Minckle Mouse

All Politics Aside....

2011-06-21T14:00:00.001-07:00

This Made My Day

2011-06-10T09:57:00.001-07:00

ME AT NINE, PERFORMING TO MADONNA IN SUMMER '91! from Robert Jeffrey on Vimeo.

Tina Fey's Prayer for Her Daughter

2011-04-25T05:47:00.000-07:00

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

Source: Bossypants

Babies Can't Hold Their Liquor

2011-02-22T21:16:00.000-08:00

I Have Comment Envy

2009-11-14T22:16:00.000-08:00

How come everyone comments at PetuniaFacedGirl and no one comments here?

Don't pretend you didn't make your way here from there.

Comment, bitches.

My husband's awesome blog, theracemonkey.com, has the same non-commentary issue. As does the awesomeness that is anawesomeaday.blogspot.com.

Really, what is wrong with you people? Have you NOTHING to say?

I am so jealous of Susannah and her nasty Anonymous cat-calling comments.

Say SOMETHING. Say ANYTHING (insert photo of John Cusack with boombox over head).

Random Thoughts

2009-10-06T21:04:00.000-07:00

Is Anderson Cooper really gay? Because, goddam he's cute.
Anne Heche. Seriously. What's up with that? I'd love to have lunch with her just once so I could ask her about the aliens.
Do you use your parking brake? I totally don't. Do you have to live in San Francisco for this to be a real issue?
Mafia Wars on Facebook. Why am I obsessed?
Dave Letterman. Clinton before that. I was an intern once - how come the boss didn't want to fuck me??
Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka. If you haven't had it, run out and buy it. Now.
Am I the only one that seriously thinks that Depends are a good idea on an almost daily basis?
Yon Ka. Best skin care line ever.
Thanks to TMZ, I now know Oprah's middle name. It's Gail. Kinda creepy because that's her best friend's name. (It's official. I know way too much about Oprah.)
If you're not following John Mayer on Twitter, you're totally missing out.

See Chelsea??

2009-09-16T17:43:00.001-07:00

See how behind I am?

I need a suggestion for my next post!

Puppy Chow

2009-07-29T19:54:00.000-07:00

Oh, that's. Just. Awesomely. Bad.

see more Fail Blog

The Thing(s) Is(are)

2009-06-23T23:58:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep.

I'd call it Insomnia, but I can't help but suspect it's my alarming lack of a schedule.

Always been this way. I remember tottering out blurry-eyed in my cotton Strawberry Shortcake nightgown. Dad watching 10 o'clock news would say to me "then stay up all night" when clearly I was hoping for a glass of water or a bedtime story. His throw-off was much more wildly successful. Damn. Might as well sleep. Or stare at the ceiling.

I am pudgy.

And I know this is because most nights I cannot sleep. So I stay awake with wine and one 100-calorie-pack after another until I have consumed 1,000 calories. Easily. Maybe more.

So here it is: 1:00 a.m. That's a lot of colons, my friends. And what do I do with all of those when the alarm goes off at 6:45 am? Snooze, snooze, snooze bar.

I decided to take up smoking (this week) in hopes that I would stop eating and start puffing instead at 1:00 am, forgetting that the nicotine high makes me... well... high. Which is not conducive to sleep.

I have this dumb ass National meeting in Orlando next month and I got it in my head that I would lose all this weight and be fabulous for it. But, instead, here I am. 1:00 am. Red wine and 100-calorie-pack.

Have you seen that show "Obsessed" on A&E? Oh, I highly recommend it, though it is not for the squeamish. Toothbrushes and rectums and all. (Rectum real good, Johnny).

Still, I wonder if I should find me a local cognitive behavior therapist who will fix my naughties. 1:00 am and wine and 100-calorie-packs and do you know how much I bite my nails? Constantly, even in important meetings to close the deal when I know the client is looking at me like, "What is with this chipmunk in my conference room?"

It's like heroin, this wine, calorie pack, cuticle addiction of mine. But it is mine. Mine all mine.

And who out there doesn't have vices? I ask you.....

What IS The Matter with Kansas?

2009-06-01T11:21:00.001-07:00

Fuck you, Scott Roeder.

Fuck you and all your friends and your fucktarded religion.

Let me get this straight: Abortion is wrong because The Bible states "Thou Shalt Not Kill". In fact, it's one of them there "Commandments". The last time I checked, those weren't exactly optional.

Thou Shalt Not Kill. And this "abortion doctor", George Tiller, he was killing babies. I get it, I get it. Some may argue that this "murder" was up for interpretation, but I understand your angle, Scott. I'm scooping what you're pooping.

So, this guy is killing and you can't kill. Ergo, the only rationale is to kill. Kill the killers! Kill the killers and then you're...not...a...killer?

Fucktarded!

Now, we watch the other Christian fucktards on CNN. With their picket signs "Abortion is Murder" and "God Bless Tiller's Killer". Cuz that makes sense.

What if those babies that The Baby Killer killed grew up to be a Baby Killers? Then wasn't The Baby Killer doing a good thing by killing babies? Wasn't it God's Work then?

What do you mean that doesn't make sense? It makes just as much logical sense as the swill you fucktards are swilling!

Here's my fervent wish: That all this nonsense that I think is nonsense isn't nonsense. And Scotty boy goes up to the pearly gates sitting on a big fluffy cloud and walks (floats?) up to Saint Peter with his golden clipboard. And he proudly tells Saint Peter that he did God's work and eradicated The Baby Killer. And then Saint Peter looks down at his list and says...

"What part of Thou Shalt Not Kill didn't you understand? Fucktard."

I'll Be Seeing You

2009-05-27T10:51:00.000-07:00

In December of last year, I wrote a post about our dog.

I began it with the statement that I was heartbroken. But, no. I was wrong. NOW I am heartbroken.

The Poochie of My Heart is gone. Dead.

Just when she had turned the corner. Just when she had become our baby girl's best friend, best playmate.

Something got her.

It started out with a few scratches on her ear. Then the scratches got red, so I made a vet appointment. Then just a few hours later, fever and an abcess.

Then surgery, IV antibiotics, sepsis, blood transfusion, pulmonary embolysm, and cardiac failure.

We called her The Tank because she was so indestructible. Chasing tennis balls full speed into concrete walls. Eating bees and railroad ties like they were dainty petit fors.

When the vet called and said she was failing, that there was less than a 2% chance she would survive and even if she did he couldn't say what she would be... like... my god, how I howled.

I must have said the word "no" a hundred times. A thousand times. It just wasn't possible.

My husband rushed to the vet to say goodbye, but when he got there she was already gone. He called me on his cell phone to tell me. Standing next to her, clutching her fur, he told her again and again how sorry he was. How sorry we were that we couldn't save her.

The guilt overwhelmed me at first. The guilt that I had considered giving her away, that I had ever shouted at her or cursed her, that I didn't clean her scratches well enough or call the vet soon enough, that I didn't love her enough, that I couldn't fix it all.

I scurried to remove traces of her before my husband could return from the vet. Her beds, her toys, her dishes all dumped hurriedly into an empty diapers box. I re-arranged the furniture to conceal the marks from her crate. I'm not sure what I thought I would erase.

It's like that old song...

I'll be seeing you

In all the old familiar places

That this heart of mine embraces

All day through.

I swear I hear the clink of her collar, a yawn, toenails on the tile floor. The other night, stumbling back into bed after checking on the baby, a shadow lay across my covers and quietly, without thinking, I said "Move, Katie." She always loved the warm spot we left behind on the sheets. "Move, Katie," I said quietly aloud before the shadow became just a shadow.

I'll find you

In the morning sun

And when the night is new.

It is amazing to me the impact that pets have on our lives. How they curl up in the warmest chambers of our hearts and wait for a biscuit. In the first days, I vowed I would never get another dog because I could not stand to take the pain again; it was too raw and jagged. And I was almost embarassed that I could give so much of my heart away to a damn dog who never could behave decently in public.

But as days have passed, and I grow used to the quiet of the house, I think only of the joys she brought to our life: the kisses, the snuggles, the play, the laughter. And I realize with a shuddering jolt that it is only a matter of time before another dog comes skittering into our life.

Katie, if you didn't already know it, and god I hope you did, we loved you very very much. Thank you for all you brought into our lives. I will never ever forget you.

I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.

The Service Level Agreement of My Hair

2009-03-20T09:25:00.000-07:00

It's 10:26 a.m. and I have a haircut appointment at 12:45 p.m.

All morning, I have been thinking about my hair.

I have come to the conclusion that my relationship with and about my hair is the second-most complex relationship I have in my life.. the first being the relationship I have with my waistline. And I don't think I'm alone in this.... am I, girls?

First, the expectations I have for my hair are completely out-of-line and unreasonable. I expect it to single-handedly make me gorgeous, glamorous, polished and skinny. If my hair looks bad, I feel bad all day. If I am having a good day, glance in the mirror and find my hair has betrayed me, my mood immediately plummets.

Second, the expectations I have for the man who cuts my hair are completely out-of-line and unreasonable. Why can't he make my fine hair thick and glorious? My short, uncooperative, somewhat frizzy hair become long and sleek? Why can't he maintain my current style AND keep the length I have worked so hard to grow out? Why can't he keep my bangs from growing out so damn fast??

Side note about my hairdresser: When I inform people that my hairdresser is, in fact, a male, people automatically assume that he is a homosexual. I fully understand why, of course, and I fully pity him for the raised eyebrows and assumptions he deals with. But the fact is that if you met my hairdresser in a dark alley, you would be terrified. The man encompasses the term "vato". Shaved head, tattoo sleeves, multiple piercings. Low rider with rims and his last name in gothic lettering on the back window. A virile chicano specimen.

Maybe I should try a new hairdresser for a change... but I'm too scared to leave him.

Obseity Ain't Just a River in Egypt

2009-03-06T12:56:00.001-08:00

I grew up in Texas, home of the deep-fat-fried twinkie.

My mother and I, in a fit of genius, once melted Kraft caramel squares down and dipped marshmallows into the goo.

I've been known to eat butter straight and an entire can of frosting with my fingers.

My traditional "last supper" before starting a diet is Easy Mac and a tube of cookie dough.

It's no surprise to me that I struggle with my weight. I just like food too damn much. The high I get from turtle cheesecake is akin to shooting heroin between my toes (I have never actually shot heroin between my toes, so turtle cheesecake may, in fact, be better).

When my husband sent me the link for ThisIsWhyYoureFat.com, I realized that I should be mostly disgusted by the pictures... but I am deeply admiring.

That's a giant burger between two large meat pizzas, eggs, bacon, colby and pepper jack cheese.

There's also a Deep Fried Cupcake With Chocolate Syrup And Sprinkles. French fries topped with cheese curds, egg, bacon and covered in brown gravy. French Fry-Encased Hot Dog On A Stick. Here's a Bacon-Wrapped Meatloaf With A Layer Of Mac And Cheese.

Check it out and enjoy the mild queasiness mixed with deep hunger...

Okay, I'm back...

2009-03-03T20:13:00.000-08:00

... but don't go pinning any expectations on me.

If I completely over-analyze myself, I realize that the main reason I have procrastinated re-starting the blog is that I cannot suffer the obligation to write every blasted day.

I mean, people! I am not that interesting! Sure, thoughts flit across my brain all throughout the day... but turning them into an actual entry would be nearly impossible.

Sadly, I almost understand the appeal of Twitter. Ugh. How trendy.

For instance... how does the Internet know I'm fat? I understand the concept of cookies (yes, that's a double entendre), but it's become eerie. I can believe that the prevalence of Wonder Diet Drug banner ads might be just coincidence. But Lane Bryant follows me everywhere. Every. Where. Yahoo, Cakewrecks, Facebook. It's starting to creep me out.

Also, I returned from the restroom at work about ten minutes ago. But I am still gagging, literally physically gagging, from the smell the gal next to me was producing. Just thinking about it sets me off. *GAK* What could she have eaten to produce that stank? Burnt rubber tires with an acetone chaser? *GAK* Just typing this... oh, people walking by my office would think I had a hairball.

Today's water cooler discussion topic:
Is that Bachelor guy a schmuck or what? He's such a douche, I can't believe I didn't date him.

Yah, I suck

2009-02-25T18:41:00.000-08:00

I am completely unmotivated and somewhat depressed.

My husband is harassing me about my abandonment of my blog.

Tinkerbell has lost the ability to fly because she doesn't think that anyone believes in her....

Encourage me! Someone! Anyone!

Dear Malia and Sasha,

2009-01-15T14:00:00.000-08:00

If you have not already done so, please read Barack Obama's letter to his daughters... and to the American citizens... and the world.

'What I Want for You — and Every Child in America'
By President-elect Barack Obama
- Next Tuesday, Barack Obama will be sworn in as our 44th President. On this historic occasion, PARADE asked the President-elect, who is also a devoted family man, to get personal and tell us what he wants for his children. Here, he shares his letter to them.

Dear Malia and Sasha,

I know that you've both had a lot of fun these last two years on the campaign trail, going to picnics and parades and state fairs, eating all sorts of junk food your mother and I probably shouldn't have let you have. But I also know that it hasn't always been easy for you and Mom, and that as excited as you both are about that new puppy, it doesn't make up for all the time we've been apart. I know how much I've missed these past two years, and today I want to tell you a little more about why I decided to take our family on this journey.

When I was a young man, I thought life was all about me-about how I'd make my way in the world, become successful, and get the things I want. But then the two of you came into my world with all your curiosity and mischief and those smiles that never fail to fill my heart and light up my day. And suddenly, all my big plans for myself didn't seem so important anymore. I soon found that the greatest joy in my life was the joy I saw in yours. And I realized that my own life wouldn't count for much unless I was able to ensure that you had every opportunity for happiness and fulfillment in yours. In the end, girls, that's why I ran for President: because of what I want for you and for every child in this nation.

I want all our children to go to schools worthy of their potential-schools that challenge them, inspire them, and instill in them a sense of wonder about the world around them. I want them to have the chance to go to college-even if their parents aren't rich. And I want them to get good jobs: jobs that pay well and give them benefits like health care, jobs that let them spend time with their own kids and retire with dignity.

I want us to push the boundaries of discovery so that you'll live to see new technologies and inventions that improve our lives and make our planet cleaner and safer. And I want us to push our own human boundaries to reach beyond the divides of race and region, gender and religion that keep us from seeing the best in each other.

Sometimes we have to send our young men and women into war and other dangerous situations to protect our country-but when we do, I want to make sure that it is only for a very good reason, that we try our best to settle our differences with others peacefully, and that we do everything possible to keep our servicemen and women safe. And I want every child to understand that the blessings these brave Americans fight for are not free-that with the great privilege of being a citizen of this nation comes great responsibility.

That was the lesson your grandmother tried to teach me when I was your age, reading me the opening lines of the Declaration of Independence and telling me about the men and women who marched for equality because they believed those words put to paper two centuries ago should mean something.

She helped me understand that America is great not because it is perfect but because it can always be made better-and that the unfinished work of perfecting our union falls to each of us. It's a charge we pass on to our children, coming closer with each new generation to what we know America should be.

I hope both of you will take up that work, righting the wrongs that you see and working to give others the chances you've had. Not just because you have an obligation to give something back to this country that has given our family so much-although you do have that obligation. But because you have an obligation to yourself. Because it is only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you will realize your true potential.

These are the things I want for you-to grow up in a world with no limits on your dreams and no achievements beyond your reach, and to grow into compassionate, committed women who will help build that world. And I want every child to have the same chances to learn and dream and grow and thrive that you girls have. That's why I've taken our family on this great adventure.

I am so proud of both of you. I love you more than you can ever know. And I am grateful every day for your patience, poise, grace, and humor as we prepare to start our new life together in the White House.

Love, Dad

Head of the Pig

2009-01-14T07:12:00.000-08:00

I come from a long line of extraordinarily stubborn people. My grandfather was perhaps the pater familia in this department... the man had a quadruple bypass at the age of 60 and managed to live another 30 years, most likely out of sheer stubborness.

A recent example from my own life: I was so convinced that my husband had failed to get Tide detergent even after I had carefully printed it on the grocery list. He insisted it wasn't on the list. So, I went out to the big trash can in the garage and went through it bag by bag, piece of crap by piece of crap until I found the list. Just to prove to him that I had included it and he had failed to procure it anyway. It wasn't on the list.

As I've grown and matured a bit, I've become a bit more willing to admit when I'm wrong. Oh, it doesn't happen often; I am nothing if not overwhelmingly correct 99.9% of the time. But in the aforementioned incident, for example, I actually brought the grocery list into the house and admitted to my husband that I may have had a slight oversight. In the past, I would have stuffed it into the bottom of a banana peel and claimed I couldn't find it but was still secure in the knowledge that I was indeed correct. As always.

This pigheadedness was undoubtedly a contributing factor to the demise of some of my earlier relationships. That and my past predisposition to dating complete assholes.

Even though I've made vast improvements in this department, I still find it difficult to admit when I'm incorrect about something. My tongue tends to swell a little and become cottony. My mind has trouble seizing upon certain pertinent words (e.g. "I" and "was" and "wrong").

So, in the spirit of self-improvement...

I may have been a bit hasty in my previous judgement of the novel "Twilight". Oh, there is little doubt that the first 177 pages of the book are pure crap. But on page 178, Ms. Meyers seems to have wrested control of the keyboard from her 6-year-old and actually started to write the book using the English language and at least an 8th-grade writing level. The story has become intriguing, suspenseful, complex... I get it now. I get The Phenomenon now.

I admit this because I would hate to deprive someone from this reading experience simply because I might possibly have been a bit hasty in my judgment.

Let us never speak of this error again.

Now, I will continue my life of perfection. Thank you for reading.

Vampires, Shmampires

2009-01-11T13:19:00.000-08:00

Dear Ms. Meyers,

I have given in to the hype and begun to read "Twilight", your sales-record-shattering novel that has millions of 14-year-old girls in knee-wobbling ecstatics. After all, there are several Young Adult series that I have enjoyed, namely: Harry Potter, Inkheart, Eragon. Therefore there is a likely probability that I will enjoy this series as well, right?

Stephenee (or however the weird you spell your first name), I must begin by giving you props for the story. You've chosen a nice setting for the hi jinks.... a gloomy, rainy town in the Pacific Northwest. I'm still working on how you chose the name, but suspect that you had just finished a pasta lunch when you started writing. You seem to have a nice story line working. The plot is pretty engrossing.

But, Stefanny, I have to inquire: Have you ever heard of ghostwriting? That's where you tell your story to someone who is actually capable of putting intelligible sentences together. It's created for people who really cannot write, such as movie stars, athletes, and fashion models. You may have picked up a book with the tell-tale "As Told by" notation... that's ghostwriting.

I bring this up, Stayfenny, because your writing "style" makes me want to gouge out my eyeballs with a cotton swab. I call it a "style" because it's nicer than saying that I cannot believe that you are a published author. I would love to meet your editor because I suspect that she has a deskful of empty red ink pens, after having bled over the Lockerbee crash that had to have been your original manuscript. If this is the final product, I can't imagine what you began with.

Not only are the sentences ridiculously abrupt. But. You have also provided us with. The most paper-thin one-dimensional characters to ever grace a cheap trade paperback page. The only character study I could possibly wring from your protagonist is that she hates being referred to by her full name. And she is too stupid to recognize the vampire until more than halfway through the vampire book. Otherwise, she is so boring that I fervently wish she HAD been killed by that renegade van in the parking lot.

I am also convinced that you called upon Roget to find a synonym for nearly every word in that book. You say "sneered" when you clearly mean "whispered", "pleaded" instead of "questioned", and "The next day...." when we wish you would say "The end."

As I read this best seller, I try not to despair of the future of our youth. I think of the fantastically written books of my adolescence... A Separate Peace, A Wrinkle in Time... and cannot believe that America's teens are buying the sequel and the threequel of this sludge with abandon. Are they just so attuned to the abbreviated text messaging speak that any prose with all vowels intact is suddenly Faulkner?

Will I manage to finish this book of partially hydrogenated palm oil? Or will the shitty prose eventually distract me enough that I toss the book into the garbage disposal and scream "Die, Edward Cullen. Die!" as it is shredded into tiny shitty prose pieces?

Only the undead know. Whooooooooooooooooo. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Barf.

Love,

Minckle Mouse

Happy Now?

2009-01-06T22:03:00.000-08:00

One of the best parts of my job is the great stories about customers that I get to collect. Please keep in mind that, in general, I work with business owners, CIOs, CFOs, and CEOs. But I have quickly learned that the title on your business card does not guarantee that you will be either intelligent or professional.

This was only my second day back at work and I already had a great one... a customer complained to one of my reps that he had left me several voicemails during my maternity leave and had not heard back from me. He pretty much implied that our deal had fallen through because I had been unresponsive.

I seriously never got any of these voicemails, nor do I remember seeing him on my Missed Call list, but I am a new mom and sleep deprivation does things to the brain.

So upon hearing this, I immediately thought, "Uh oh. I wonder what happened. I should investigate. I work for a cell company so I have the tools to fix this if needed. What if other customers had this experience?"

Of course, another part of me thought, "Seriously, dude? You called me, listened to my voicemail which clearly stated that I was on maternity leave until January 5th and left me a message anyway?" But, I chose to listen to the angel on my left shoulder in the Tahari suit and send him an email.

(A side note here... I went out on leave when I was 7 months pregnant. Obviously, I thought I had a good two more months of work left to go, but when the doctor says "emergency inducement to save the life of the child", you don't ask for a few days to answer some emails. Sadly, there were several customers that, even upon hearing why I had left suddenly, were completely ticked off that I had abandoned them. Phrases like "left me high and dry" and "that's no excuse" were used. To say that I will never again go above and beyond to help these assholes is an understatement.)

In my email I began by apologizing that he had not been able to reach me and that I was concerned that I may have missed other calls. Could he tell me what number he had called? Had he reached my voice mail when he called?

He replied, "Yes. Called several times, did receive your voicemail and left multiple messages."

Now this doesn't answer my first, most important question... I do have both a desk and cellular phone with separate voicemail systems... but it did raise a new concern. My voicemail left the phone number of my assistant, urging folks to contact her for assistance. Had she been unresponsive to him? She was generally reliable, but everyone is apt to drop a ball every so often.

So, in my next email I asked: Since he did receive my voicemail, was he able to reach my assistant through the number I left on the outgoing message? I would hate to think that he'd had an immediate need and he had been completely ignored.

He replied: "Sorry I made everything up happy now?"

I am transcribing the punctuation verbatim so that you can fully appreciate the effect here.

Dear reader, I ask you for your opinion... Is the guy genuinely bugged by my inquiry and thus being a sarcastic jerk? Or is he pissed off that his lies couldn't withstand my innocent line of questioning and therefore is going to cop to his own bullshit?

Please leave your opinion at the tone. I'll be sure and deny later that I ever received it.

Back in the Euphemistic Saddle Again

2009-01-05T19:59:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gentleman.

I am writing to you from the belly of the beast.

I am. Back. At work.

And how was leaving the house this morning, you inquire?

I'm proud to report that I did not burst into tears in front of the nanny. Nope, not me. I totally waited until I was in the car to eradicate my mascara. Then I sobbed all the way to work.

But once I was back at my desk, with my 73 software updates completely hosing up my laptop, I started to feel as giddy as a school girl.

I'm back! I'm back! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

Now. Who the fuck took my stapler?

Happy Time!

2008-12-31T11:57:00.000-08:00

Repossess My Heart

2008-12-22T21:18:00.000-08:00

There was a time when I had no idea what the hell a bounty hunter really did. My only exposure to the profession was Boba Fett. Then "Dog the Bounty Hunter" arrived on the scene with his wife, the human SRS air-bag, and I was suddenly intrigued by the most meaningless details of the occupation.

Now, this fascination has transferred to "Operation Repo" on TruTV.

There's the charismatic pastor, clutching his bible, arguing that his BMW (complete with gold package) cannot be repossessed because it is "God's car". There's the distraught pizza delivery guy, throwing pepperoni slices as a diversionary tactic. People get maced and punched and arrested.

Most importantly are the repo employees... a frightening woman who has Sharpie-d on her eyebrows in broad strokes... the 'roided-up Mr. Clean douchebag who escalates every situation through unnecessary aggression...the savvy owner who greatly resembles a Mario Brothers Macy's parade balloon.

Is it staged? Completely fake?

Oh, yeah. Absolutely.

But could I eat it with a big cheap plastic spoon?

Oh, yeah. Absolutely.

Also, on my Cannot-Look-Away-From-The-Wreckage TV list?

Momma's Boys

That one I could eat with a big blonde bitchy spoon.

Yahoo! Answers?

2008-12-19T10:23:00.000-08:00

If you haven't already discovered it, Yahoo! has an interesting feature called Yahoo!Answers. The concept is that you can post questions rolling around in your brain, and random strangers can answer them.

I highly recommend perusing it if you need to kill time. Or are so drunk you can't stand up.

Some of the questions are completely un-answerable:

Everyone just hates me..and its not now, from the time I took birth..and I dint know the reason.Ok..everyone can't go wrong so it is I who makes the faults every time.but I just dont mean them.However,I say sorry to the people immediately I realize it.But nothing works.Why the hell I am so bad! I feel like taking birth was my biggest fault.But whom to say sorry?Whom...........?

Other folks are trolling for the answers to homework for books they clearly haven't read.

Her are 10 questons i have to anser about Night by Elie somebody. Plez help.

Some ask questions that I am damn glad I have never had to ask.

my 13 year old niece's right foot's skin is "falling" off day by day. we've tried soaking her foot in salt water. it helps but takes a long time. is there faster way to regrow her foot skin in as little time as possible?

Some showcase how different the asker's life is from mine.

I'm looking for the address of a Mexican taliasman & witchcraft in santa monica blvd (Los Angeles).

Some are obviously the result of some bizarre dare or bet.

What would happen if i jumped from the 2nd floor of my house to the 1st floor, onto a couch?

And some will keep you thinking for the next decade or two.

If a person is trying to think that no one is honestly bad if their actions are viewed in the right context?

Finally, I leave you with this thought-provoking gem:

I need help with my mind can someone help me?

Get in line, my friend. Get in line.

Obsessed!

2008-12-17T13:32:00.000-08:00

My daughter has a current obsession. Her musical Baby Einstein star. I put it on her bouncer rail and turn it on.. when it stops, she fusses until I turn it on again.

I may have to stage an intervention.

I have a new obsession today, thanks to petuniafacedgirl.blogspot.com.

It's the magical website, faceinhole.com.

I have spent all day putting my sweet, macho husband's face in compromising situations.

See Exhibits below...

Nope! No time to write a real blog entry today.... instead, I simply MUST superimpose more faces!

Please go to faceinhole.com and enjoy the hilarity yourself.

By the way... weighed myself this morning and I've lost 4 pounds this week. Rawk.

Poochie of My Heart

2008-12-15T10:38:00.000-08:00

We are absolutely heartbroken.

Heartbroken, to the point of tears, about our beloved dog, Katie.

Four years ago, there was an idiot that worked at my company. He was allegedly a sales manager, but he sat in his office all day and either played "Whack-a-mole" on his computer or invented new ways to secretly sleep (my favorite, with the phone propped up against his shoulder and cowboy boots on the desk).

Not surprisingly, this idiot had an equally idiotic girlfriend. And this woman one day brought to the office an adorable little pumpkin-colored puppy. This puppy. Oh, God. I picked her up and she snuffled into my neck and made piggy noises. And the smell of puppy breath. Delicious.

This idiotic woman was on the way to take this puppy to the pound because her 3 12-year-old schnauzers didn't like it. How she couldn't foresee this eventuality... idiot, idiot, idiot.

Normally, I would think that this adorable puppy had a chance at the pound before the timer dings and the lethal injection gets primed. But this puppy was a pit bull. And this is New Mexico.

She was so soft with such a wonderfully tubby tummy. I couldn't stand the idea of her becoming some gangster chulo's dog, hunting chihuahuas. Or her being trained to fight other dogs, living out her days in a tiny cage filled with her own shit.

So, I brought her home.

In the beginning, she was perfect. She was so loving and funny. She adored Doggy Day Care and romping with the other puppies. She was housebroken in less than 24 hours and rarely chewed up anything important.

But then she got older. And she was soon a 70 pound freight train, knocking over any guest that come through the front door with her desperate need for attention and love, love, love.

We got a trainer, we spent hundreds of dollars to work this through, but she continued to be a freight train. When people come over, we lock her away.

Then the dog attacked her. And this puppy who loved other puppies, suddenly became terrified of them. And her terror manifests itself as a snarling beast.

We got a trainer, we spent hundreds of dollars to work this through, but she continued to be a snarling beast. When dogs are around, we lock her away.

But this dog of ours... she continues to be the most loving dog we've ever known. She sits on our feet, wedges her head between our knees, gives kisses on command; all in an attempt to be close to us, to melt into us.

And all of that is sweet and wonderful... unless the dog is 70 pounds and your premature baby is

barely 8 pounds.

There have been... incidents.

My husband and I have looked at each other and looked at Katie and made the hard decision. We have to find her a new home. And yes, we have cried, huge crocodile tears, at the idea of our home without The Snugglebutt. The sweetest , most loving dog we have ever known.

Wanted: One willing dog owner. Must be willing to make sacrifices: namely your humility when people visit your home and any dignity at the veterinarian's office. You must be willing to own no other dogs, cats, or children... basically, no other small mammals of any kind.

You must also be willing to share your bed, sofa, and heart with a solidly packed lump of love. You must be willing to accept wet kisses and slobbery tennis balls. You must be willing to accept unconditional love.

Let me know if you are interested.

Dieting for The Retarded

2008-12-11T20:20:00.000-08:00

Okay, I did it.

I, who sells things for a living, bought the sales pitch of Jillian "Born A Man" Michaels.

I, the cynical skeptic, empathized with Oprah's admission that she was pushing 200 pounds again.

I relinquished control and acknowledged that I cannot make decent food decisions.

(For proof, please refer to Exhibit A, a.k.a. my da-donka-donk butt.)

I signed up for eDiets meal delivery.

This is a picture of my refrigerator and one full week of breakfast, lunch and dinner.

It's just one shelf. 21 meals in one shelf.

Clearly, this endeavor will teach me portion control, if nothing else.

How is the food, you ask?

So far I've enjoyed strawberry yogurt with raisins, sunflower seeds, and yogurt for breakfast; for lunch, a whole wheat tortilla wrap with grilled chicken, grilled vegetables, and honey mustard dressing. And it wasn't bad at all! Everything is fresh, never frozen, so it's a much better experience than, say, Lean Cuisine.

I'm dialing in to this, with cheerful mantras swimming through my brain: "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels!" and "I can't wait to button my pants again!" But, also the more cutting ones: "I don't want to hate my mirror reflection anymore" and "I must set a good example for my daughter; I never want her to hate her body like I do".

Dinner awaits! Meatloaf with pesto and spinach, roasted red potatoes and Sicilian blend vegetables. I can feel the fat melting away.... I'm confident these 30 pounds will be gone by the end of the month...

But, right now I'm remembering a Hallmark card my friend once sent me.

On the front it says "I'm on a diet and making better choices. Instead of a hot fudge sundae, I have a salad. Instead of taking the elevator, I'm taking the stairs."

On the inside: "Instead of talking to people, I'm ripping their heads off. Instead of opening the door, I'm ripping it off the hinges. Instead of eating more, I'm gnawing my hand off until my arm is nothing but a bloody stump."

Amen, Hallmark. Amen.

Meghan's Favorite Things

2008-12-11T09:15:00.000-08:00

Did you catch Oprah's famed "My Favorite Things" show this year?

"No, you pirate hooker." you're thinking. "I'm not the one on maternity leave." Well, you missed NOTHING. Because of "the economy" she had this lame episode on making homemade gifts and what the spirit of the holidays really means.... barf.

So, I'm going to pick up the slack for her. Especially for you folks who haven't finished your holiday shopping (slackers).

1. Noodle & Boo Glowology, The Balm

Technically, this stuff is for pregnant chicks. But it is The Best lotion/cream I have ever used. Have you ever trapped yourself in a room because you've put so much lotion on your hands that you can't get the doorknob turned? (Please tell me it's not just me.) I HATE that lubed up feeling. But, I also hate lotions that have so much water in them that you'd moisturize better just washing your hands. This stuff is that wonderful happy medium that melts into skin and smells Deeeeeelicious.

2. Chip Skip by OPI

Holy shit! This stuff totally works! Last Wednesday I polished my nails a nice snowy white (sheer white, not that Liquid Paper crap that Heidi Montag accessorized her fake wedding ring with). Being the experimental type, I put the Chip Skip on my right (dominant) hand and polished and top-coated as usual on my left.

Now, my left hand looks like a crack whore's manicure and my right hand looks like it did last Wednesday. How does it work? Elven magic, obviously.

3. Domino's Pizza's Oven Baked Italian Sandwich

$4.99 and hot to your door. The bread is a delicious amalgamation of Schlotzky's and panini. There's yummy italian meats and banana peppers and lots of cheese. You can also get it as a meal deal with chips and a drink. I have NO idea what the calorie count is on this thing - and I absolutely don't want to know. Pure sandwich heaven.

I couldn't find a picture of this puppy, so go to Dominos.com to drool for yourself. They also have a neat-o online ordering system that tells you minute-by-minute where your order is. So you know exactly what time your order left the store. I enjoy this feature because I can wipe the acne spot treatment off my face before the doorbell rings.

4. Bare Escentuals bareMinerals Foundation

I'm from Texas, so you know I learned the concealer-liquid foundation-powder dance at an early age. Even though I now live in the most casual state in the union, I still refuse to go to the grocery store without foundation and lip gloss. So I NEVER thought that I would be perfectly thrilled with powder foundation. But, sisters, this stuff will change your life.

It takes ten nanoseconds to apply. You just buff it on. It fills in your pores and covers all the uneven skin tone you can dish at it. It lasts all days and covers zits like a dream. I recommend the kabuki brush for all over your face and the concealer brush for spot treatments.

Each container lasts 6 months or longer and the color will not turn on you. It also has SPF 15, so you don't need a separate sunscreen.

I recommend finding a local store that sells the stuff for the best color match (in ABQ, it's Katharoz).

5. HungryGirl.com Daily Emails

I have a love-hate relationship with food. I love it, so I eat a lot of it, then hate it. See how that works?

Case in point, see # 3 above.

I'm constantly on a diet. If I'm not watching every morsel that goes in my mouth, I'm gaining weight.

I love hungrygirl.com because not only does she have great recipes that taste good and don't make you feel like an asshole for eating it, she also has great food finds and the inside scoop on new items coming to your grocery store. If you're a Weight Watcher, she gives the Points value for everything.

I highly recommend signing up for her daily emails... there's a gem in every single one.

That's five for you to chew on now... please comment and leave me YOUR favorite things for 2008!

A Letter To My Daughter

2008-12-09T15:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Audrey Bear,

Mommy will be going back to work in a few weeks; my maternity leave will be over soon.

This means that the days that you have become used to will change a bit. I won't be able to spend as much time with you.

So here is what I need you to know.

By the time 5:01 am on September 21st rolled around, I had already been in the hospital for almost a week. During that week, every single action I did was for you. For making you healthy and helping you grow. I had lots of shots, which you've unfortunately already learned about. I had tubes in my arms and lots of different liquids going through my veins. All of these liquids were for you, my sunshine.

In the early morning of that Sunday, it was very quiet. Your daddy snored on the pull-out sofa, your grandmother read in a chair, your grandfather silently paced the hall. The IV machines clicked away and then, it was time. It was your time. And we rushed down the hall to the bright, hot OR. I looked over at your daddy in his blue scrubs, his eyes were huge, and I knew he couldn't wait either. Couldn't wait to see you.

Twenty minutes later, they laid you on top of my stomach and oh. oh. oh. I looked you all over, at your beautiful toes and fingers. You were so small but so perfect. And then you were gone, because you needed a special machine to help you breathe.

You lived in a special crib in a special room for 27 days and we visited you every day. I held you every day for hours, even when there were so many tubes and wires attached to you that it was like untangling spaghetti.

I felt a lot of things during those days. I felt so much love and so much guilt. I worried that I hadn't done enough for you, that I hadn't done the right things, that I wasn't a good mommy. But when I told your smart daddy these things, he told me I was wrong. That my love love love was great enough for you to be just fine. And he was right. Because now you are fine. More than fine. You are the everything.

People ask if I feel guilty going back to work and not spending all my time with you. But, I don't. At least not right now. Because, honey, I want so bad for you to learn that you can do anything in this world. You can be anything you want to be on the power of your own will. And I have to teach you that; I have to show you that.

I will miss these drowsy days I've spent with you, watching Maury's paternity tests and Ellen's goofy dancing. Taking walks and changing countless diapers. Holding you as you sleep, singing soft songs, smelling your baby smell. Oh, my turnip. It's been a joy.

So things will change a bit in January. But the one thing that will not change is how much I love love love you. You are the everything.

I will still hold you for hours,

Mommy

You Think YOU Had a Bad Day

2008-12-08T21:58:00.000-08:00

God, how I wish I was fluent in whatever Germanic language they are speaking in this video. Because what kind of consoling statements can the hostess shell out to this Cobra Kai reject?

Nine times he tries, with a solid, teeth-clattering miss on #5. What can be going through his head on say, Attempt #4?

My guess: Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Sweep the leg, Johnny.

Plunge Taken

2008-12-07T22:52:00.000-08:00

Here's my intent.

Musings of the Minckle Mouse, including my stronger strengths:

My thoughts on new preemie motherhood. My daughter is friggin' adorable. Eat her with a spoon.
Pet peeves (ironically, I hate that phrase) and people who piss me off.
Obsessions with beauty products and train-wreck television.

Basically, I'm thinking - don't box me into a blog genre. I will rip through it with my eye-teeth. Grrr.

I've had plenty of inspiration...

The first being the model of the anti-blog. Need a hint? Green. Beans.

Notice I said "anti-blog", which assures you that this blog will not include gnomes, obese dogs, and ceiling fan installations.

The second being loony friends who keep insisting that the world would be a better place with my thoughts cluttering the Interweb.

The third being the genius of Susannah, mistress of Petunia Faced Girl, whose encouraging email pushed me over the edge. If you have not discovered the heroin addiction of her blog yet, go there and shoot it between your toes.

Let's begin...