots of interesting things. Think about it - nitrous flowing so fast that your brain cells begin to float, three hours lying back quietly in a chair, and so much junk in your mouth that you could not possibly speak to another human being. All of those words, and no way to share them! It's like a timeout on steroids. I came up with a slew of funny phrases, the perfect words to paint the picture of my day. Sadly, I cannot remember one of them. And Dr. W, as much as I tried, would not give me nitrous to go. The man has no soul.

I have had my tylenol with codeine, and as soon as I get LittleG in the bed, I am going to have myself another one, perhaps with a merlot chaser, and I'm off to bed myself.

I'm hoping tomorrow will bring a new blog, full of humor and emotion. But frankly, I'll be happy if I can get a day free of medical offices and co-pays.

Meet me at the Testicle Festival!

Found on MSNBC.COM….You can’t make this stuff up, people!

Diners can 'have a ball' at testicle festival
Will pay $50 apiece for the privilege of eating private parts of bulls

OAKDALE, Calif. - The fundraising idea may seem a little nuts, but Oakdale's annual Testicle Festival is always a big hit.

On Monday, volunteers with the town's Rotary Club plan to fry up 400 pounds of the private parts of bulls and serve them to diners who pay $50 apiece for the sit-down meal.

The event, whose proceeds also benefit the Oakdale Cowboy Museum, has drawn an average of 450 people and last year raised $28,000.

It's common practice on cattle ranches for young male bovines to be castrated into steers, which after the initial loss, eventually makes them more docile and easier to handle. Fans of the delicacy, also referred to as "mountain oysters," come from around the state.

According to Rotarians, everyone who buys a ticket is guaranteed to "have a ball."


Really? When I was in Jaycees, we sold rubber clown noses for the SIDS awareness group, held carnivals and parades, raffled stuff off. And the Rotary Club feeds the good folks of Oakland the tallywhackers of unsuspecting calfs? I don't even know what to say to that!

Oh, Francisco....

Katie bar the door. I've got it bad for a short hispanic guy named Francisco.

Perhaps a little background might be in order. MrG and I bought our little house in June ten years ago. It's an older home in a lovely established neighborhood where the neighbors all keep their yards and homes nice and neat. The little lady who owned our home first was a skilled gardener and clearly knew what she was doing and what looked good and thrived in the yard. So when we bought our home, it came ready made with a lovely backyard. It had beautiful azaleas, rose bushes, Indian Hawthorne, and nandina.

Please note that I said "had."

I putzed around for the first five years or so, keeping the flowerbeds weeded and mulched and trying not to kill too much. When I finally got pregnant, the combination of the summer heat and prenatal discomfort knocked me for a loop and I sort of threw in the towel. It's a lot of work and hard on the bod.

The final straw for me came when I was about seven months pregnant. I was in the back yard pulling up pansies when I unearthed a squiggly mound of grass snakes. I would like to note for the record that "mound" means about the same as "whole lotta."

Before you say it, no, the snakes are NOT more afraid of me than I am of them. Trust me on that one.

After I launched myself, seven months pregnant and big as a house up out of the flowerbed and across the back yard, I decided it was ok to give myself a pass on the yard work for awhile.

Turns out that gardening with a young baby/toddler/preschooler is no damn walk in the park, either. So that pass lasted about three years. Don't judge me, people.

During that time, Mother Nature, who we have already established is a real bitch, took over in our back yard. The azaleas kicked the bucket. Saplings began to spring up in my flower beds. A nandina ran wild in the northeast corner. And the more it grew, the more unmanageable it became. Vines crept and weeds grew and mulch turned into dust before our very eyes. And I didn't have a clue how to make it all go away.

A summer or two ago, I paid a yard guy to come out and clean out the dead stuff for us. Not so smart, as it turns out. Although it desperately needed to be done, and although it was all dead and NEVER. COMING. BACK, I did not consult my better half about the yard work beforehand. James the yard guy cleared it all out, and I thought it was beautiful. MrG came home, took one look at the carnage, and proceeded to have a wall-eyed hissy fit. He did not agree to it, it was not ok with him, and by gosh, he was not happy. At all.

It was at that point that I threw my hands in the air, walked inside and refused to negotiate further on the yard. Do what you want, I said. Tear out the flowerbeds and sod the whole damn yard. Pay some nubile young thing to weed the flower beds in her bikini. Better yet, till it up and put concrete on it. I'm done.

We changed yard guys after James and ended up with a very nice man named Francisco. He calls me Meeeeesus Garseeeeeya, which I just love (have a shot of tequila, then say my name in your best Taco Bell accent and roll that R, and you'll be close!). He also does nice work, shows up on time, and always locks the gate when he's finished. He's polite, he gives me what I need, and he never rolls his eyes or makes a face at me.

What more could a girl want in a man??

MrG came to me a couple weeks ago and said he was going to talk to Francisco about the flower beds. He had this grand ambition about pulling out the beds and sodding. He and Francisco had a chat in the back yard, away from us women folk, and MrG, who had been hell bent that the flower beds needed to come out, headed inside with the news that Francisco had deemed the beds nice enough to keep. He would come on Monday and begin to clear them out. Once they are clear, he says, we can go forward with a plan.

As LittleG and I turned the corner onto our street today in the crimson steed, we noticed a big stack of green stuff on someone's yard. It was an awfully big stack, and I thought, hmmmm, someone's had some work done.

Yikes.

It took me about 100 yards to realize that the big stack was actually a ginormous stack. And it wasn't someone who had the work done. It was us. Goodness gracious.

I'm pretty sure Francisco and his pals spent the whole day here. A dead tree is gone - the only sign of it is a stump in the back yard. Saplings? Gone. Overgrown nandina? Trimmed and tamed. Crepe myrtles? Pruned. MrG was even excited to know we had a fence back there. I knew we did, because I wrote the check for it. But it was still nice to see.

I walked into our back yard, and for the first time in about three years, did not have the weight of total disregard for our home and property. What this morning felt overpowering, ugly, and out of control, was now neat, clean, and shapely. For the first time in about five years, MrG and I had an open, honest, direct communication about our plans for our back yard. And no one even cursed.

Our yard is now a blank canvas. I can put my own flowers and plants there. They can be the story of our family. And I hope beyond hope that I pick sturdy, strong varieties, because God knows I kill everything else.

I am excited at the prospect of nice clean flower beds. Maybe some new rose bushes. LittleG has requested some daisies (my favorite flower), and I would love to put a little patch of vegetable garden out there somewhere. And now we can do it. And it won't push us to the brink of divorce.

So thank you, Francisco, for being my yard guy. You did in a day what I couldn't do in five years. And you did it so MrG wasn't grumpy about it. I have no idea what this is getting ready to cost me, but frankly, it will be a whole lot cheaper than a divorce or a new back yard.

Given my propensity for the hispanic fellow, you had better watch out pal, cause Meeessus Garseeeeeya love you long time.

The aftermath

Well, thank you, dear readers, for your concern and well wishes today. I was frankly overwhelmed by emails and even discreet phone calls to my coworkers.

Truly, thank you.

I think the root canal analogy I used the other day is a perfect description of how it went today. Something was wrong and we knew there was a way to fix it. We knew something was coming, but we didn't really know what, and it was scary. It hurt a bit, but ultimately, we will feel better soon.

I work in sales, for some really smart people. Because of the economy, our business is not going as well as it was a year ago. (Wow! Go figure....we're the only ones in the US in this situation). And the bosses recognize this. Someone decided that perhaps they should take inventory, evaluate, if you will, the sales staff that they have working for them.

And so it began - a big list of metrics that I won't trouble you with, except to say that it gave the guys in charge a clear, unbiased opinion of where we all stand on the food chain.

I am happy to report that I actually scored a bit better than I thought I would. There were a few items that surprised me outright, but for the most part, I fell just north of where I thought I had performed or what I deserved.

But some people I really like were affected. Some folks were asked to leave, others invited to stay but in another capacity. Some folks got promoted, and I just moved over laterally to a new supervisor. And I'm ok with that.

In this economy, I don't think any of us have the right to feel safe. And I don't think any of us have the right to feel entitled to a job. Just because I've been there almost three years and have more than nine years of experience in my field, I shouldn't feel like I have a job for life.

I also don't think we have the right to complain when the people who pay us to show up for work every day put a system in place to monitor what exactly it is that we are bringing to the party. Go for it, I say, because it shakes out the ones who are pulling their weight and it clearly defines the ones who aren't.

It's not about who is in the inner circle now. It's about who is bringing it.

So today was long, and I am tired and drained. Tomorrow is a new day and with it comes its own set of expectations. So I am off to bed, and I hope a decent night's sleep for the first time in a week.

Thank you again for those of you who checked on me, thought about me, prayed for me. It's good to know you're out there, whoever and wherever you are.

March 25

We interrupt this week of highly charged emotional angst to bring you a little happiness. That's right, kids, some bluebirds and butterflies, right here in the middle of Lady Steele's career and mental meltdown.

It was six years ago today that I saw something I had never seen before and frankly was beginning to wonder if I would EVER see. A faint little line. A mere glimmer of my future - a tiny purple dash across the screen of my 745th home pregnancy test.

Those of you who can get pregnant simply by skipping a pill and having impure thoughts can go away now, because this story won't have the same effect on you.

I was clearly NOT the kind of woman who could just multiply and bear fruit. We tried. And we tried. And then we tried again. In the beginning, it was fun. Terrific, in fact. The closeness, the intimacy, the stolen time together with the one true love of my life. The working together on a common goal, and by gosh getting warm and tingly in all the right places at the same time! Bow chicka wow wow.

But a few months go by, and suddenly what was fun once upon a time now seems like work. Now there are doctors involved. And medications. And calendars on the refrigerator, with yellow days and big red circles. And conversations that start with, "I don't care if I have a fever and snot all over my face, by gosh it's day 12, get in the bedroom NOW."

All of that came to a screeching halt about 5 am on March 25, 2003. It was a Tuesday. Nice things happen in our family on Tuesdays.

I had felt a little odd the day before. No, that's not fair to say. I was totally outta whack that day. I had made the most beautiful filet mignons on the grill. Perfectly seared on the outside, warm pink centers just like we like them. I cut into my steak that evening and my stomach flipped inside out. I told MrG that something didn't feel right, and that if things weren't better in the morning, I was taking a pregnancy test. I had only done this every four weeks for the past 20 months, so this was not a surprise to him.

I woke up early on Tuesday morning and took the test. My heart thudded as I watched the second hand tick away, just as it had countless times before. I know three minutes really isn't that long, but you try holding your breath and waiting - three minutes suddenly feels like three hours. As the second hand clicked to its designated stopping place, I gave the test a quick glance, with the same mixture of anxiety and dread I'd felt a hundred times before.

WTF? Is that a smudge? Did I get a defective test? Oh for the love of all that is holy, am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? Put it down. Walk away. Pick it up and stare. Holy crap. Pick it up and stare again. Holy crap.

It's 5 am and MrG has been at work all night, and compassionate adoring spouse that I am, do I let him come in and get some rest until we know for sure our life is about to be turned upside down? NO - I hit him with the news the second he walks in the door.

As the token practical, down to earth, sane member of our family, he suggests to me that we confirm it with a blood test. Fabulous. Can do! But it's 5:15 in the morning, and now I have to burn about 3 hours before I can get in to the doctor's office.

Somehow the minutes click away, and I am sitting in the parking lot waiting on the doctor's office staff as they arrive to open for business. I bully my way in and demand a blood draw to confirm my pregnancy with all the dignity I could muster between my teary little outbursts.

The lab tech puts the tourniquet on, jabs me with a bit more force than I think is necessary, draws some blood, and sends me out of her lab. On my way past the front desk, Robin the receptionist tells me they'll call when they know something, but I should plan on 48 hours. Are you freaking kidding me??

As it turns out, it was not 48 hours. It was more like 9 hours.

I was making dinner when I got the call from my former gynecologist, who was happy to announce that the rabbit had died and she was now my obstetrician. I was indeed with child. Preggers. Knocked up. In the family way.

Holy crap.

And the rest, they say, is history. 240 days later, I brought home a beautiful little girl with a shock of dark hair and the most perfect little fingers I have ever seen. I guess good things happen in our family on Thursdays, too.

So much of my pregnancy was frightening for me; I was so afraid that something was going to go wrong. But those first few days were pure bliss - having this miraculous secret that only MrG and I and the best OB/GYN in the world knew. When I think about the excitement and the joy of that day, I still get a lump in my throat, six long years later.

So today, I'm taking a few minutes out of the insanity that is my present life to celebrate the day six years ago, when one simple little dash changed the direction of my life forever.

Thank God for kids.

Make it go away, please!

To quote LittleG, "Let me understand this to you."

My soul is stressed. I did not sleep well last night, and while I was very busy at work today, I just don't know how productive I was. My foot hurts and I have a toothache. My trendy new supershort do already needs a trim. My toes look terrific (thank you Lena!) but the rest of me is heading south rapidly.

What is a girl to do? I'm not wack-a-doodle enough to have my moods chemically adjusted, so I just have to wing it. Here are some things I've actually tried today in an effort to self-medicate:

Skinny Cinny (thank you, Daniel. You are DA MAN!)
Whoppers Robins Egg candies
Grocery shopping over lunch
Audiobook (well, 30 minutes worth, anyway)
Fruit crisps - apple and pear
Dinner with my family
Too many carbs at dinner with said family
Half a beer
A snuggle with my kid
Two loads of laundry
Some time on Facebook

None of it has worked thusfar. Here are the things I'm further contemplating:
The other half of the beer from dinner
Nice stiff shot of Crown Royal Reserve
Further research on my quest to learn to enjoy scotch
Five more loads of laundry
iPhone bingo
Some cheesy TIVO'd shows
A snuggle with my hubby
Wii boxing
Going to bed without doing the dishes
Crawling under a blanket and summoning a dog to sit on my lap and stare at the wall with me

I fear, though, that my efforts will be for naught. Truly what will settle me is having this mess at work behind me instead of looming large in the future. Whatever is coming up is big - I can feel it and I dread it.

The fact of the matter is that no matter what scenario I come up with in my mind, it won't be anything near the reality of the situation. Whatever shakes out probably won't be nearly as bad as the anticipation of it. Kind of like knowing you're gonna have a root canal - it's coming and you're afraid of it, but once it happens, things settle right back down. We can only hope.

I really truly need the next 42 hours or so behind me, and I'll own that. I've worked myself into a royal tizzy, and I expect to stay firmly planted there until about 5 pm on Thursday.

Cross your fingers that my head doesn't explode between now and then. And mark your calendars - I'm getting a root canal next week. This insanity will start all over again....

I love my Starbucks Guy

Daniel is my man. More accurately, he's a barista at my local Starbucks. But for about five minutes every weekday morning, he is mine, all mine.

When everything else is going haywire - dogs, husband, morning routine, emotional 5-year old, traffic, whatever - I can always count on Daniel.

He recognizes the crimson steed as we stampede into the parking lot and he always starts my drink, sometimes before we get in the door. My drink is an easy one, and sometimes when the stars align and the other customers aren't paying close attention, he'll make my drink out of order, jumping me in line before others with their fancy schmancy frozen frappucinos or those silly drinks that take foam or steamed milk or sprinkles and such.

He's fast and he's accurate - my drink is always perfect, with sugar free syrup and skim milk, a little room at the top so I don't squirt coffee all over the place, just the way I like it. He's polite but not overly chatty, he acknowledges that I tip well, and he's nice to LittleG.

For that, I love him. I don't know much about him besides he is a 20-something blond haired kid. He is in school and goes to church. Beyond that, I've got nothing. And pretty much all he knows about me is my name, my kid's name, what I drink, and what I drive. And you know what, that is just fine with me.

I cannot tell you more about him, because I fear you will search him out, and suddenly, I will have to compete with other consumers for Daniel's attention. And I'm just not willing to do that.

So go get your own Starbucks Guy. Daniel is mine! At least for about 5 minutes around 7:30 in the morning.....

I'm up for Wife of the Year

MrG is a happy camper this evening. Wanna know why? Two words....Home Cooking!

I got up earlier yesterday than I had planned and thought I would surprise LittleG and MrG with some hot fresh banana bread since LittleG didn't eat the bananas before they got brownish and mottled. It hacks me off when she insists that I buy her fruit that she doesn't eat. Oh, who am I kidding? I love banana bread, so I hid the bananas from her. Oops.

Before you chastise me for feeding my family what is essentially dessert for breakfast, you should know I made the bread using Hungry Girl's Banana Bread recipe. This recipe calls for Splenda instead of sugar, whole grain wheat flour, Egg Beaters® and applesauce instead of fat, so don't call me out, please.

By the way - if you are dieting, or just want to make your meals more healthy, you need to check out Hungry Girl. She's got some fabulous food finds and her recipes are easy and delicious!

Anyway, our errand day started yesterday with hot banana bread, right out of the oven. This morning, I used what was left of the banana bread to make french toast. A little light vanilla soy milk, a little whole wheat flour, a slug of Egg Beaters and some cinnamon....YUM! I also served real bacon, which is a rare treat since we are trying to make smart food choices in our family.

I knew MrG needed some time alone today, so I took one for the team. I sent LittleG to Sunday School with Nana, and I graciously vacated the premises for a couple hours. To keep myself entertained, I had my nails done and got a pedicure. Nothing gets in the way of my man's happiness, so you know, I did what I could.

Before I left, I took some tamales that his mom and I had made out of the freezer and put them on the stove. Two hours later, he had a quiet house, all the HD Outdoor Channel he could stand, and hot tamales, made for him by the two women who love him most. MrG is a lucky man indeed.

LittleG and I finally found our way home, and she and her dad spent some time together while I threw together some homemade pita bread. If you've never made your own, you should give it a try sometime. Here's the recipe I start with. I use a mixture of whole wheat pastry flour and bread flour, and I toss in a little gluten. Turns out perfect every time!

MrG LOVES hot fresh pita bread. Pita bread is like a big fat thick tortilla, only a whole lot easier, but don't tell him that!

Throw some pork chops on the grill, open a can of green beans, mash some potatoes, and bingo, you've hit one out of the park.

So he's down the hall now playing XBox, all loaded up on fresh baked carbohydrates and love. Good thing, since this week promises to be a stormy one. Spring weather in Texas is unpredictable at best, and Mother Nature can be a real bitch this time of year. The weather man says we'll have storms on Tuesday, and Thursday is the day of reckoning at work for all of us. None of us expects sunny and mild, we just don't know how stormy it will be at the office that day.

I expect to be pretty freaky freaky over the next three days, so I liquored him up pretty well. I hope the warm glow he starts the week with will overshadow what is likely to be a pretty ugly week.

On the upside, we will get to Thursday, then we'll get through it. I'm making a birthday cake for a friend of LittleG's this weekend, and buttercream is always therapeutic. So I have that to look forward to.

I'm not sure what you should expect over the next few days. I've done my best writing when I've been emotionally overwrought, so it's either going to be really good, or really clear to you that I'm just phoning it in.

For now, I've got some more work to do if I'm going to win that Wife of the Year award. Ever forward, friends!

Saturday in the car with my family

We spent a lovely day together running errands and just hanging out. LittleG is all about the game playing, so in the car, she concocted the New Quiet Game. Apparently, it's a take off on my favorite game, "Let's see who can be the quietest the longest," but with a twist.

LittleG: I am BORED. This is BORING. How much longer?
Me: Quite awhile, LittleG. It's only 8:30 am, this is our VERY FIRST ERRAND and we have about 10 things to do before we are done.
LittleG: Can I watch a movie?
Me: You know we don't watch movies while we are running errands. Let's just enjoy our time together, just the three of us.
LittleG: That's BORING. Let's play a game. How about that one where I sing to you?
Me: I have a better idea. Let's play the quiet game!
LittleG: Ok, but not your quiet game. The New Quiet Game.
Me: Whatever, as long as there is quiet involved, because for the love of all that is holy, I've not had my Starbucks yet.
LittleG: Ok. Let's all be quiet.
Me: Yes, lets.
LittleG: Mooommmmeeeee!
Me: Total silence
LittleG: Daaaaddddeeeee!
MrG: Total silence
LittleG: Moommmmeeeee!
Me: Yes, LittleG?
LittleG: You two are not playing right!
Me: I thought we were playing the quiet game. I was being quiet. Daddy was being quiet.
LittleG: Mommy, I say your name, then you say the name of the person you want to be quiet.
Me: If I'm supposed to be quiet, then why are you asking me to say something?
Little G: Ok, you two. Let me understand this to you.

Remember when I was worried she would NEVER SPEAK? I am SO past that now. And, I am seriously going to revisit the "no movies in the car while we are running errands" rule.

In the meantime, let me understand this to you.

Shout out to UrbanDaily.BlackPlanet.com!

It's with a mixture of pride, elation, and utter confusion that this morning I announce a link to my blog from a website I know absolutely NOTHING about. That's right, an honest to God link that someone put out there, back to my site.

I have a confession to make. I have, on occasion, rarely, once-in-awhile, posted a gratuitous comment or two on very popular blogs in an effort to bolster traffic to my own little slice of the internet. Ok. I've done it slightly more than occasionally. More like often. Don't judge me people.

But this is one site I've never even heard of. Clearly, I'm not urban, I'm rarely daily. I'm definitely not black. And although, I consider myself ruebenesque, I'm certainly not my own planet.

So when I started seeing hits from the UrbanDaily.BlackPlanet.com website, I began to wonder...who are these people and why in the world do they care about me when I'm really more SuburbanIntermittent.CaucasianPlusSize?

Turns out when you use the phrase "Sometimes a Girl's Gotta Work That Pole," the cosmic electronic joke is on you. Thanks to the magic that is the metacrawler, I now have a potential whole new reader base. And a whole bunch of confused folks who ended up here.

So, my apologies to you fine folks who clicked over from UrbanDaily. I'm sure I'm not quite what you were expecting to see.

Doubleclick the photo below and look for the arrow. That's me!!




Peace out.

Is Tim Hawkins the most amusing man in America?

Please do NOT go to YouTube and search for this guy. If you do, you'll ruin all my back up material. Because I can promise you, you're going to see him here again.....

Funniest word choice of the morning

From a story on WFAA.com.....

Associated Press

HURST, Texas - Police are looking for two men and a woman they said snatched $3,400 worth of panties from a Victoria's Secret in the Fort Worth suburb of Hurst.

Interesting verb choice. They "snatched" the panties? Really?

Tee hee hee!