Kiss My Ass Direct TV

Dear Direct Tv and your sleazy subcontractor Premier Communications,

Thanks for making me wait for over two weeks to receive your overpriced service and then to find out that there is "no line of sight" when you've already installed one dish on my house years ago(and I've had your service) is a total crock of shit. Nevermind that when you were supposed to show up btwn 12-4 it was 5:15. Dickheads. I hate you. I hate you for making me wait and then pissing out on the deal. If I could, I'd smack your docile customer service reps that say "uh huh and I'm sorry you feel that way". Fuckers.

I realize it's winter, but if your lazy 'roid ridden ass won't scale a ladder to do what's right then look for another job. Pissheads. Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!

Mandalay Prefers Lavender

Electric Nest Warmer

by Mary Robinson
you can just barely see the three prong cord to the right...

D Day

I feel like a filthy, dirty whore. Tomorrow is the day when Direct TV HD gets piped in to the casa. Only one receiver and no Tivo. I have to draw the line somewhere. I do have my pride. If you're looking for me, I'll be over at Bravo.

Paunch & Cookies

Yesterday my mom and I stopped at a little place for some thrifting. We were downstairs looking at glassware when I was reminded of the fact that I'd make punch for SF's birthday. My mom used to have a cool punch bowl but got rid of it over the years.

A sweet lady overheard us and chimed in, "I have a punch bowl. It's antique and it's just sitting there."

"I'm sure you'd want more than I was willing to pay," I smiled.

"No, you can have it" she said.

We live in the same town so last night, by the time the front doorbell rang I had already forgotten about it and thought 'who the hell would be ringing the front doorbell?'

It was her with my new old punch bowl. I thanked her and she saw SF. He said thanks too. I washed it and it's cool, heavy glass. I told my mom I was going to bring back the adult punch bowl party. But I really don't need anymore punch in my paunch.

Why can't I just be slim and happy and brainless...switch to autopilot and become almost zombie like in my weight loss approach? The answer is very, very simple...I like food.

Crazy (by crazy I mean train...)

This is me flying down Grand Ave shooting pictures at 35 MPH. This guy lived downstairs from my friend. He's given to whimsical moments of kicking his bike out in traffic and bitching aloud about nonsense only he understands. Poor fella. She said he was faking it.

I had a few glasses of vino and about five or six dark chocolate fake De Met's(by fake I mean Nestle) turtles. Thanks for fucking up a good thing Nestle. Snowflake(by SF I mean me) had to do a "Peace Report" featuring a country of his nationality. He won't tell you that he picked Poland. He'll say he picked "Polish". He ( I mean me) had to take a cereal box and decorate it with fervor. I put SF shirtless in goggles wearing his striped pants standing in front of the Polish flag (using CS2) and listed famous Poles, including the North and the South. Har Har. (and Hot Lips Houlihan). On the reverse is Falat's self portrait from 1896(on the side he's with SF conferring).

Getting to the point, tomorrow we are invited to come and view the cereal boxes at school. Yes, my hair bristles at the thought. If I had a big fattie (by big fattie I mean marijuana joint, by joint I mean cigarillo, by cigarillo I mean cigarette), I might have just indulged myself before school. Something I have never done. I think Julian(by Julian I mean Falat) is sexy and says, "why not Ms Mamma, why not?" Keeess me you fool. Maybe I will Julian, maybe I will. XO


ps...this weekend my mom said I looked like "that rock star, oh you know... the one...the rock star she said, married to Sharon, you know" with my round sunglasses on.

Little Blue Dreamers

Erehwon in Winter

My English Love

I finally bought something I blogged about. Instead of procrastinating and dilly-dallying, I went on a hunt. I always thought I wanted a Dualit toaster. They're classically cool looking and world famous. But unlike days of old, their parts are now outsourced and then they are "hand assembled" in the UK. Well, that's just not acceptable, bub. I wanted the real deal. So after weeks of searching, I found it. It just magically appeared.



I found a brand new commercial Rowlett toaster on Ebay. The starting bid was higher than most Dualits but no one else bid on it. Happy Friggin' Birthday to Me! If I actually had to buy this from a company that shipped them from the UK to the US it would have cost me around $500 for this hunk of chrome goodness.



OMG. I love it. It's totally gorgeous and unlike the 'other inferior English toasters' this is actually handmade.

The slots are so wide I can put whole English Muffins or Bagels in! It toasts to perfection. I love the cool Nixie tube it has just above the dial when it's working hard to complete my order. It has a pleasant DING! when the item is done. Unlike regular toasters, your stuff stays down in the innards of the toaster until you push the plunger to retrieve it.



Talk about warm fuzzies. I've got 'em.

There's a flashy little brochure the toaster came with plugging the Rowlett 'lifestyle' complete with quotes from famous English writers like George Bernard Shaw:

"There is no love sincerer than the love of food." Don't I know it.

My Funny Valentine

Sincerely, MsMamma

Maybe I've been in denial that I've had another birthday. Thanks for the good wishes. My friend Dennis said I didn't look a day over 32. Beggars can't be choosers so I guess I'll take that. I've been preoccupied with maybe buying an LCD TV and then I think 'what the hell are you thinking' when I could really use a new Mac more than anything. But still, eventhough I don't have any "services", I'm sick of the 13" Sponge Bob and it's ugly twin, a big black 20" Sony from 1991. Such is the life of the enigma MsMamma.

Maybe a new tattoo is in order. 'Scuse me. I have some paint I have to watch dry.

Don't Lick Me

She is like the sacred truffle sniffing pig of Fronce. Yes, Fronce! As she clomps through the fresh deep snow like an aimless tiny landship in search of buried treasure, she finds her joie de vivre in the tiny caper like orbs left behind out of the behind of some rabbit's ass. She delights in its pungent aroma(its secret known only to her) and simplicity(she hasn't gagged on one yet) throwing caution to the wind as she gobbles it down.

Friday Night Birthday

Snowflake had a really great day at school. I was so happy, especially after spending the morning reading "Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Lives of Boys". It's an amazing book. My friend had seen the PBS special and said it was really eye-opening. So far it seems essential to anyone who wants to really understand the difference in which we treat boys and girls from birth. It makes sense. I can see the lives of my brothers in this book. Especially my brother who is no longer alive.

I had bought a new DoughMakers 9" square baking pan. Why? When I showed it to SF he suggested we make a birthday cake and celebrate. That sounded good to me. Together we made an Irish Butter Cake with Irish Cream Cheese Frosting.

We had to go to the store because the only baking powder I had was from my polish granny circa early 90's. The hilarious thing is that she gave it to me in 1994 and it expired in 1989. It's in a cool old metal can. I ended up buying more Kerrygold butter and some Droste Dutch process cocoa because I'm feeling very epicurian lately. It's nice to have with my Madagascar Bourbon Vanilla. Whatev.

It was delish and the first cake I've made from scratch(or in my home for that matter). Love the new pan. He put the candles on and I lit them up. He blew them out with gusto as we celebrated his third birthday for the second and probably the last time. Afterwards I sang Happy Birthday to him and he blushed. Happy Birthday my creative, curious and boistrous babe. I love you my sweet little baby boy.

I Am Flower* (hear me roar)

But not a meercat.

I wish I would have looked more closely at the books I bought at B & N on Sunday. Unknowingly, but knowing, I bought two books by Dr. James Dobson- The New Strong Willed Child and Bringing Up Boys. I started with TNSWC and found SF isn't really what he classically describes(thank Allah). Last night I turned to the chapter in BUB on The Causes of Homosexuality and then The Single Parent and Grandparents.

OMG. My blood just started to boil. Little did I know I purchased books from a man who thinks homosexuality is a treatable 'disorder'. And rather than giving real solutions for single mothers, he goes into a story about how his own wife came from a broken home. He continues on by saying that his wife's mother prayed for a good man to come along and take care of them. What do you know? It happened and he's been a loving father-inlaw for over 40 years. Apparently if SF spends too much time with me, that's unhealthy and he really needs a man to show him the way in the world.

There are even a couple of pages he devotes to some reformed liberal now confirmed right wing dipshit who finally relented and let her boys play with toy guns after a bonding trip to Gettysburg. I could go on and on, but why bother? According to Mr. Dobson, I am royally screwed. With these odds I'm sure SF will be a flowery flouncing homo if I don't get a good man into his life soon or he'll be in prison eventually. Well Mr. Dobson, I disagree. Focus on my middle finger.

Blue Italian

I just hate it when people I like get involved with assholes. Assholes who take advantage of their ideas, their hard work and claim them as their own. These are the same assholes who want everything for free and when you expect them to pay for something they usually exclaim "non profit". Assholes.

Italian Blue

A little late night madness.


A message to Snowflake and his sassmouth.


Now, that's better.


Next: some new mod furniture to funk the joint up...

Green

This afternoon I went to open the refridgerator for the pizza from last night. I ate a piece and I sensed a weird astringent scent. Ick. I opened the frigidare(my polish granny's usual name for it) and investigated. Cabbage was firm and fine but I tossed it anyway. Romas were alright but being paranoid I threw them away. That left the crisper... There in the twilight of its age sat a deflated clementine hiding its hideous secret. It was green, GREEN! Green like only freakish mold can be and it smelled like, like the sterile vault of some Doctor's office from childhood. Swabs...the most pristine Q-Tip imagined...almost like the liquid nitrogen they freeze warts off with. Mmm...

On Sucking

It's amazing how not working takes away from my blogging time. Seriously. The last thing I feel like spending time with is the computer, even though it's my sweet ancient baby in terms of its age and speed. I've had every intention of writing about the wonderful and beautiful scarf I received from LaLuna and the cool recycled bags Chrissy sent from the real Northwoods. I will get to it with pictures, I promise!

Bah. I spent the weekend painting my mom's living room. It's a big bastard of a room with 12 ft ceilings and we're both short, so it was a taxing nightmare. Special thanks go to GlamGranola for borrowing us her six foot plus ladder/husband. We couldn't have done it without you, Pedro!

Beyond the blue was a seriously demanding Sunday with SF that left me spending the $100 my mom gave me for helping her on parenting books from Barnes & Noble. No, I don't want your damn discount card for $25. You'd save $6...no effing thank you. But really, I'm okay.

I have figured the trick to controlling SF's behavior is via his access to the vacuum. Yes, the vacuum. He knows the difference between a Dyson, a Hoover, a Cone, a Shark and an Oreck. And he loves them all deeply. For good behavior he gets to vacuum after school. And if he isn't a good little drone, he won't have access. For him it will totally suck. How ironic.

One (of the many) Thing(s) I Hate About You

I knew it was premature of me to go to an employment service with the hope of being referred to a job that I thought I'd be perfect for. Instead it just crystallized how much I despise this shit hole that I reluctantly came back to after college. People can beam on and on about why they love it here and all of that quality of life bullshit, but the fact remains that this is a cliquey little berg and if you're not an ass kisser, forget it.

It's like the movie "It's Pat"-

Access Denied. Access Denied.

(Think fat ass office casual wearing a turtleneck and nails that were just too long for a man.)

Horses Whisper