good morning to the greater bal-wash area

ahem.

due to the large number of accidents on the streets and highways of the greater bal-wash area this morning, i must say that i am ashamed to live in a state that receives one inch of snow overnight and the residents lose their minds. right out the window. hey, i just had an epiphany: schools are closed and delayed, not because of accumulation, but because of all the bad drivers on the road that put the kids in danger. wow.

apparently those $500 driver's ed classes which are required before taking the written test don't actually teach anything, based on the number of drivers who can't drive in good weather, let alone throw some precipitation and/or darkness into the mix.

rule number one: there is no such speed as mach 50 in a land vehicle. stop trying to achieve it on the way to work.

rule number two: you should arrive to work on time in good weather so you have some credibility when the weather is bad and will not get into trouble for arriving late. then you can take your time and point & laugh at all the fools in the ditches.

rule number three: scrape all of your car windows before attempting to drive. a 3-inch hole over the steering wheel does not count. you need all your windows clear so you can see that mack truck when you change lanes suddenly without using a blinker while attempting mach 50. otherwise your car would only have a three-inch hole above the steering wheel instead of all those blasted windows to scrape.

rule number four: residential streets (that's a long word for "streets with houses on them") have slower speeds than multi-lane highways. people who live in those houses need to get into and out of their driveways without being honked at, run down, and/or killed. drive slower and it won't seem like that bitch just cut you off.

rule number five: ice and snow do not automatically melt when they hit the ground, even if that is what happened yesterday at noon. sometimes the ice and snow make a weird covering on the ground that makes it difficult to drive a car. again with the "slowing down" theme. (do i sound like a CD with a scratch in it yet?)

rule number six: if you are tailgating, that means your car is too close to the one in front of you. "too close" can generally be defined like this: the driver cannot see the license plate, grill, headlights, hood, or windshield wipers of the car in their rearview mirror, but can read their lips and see that they are being cussed out
for being too slow. tip: peeps who slow down are trying not to wreck. back off or change lanes.

rule number seven: you shouldn't be talking on your cell phone and drinking coffee while trying to drive, even when the roads are stellar. um, that goes double for texting and/or catching headlines on the blackberry. if it's not important enough to pull to the side of the road, it's not that important.

rule number eight: blinkers are your friends. the rest of us kinda need to know what the hell you're doing, since you and your phone are obviously not paying attention to the road. especially if you drive in the fast lane and wait until the yellow "exit only" sign comes up before you decide to exit.

rule number nine: your road rage means nothing to me. yes i did just take a picture of you and your license plate number. your ass is on platewire.

rule number ten: just because you pay taxes doesn't mean you own the road. and just because we all pay taxes doesn't mean we have to all drive like we own the road. here's a crazy idea: if we all start earlier and slow down when the weather is bad, chances are there will be fewer accidents and we'll get to work without having to sit in miles of backed-up traffic due to accidents. full circle, huh? whooooa.

Introduction to Using a Bathroom Door

so i wasn't feeling well. which meant i needed to make many trips to the bathroom over a couple of days. you needed the backstory, short as it is.

Introduction to Using a Bathroom Door
(complete with hands-on practical application)

Please gather 'round. Can everyone hear me? Good. Good. Welcome to Introduction to Using a Bathroom Door. We'll start with a lecture and move on to practical applications. That means we're going to play with the door at the end. OK?

You are in a bathroom. What do we generally do in a bathroom that would require the door to be closed? Right! Use the toilet. Very good. Now, When we use the toilet, we close the door because our pants are down and we have things hanging out that we don't want everyone to see, like penises and butts or vaginas, right? That includes me. I close this door because I don't want you to see my butt hanging out. Yep. Gross. That's why there's a door.

Now when I am in the bathroom and the door is closed, I do not want you to barge in at a headlong run yelling, "MOOOOM!" If you have something to say to me, you need to knock on the door and simply tell me. You can't press your mouth against the door and mumble; you need to speak up and be very clear. I don't need to hear a long story. Tell me why I need to pull up my pants and tell me fast. Now let's do a practice with knocking.

Close your fingertips up against your palm, very nice, and put your thumb across them, just like that!! Now, this is how you knock. (knocking) Practice right here on the wall. I want to make sure that all four of you know how to do that part before we move on. (lots of knocking and giggling) Good. Excellent, Not too hard, we aren't a demolition crew. Yes. That's it.

Now that we know what knocking is, and that we knock when we see that the door is closed, and we have practiced knocking, we will talk about the reasons why you might need to actually bother me while I'm taking a dump. Do you have any ideas about that? Should Mommy need to find your most favorite lego out of the 8 million legos in our house while she is taking a dump? How about pigtails? Should Mommy need to put your hair in pigtails while pooping? No and no. Very good. I am not going to make you a sandwich from the toilet, either. We are talking about emergencies. If someone has had their hand lopped off by Darth Vader, yes, Mommy needs to get off the pot. If there is a Mack truck crashing into the living room, yes, Mommy needs to pinch off that loaf and call the insurance company. If the ceiling fan disconnects from the ceiling and turns into an Indiana-Jones-style projectile weapon, yes, Momma should be interrupted to fix that. Pretty much anything not involving injuries or damage to the house is a 'No.'

OK, now here is the fun part. Think of a reason why I might need to be bothered on the toilet. Everyone have a reason? Good. Out. Pretend I'm on the toilet. Oh, No!! Whatever shall we do? The bathroom door is closed!

(knocking) "Yes? I'm on the toilet. The stove caught fire? Damn! Stay away from the stove 'til I wipe my butt!!" Excellent! Next.

(knocking) "Yes? I'm on the toilet. Oh, No! The dog escaped the backyard! I'll be right there!" Good one.

(knocking hard, til the door opened up) "Fail. You opened the door. Go to the end of the line and try again."

(knocking) "Yes? I'm on the toilet. Darth Vader is climbing in through the window? I'll grab my lightsaber and be right up." Nice.

(knocking) "Yes? I'm on the toilet. You were playing America's Top Chef and cut your finger? That wasn't very smart. Lemme get my draws on. I'm on my way."

Now we all understand what a bathroom door is for, why it is closed, when we should bother Mommy on the toilet, how to knock, and have practiced doing it the right way. Does anyone have any questions?

Thank you for your time and attention. You can go play now.

not not not

OK.

breathe with me.

hold my hand. please hold my hand.

it’s not a date. it’s NOT a date. it isn’t a date....is it??

my eighth-grade daughter came home from the boy scout family camping weekend with stars in her eyes. wearing someone else’s hat. not responding to any teasing about “her new boyfriend.” and hadn’t responded in any way all weekend long. oh, my.

she showered and changed into in cards-wear, brushed her hair out long and didn’t put it into her signature ponytail. and then we painted her nails cardinal red and i put teeny tiny C-A-R-D-S on her nails in white. she is right this minute at the home of a fellow scout-mom. a boy-scout mom. wait, i have it wrong. she is at the grandmother’s house of a boy scout. he, the boy-scout, wanted to invite my baby girl to a family gathering “to introduce her.”

please tell me it’s not a date.

please.

traditions & thoughts

goodbye & good riddance, 2008. we opened the door politely for 2009, carrying hope and peace on its strapping new back. we rang in the new year pretty quietly, since i was supposed to get up at 2 and go to work today. i never did fall back asleep after midnight and flew through my day tanked on starbucks. we traditionally eat snackie-poos all nite, nibbling and watching movies to pass the time until The Hour arrives. then we don coats and shoes and run up and down the front yard making noise with our neighbors to drive out the old year and bring in the new. the kids & boys watched movies (while i slept) until The Hour and for the first time, all four kids made it. yay!!!

i await the hope that breathes through the nation this month - not just from one direction, but from all directions. i believe that we, as a nation, can heal our hundred wounds. it will take time, perseverance, and we'll have to dig in and hold on, but 2009 brings more than just a regime change - it is a change in the state of mind.

holiday aftermath

the thought just occurred to me that, since the kids are entertained elsewhere with the boys, and the house is quiet, and i have no responsibilities (save ironing tomorrow's uniform), dude. i can write!! it's been such a while since i have had the time, quiet, and motivation. so here i iz. writing. sweet.

there are a great number of incidents at work that pass by me on a daily basis that merit a head shake, a small chortle into my sleeve or a guffaw after the passenger is out of earshot. those are the passengers who, after going through the metal detector six times, realize that their cell phone has metal in it. those are the ladies who thought that the liquid restrictions only applied to water. those are the dudes who look me in the eye and place their boarding passes underneath their laptops - under their laptop bags - and then roll their eyes when we have to go fetch it all back again. and then there are the truly stellar dumb-fucks. i write about those. people do some crazy shit over the holidays. i mean, peeps lose their cotton-pickin minds.

there were a couple of individuals (on different days) who warranted a second look. mannerisms that just weren't quite right for various reasons. like....ShoeMan, who was talking to his shoe and then licked it before sending it through the xray. yeeeah-no. and then there was Jesus Freak who claimed to have diplomatic immunity because he was a man of the cloth. he went ape-shit after being selected by his airline to undergo additional screening, calling my colleagues names like "fucking arab scum" and "low-life government monkeys." he was trouble from start to finish, telling us that we did not have his spiritual permission from his god above to touch his holy book. it was a bible...wrapped in dirty underwear with cheese slices used as bookmarks. i wish i was kidding, folks. he sprinkled as many merry-christmases as he did fuck-all-of-yous into each sentence. the last thing i heard from him was, "you do not have the right to treat me like a criminal!!!!" as he was being cuffed for threatening to blow us all away. that guy didn't make his flight.

then there was the day that we had some interesting ladies entertain us. Light-Fingered Susie was wearing four shirts, three pair of jeans and a skirt....all with security tags attached. because she set off the metal detector (um, duh) and we could not clear her to pass to the airplane, she (along with her two bags stuffed full of merchandise) was asked to leave and return without security-tagged clothing. the same day, while observing my trainee complete a bag check, a sweet little cockroach crawled right up out of that handbag - purse, folks! used every day!! - and scared the piss out of my trainee. i took the woman's wallet and smeared that little fucker all over the inside of her purse. then we changed our gloves. and both washed our hands. twice. and bathed in alcohol.

of course, it wouldn't be christmas without all the pissed off passengers who wrap their stupid prezzies and send them through the xray. man, i rip through those bad boys like they were wrapped for me. makes a sucky day brighter to open presents, especially since i can't keep them. and then we have the odd assortment of people who simply must bring their own 20 pound christmas ham in their carryon. and cell phones removed from their clamshell cases and wrapped in newspaper, walmart sacks and duct tape. stacked with 8 jars of kimchi. or a five pound brick of cheese with watches scotch-taped to it. wait, what?? yeah, send that guy into the box and check all his stuff. cheese and watches don't make good appetizers.

and it isn't just the passengers. the crew members, unfortunately, must go through this set of hoops as well. the ones that make me mad are the ones that know the rules and just ignore me. metal detectors don't care if you fly the plane. neither do i. empty those pockets into the bowl and take your electronics out of their bags. and for the love of socks, to the skycaps who push wheelchairs through the airport 700 times a day: GET SOME PANTS THAT FIT!! your belt has to come off, your pants always fall down and i am done, past done, with your boxers.

but the very tippety-top this year, the custom, hand-sculpted topping on the lemon-chiffon-with-ribbons-of-cream-cheese-and-whipped-lemon-curd-icing-cake, was Chainsaw Sally (and Friends). because really, who brings a chainsaw on an airplane? anyone? anyone have that answer? Chainsaw Sally not only brought her tool, but lube for it, and fuel as well, and was completely aghast at being told to pack her shit and check that bag. and no. no one offered to help her re-pack. in the wise, wise words of supervisor Patty: "you should know better than to bring that on a plane. you got it in there in the first place. you figure out how to get it back in. now go." that was a first for every single solitary person on the checkpoint. but it doesn't stop there. in the past seven days, we have had not one, not two, but three (count 'em!!) THREE chainsaws through our checkpoint. a record for the airport. ever.

cotton-pickin minds.


stupid questions of the season (asked by grownups, i shit you not):

what's a boarding pass?
what i said: um, that paper thingy with your name and that special place you want to go printed on it. it's prolly in your bag because i asked you to hold on to it.
what i thought: that piece of paper that you just had in your hand less than 5 seconds ago, dumbass.

is that mine?
what i said: well, it doesn't look like santa's. his has white fur on it.
what i thought: how the fuck should i know? do i look like your fucking babysitter?

where did you put my bag?
what i said: i did not at any time place my hands on your belongings. where did you put your bag?
what i thought: up your ass, next to your head.

what happened to my shoes?
what i said: that depends on where you left them.
what i thought: your feet stank, so they totally left you behind to fend for yourself.

how does it go in? (pointing to the xray machine)
what i said: um, when i'm ready to press this button, the black part moves and your suitcase rolls in like magic.
what i thought: ask your mom. she has lots of experience with things that go in.

(from a woman with no foreign accent whatsoever, prolly 2nd gen, born & raised red, white & blue...)
are we in america? are you sure? because the water here tastes like mexican water. i went to the university of maryland and the water tasted good there. it didn't taste like this water, so we must be in mexico. are you sure we are in america?
what i said: yeah. you're definitely in america. matter of fact, i'mma get you someone to help you with that question. he's a nice man. we call them police officers in america.
what i thought: you are off your meds in a serious way, lady. no one in that state of mind should be able to get on a plane.


cotton-pickin minds.

creamy baked mashed potatoes

we're not big fans of "plain." everything from our pancakes to our mashed potatoes general has some kind of fixer to enhance flavors or to dress up the mundane. i'm the first to admit that sometimes some combinations don't work out, but here is a combo that we love love love. in fact, we don't serve our thanksgiving potatoes any other way.

Creamy Baked Mashed Potatoes
yields about 8 servings

4 cups hot mashed potatoes
1 envelope knorr or lipton dry vegetable soup mix
3/4 and 1/4 cup shredded cheddar or swiss cheese
1 egg, slightly beaten

1) preheat oven to 375*.
2) in lightly greased 1-1/2 or 2 quart casserole dish, combine all but 1/4 cup cheese.
3) bake, uncovered for 40 minutes. top with remaining cheese and return to oven to bake for 5 minutes or until cheese melts.

*NOTES* this recipe doubles easily, but does not freeze well. you could add cooked crumbled sausage or chopped ham to this. we sprinkle french fried onions on with the last bit of cheese as well. this recipe works as well with both mashed real potatoes and instant potatoes. it makes a great breakfast, if you're into hearty potato breakfasts, that is. enjoy.

the birthday girl

it is december first. it's a special day in our house. you see, we have a dog. and when we found our trixie, she had been shuffled from one shelter to another. they say she was about 18 months old when we got her, but there was no way to know for sure when she was born. so we arbitrarily chose december first for her birthday bash.

today i got a little silly and baked her a cake. not a people-cake. a dog-cake. of course i googled. i found several sites touting recipes for dog cakes, that were, um, people cakes without sugar. "there's no way my pupperoo can eat that garbage; it'll make her sick," thought i. so, i kept searching.

i found one. yay!! i followed the recipe, sort of. the prep instructions were pretty vague, but i managed to get it mixed. and although the batter had the consistency of puke, and smelled a lot like puke with butter in it, i think she'll love her little cake. after baking it, i decided the recipe needed a little modification...for example ½ cup each butter and oil was far too much. so here is an updated version. if you have reason to celebrate with your dogger, feel free to rip off this recipe i found somewhere and revised. and i'm pretty sure you can sub-in cat stuff for felines. not sure.

1 cup dog food, processed into powder
½ cup flour
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
¼ cup softened butter
¼ cup oil
4 eggs, slightly beaten, room temp
2.5 oz jar of meat baby food (any flavor)
4 bacon treats, chopped into smaller squares

1) combine first four dry ingredients.
2) beat butter until creamy and add oil, eggs, and baby food. add dry ingredients and mix until combined and barfy-looking.
3) pour into greased 9x5 loaf pan and lightly press bacon treats into batter. (make sure they sink under or they will burn.) bake for 35-45 minutes at 350*. cool on wire rack.
4) frost (if desired...we didn't go that far) with plain yogurt or cottage cheese.

*NOTE: do not let your dog eat the whole cake at once. refrigerate leftovers, with or without frosting. you can make these into cupcakes, but remove paper cups completely before serving; dogg-o will likely snarf down the paper and not know it. you can add carob chips as a "chocolate-chip" addition.

and i baked a spice cake so us peoples can celebrate with her.

happy birthday to my trixie-loo!