I woke up Monday morning to boxes strewn about my house, as far as the eye can see. Our college girl, Olivia, is home for the summer and I have a feeling those boxes might just go back in the fall, still unpacked.
For the last year, whenever we went out to dinner, which was quite a bit, since I'm not so much into cooking, we would utter, "Party of 4."
And every time the words came out, I would feel this hollow spot in my heart. That empty ache would never quite leave no matter how many days came and went without her.
The words just didn't fit.
For now, we will be a party of 5 again and my heart, at least for the glorious days of summer spread out before us, will be whole.
And speaking of dinner, on Monday night I was MAKING DINNER.
That's right, making dinner.
Even though I don't like to cook, it doesn't mean I can't.
And cook I did!
I made Guy Fieri's Cuban Pork Chops with Mojo and let me tell you, it was out of this world! It was succulent and moist and popping with flavor. Do yourself a favor and make this pork. And don't forget the avocado and tomato garnish. Not only is that garnish packed with vitamins, when you drizzle the sauce over the top of the whole shabang, it is just incredibly yummy.
My annual recipe tip to you. You are welcome. Now I will have to rest up for the remainder of the week. Cooking takes a freak-load of work, Internet, and I am still recovering.
But as I was chopping and sizzling, a reader notified me, (Thanks LisaPie!) that my feed wasn't working, AGAIN.
And I was all, "Uh-oh. I HAVE pissed off The Man."
Because, earlier I'd been messing around with my blog and I noticed these numbers next to my blog's title on the layout page. I'd never noticed these numbers before.
It looked like this:
Laundry Hurts My Feelings-69
And this ominous feeling washed over me as I contemplated that 69.
Ohhhh F***k, I thought. Here we freakin' go.
Was the 69 a secret code? Had I been marked for doom by the all-powerful Blogger?
I mean, techie geeks DO run the company. And I'm sure it's a bunch of boy techie geeks. Because, for whatever imbecilic reason, it seems that men are still in charge of most things. And I'm all, "Seriously? Have you seen a beer commercial? Because that is an across-the-board representation of the gender in charge of the world." Hmmm.
Anyway, I'm sure the Blogger Dudes In Charge like to get their jollies in whatever 12-year-old-boy capacity they can find.
What a better way to say, all Godfather like, "You gonna f***ck with me? I'll f***ck with you!" than with a 69 code.
And I was voicing all my Blogger complaints in my last post, you know . . . orally.
So, there's that.
I think they're out to get me now.
Shaking my fist at The Man, might have caused some big repercussions.
What if I'm like Russell Crowe in "The Insider"?
It was the only movie where Russell didn't look like his hottie hot hottie Gladiator self. He gained a ton of weight and shaved back his hairline and applied liver spots and, gosh, was that ever a disappointment. I want to see the hotness AND the good acting. No need to ugly yourself up, Russell. I'll still respect you in the morning.
In the movie, "The Insider" he was the big tattle-tale of the cigarette industry. The cigarette folks followed him around all stalker-like, put a bullet in his mailbox and made his life a living hell eventually causing his family to leave him.
Yesterday, when I opened my mailbox, a wasp flew out. Coincidence?
I think, perhaps not.
Or I could do a Sally Field/Norma Rae number on Blogger.
Except, every night I get down on my knees and pray, "Please God do not EVER let fanny packs come back in fashion and if they do, please do not let me, in a fit of fashion mental instability, ever succumb to wearing one."
But there's an idea, a Blogger's union. Except the whole purpose of a union is to ensure fair working conditions and proper pay.
I work from my house where I can sit in my jammies all day and get up and stuff my face with chocolate any time I feel like it. I can walk away from the computer for a workout or snap on the TV for a little Housewives of New York or take a bubble bath in the middle of the day with my new candles and I can do all these things while mud masking my face. I'm not saying I do any of these things, because I don't. At least, not all at once.
But, as for proper working conditions, except for Google, I don't think you can get much better than my cushy bed.
Oh, and then there's the pay thing. It's hard to negotiate pay scale when you're talking zero dollars.
So, maybe a Blogger union wouldn't be the best of ideas. I just want my feed to work and my comments to get through to me.
What if I'm like Meryl Streep in Silkwood?
Karen Silkwood was the true story of some chick with a bad perm who exposed the attempted coverups of the plutonium plant where she worked. She also had Cher as her roommate. Not the real Cher, because that would have been QUITE the story. But, in the movie Cher was her roommate and she just happened to be a lesbian.
And wouldn't that be super-fun? To have a gay Cher as your roommate? You could borrow her clothes. Although, I'm not sure where I'd ever be able to wear this:
But, I'd sure, as there is a God in Heaven, try! I'd definitely be the talk of the school on conference night.
And the karaoke fun would be off the charts, with Cher as a roommate. I could sing Sonny's part because, I too, am a craptastic singer.
Anyway, this Karen was driving down the road to deliver incriminating nuclear evidence to a reporter when SMASH, her car crashed into a ditch for no reason and there she was, all dead and such. And wouldn't you know? All her incriminating evidence was gone from the car.
Does anyone know any of the vehicles that these Blogger big-wigs drive?
Besides the Prius?
Because, this morning, on the way to bringing the kids to school, I was forced to beep at another driver. I don't like to beep. A beep to me is like a, "F***ck you, Assbag Driver!"
And I'm a nice girl. I only scream that in the car and only when the windows are rolled up.
But I was sitting at a red light and this hag in front of me puts her car in reverse and starts to floor it backwards. For no reason at all.
And I'm all a-beeping, saying, "Heyyyy! I'm HERE! BEHIND YOU! Assbag."
And she's waving her hands in the mirror and cursing ME in her rear-view mirror because SHE is millimeters away from smashing into me.
I was shaken, I tell you. I peered suspciously at the hag wondering what a Blogger assassin would look like.
It would be just like Blogger to send a plump, middle-aged woman with wild, witchy, color-damaged hair and ridiculous orange lipstick in a lime green Subaru to teach me to shut my mouth.
Totally, not what I'd expect. Those Blogger techs are smart for a reason.
I'm shaking in my boots, Internet. But, even though I'm as terrified of Blogger's vengeance as I am of skiing, those computer geekheads will not silence me!!!
I will cry out for all of my fellow bloggers no matter how many fat-ass old ladies in Subarus come gunnin' for me.
My blogging friends' opinions have varied far and wide on my troubles. Those on Wordpress are beckoning to me me with their siren call, "Come on over to the other side. The water's warm and the feeds are fine and the spammers are instantly annihilated."
But, my Blogger friends are yanking on my Bob Mackie crow headdress, trying to drag me back, saying, "Google Friend Connect. Ease of use. Look at the big bloggers who are still using Blogger."
Yeah . . . right. You know they've got a concierge level for those bloggers. Those bloggers have the black Blogger credit card. Those bloggers really do have a personal computer geek IN their computer who is at their beck and call, 24/7. No flying in coach for them.
I don't know what the answer is. I can tell you this.
I'm pretty certain I won't be awarded Blogger of the Week anytime soon.
Also, my feed is working . . . at the moment. Although, I haven't posted this harsh-out yet.
I'm an easy girl to please, Blogger. Give me a good feed. A place to write my words. Free-flowing comments and I'm all yours. I don't need the fancy. I get my fancy on through my shoes.
I'll make nice if you don't send any more Subarus my way.
Today's Definite Download: The mighty, Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go."
Here is what I have to say about The Clash and the King of Kings, Joe Strummer: If you do not like The Clash, I cannot be your friend. Because I will never be able to respect you and your Jonas Brothers tastes. I'm just putting it out there because as my sister says, I am an equal opportunity judgmental discriminator of musical tastes. And I'm okay with that.
Rock on forever in the skies of heaven, Joe. You are missed.
For you Blogger. What's it gonna be, BOYS?
Darling, you gotta let me know Should I stay or should I go? If you say that you are mine I'll be here til the end of time So you got to let me know Should I stay or should I go?
Always tease tease tease You're happy when I'm on my knees One day is fine, next is black So if you want me off your back Well, come on and let me know Should I stay or should I go?
Posted by Joann Mannix at 11:05 AM
Labels: blog friends, hair, Lovely Daughters, mean people, movies, my imperfect blog, my stable of fears, vacation, wine