Friday, April 30, 2010

How can you not drool over these?

So I've been on the hunt for a camera bag that can hold more than just my camera, with lens attached and either a lens or flash. I have a red Crumpler Four Million Dollar Home, which I L.O.V.E. But often, on shoots and at events, I need something larger. I need to not have to choose between a lens and a flash. I need to carry a back-up flash. I need accessories. I need a place to put my keys and wallet. And also? I hate backpacks, and would like something more stylish. Because I do infact, do events. And often, at charities, you have to keep all your gear on you, there's no place to set it down. Now, I do also love the seven and eight million dollar homes, but I kinda think I want something a little different than what I already have. Something more versatile. Enter the Jill-e bag. Observe:


fashion, function, fun, your croppin companion jill-e designs camera bags

How fabulous are they? Now, I considered a Kelley Moore bag, which is also beautiful, however, they are a little small for what I want. They are too narrow and tall. I want something shorter with easier access. Don't get me wrong, if a KM bag shows up at my door, I will give it a nice home. But I really want a Jill-e bag. So what do I need from you? Click the link. Browse the site. Buy accessories upon clicking my link. They even have a small purse that has a padded place for a digital point-and-shoot. Which I've considered getting for the Daughter so she can have my Canon PowerShot.

Thanks! Tell your friends! Buy one for Mama for Mother's Day!

Monday, April 19, 2010

Coordination: I [does not] has it.

So we're thirty-five minutes deep into Zumba tonight, I'm in my usual spot, front row, slightly left with my girls (The real ones, Tay, Mama J, and the other Mama J; not the girls being contained on my chest). It's juicy, the fans aren't on and we've already sweated out breakfast and most of lunch (minus the cheesecake balls I keep hiding from the kidlets). We're doing a cross step move and the instructor is all "Bigger! Yeah, you got it!" to me. Because I'm in front, and you know how the class nerd is, right? Only, we switch to this sliding move and it happens so fast, I don't even see it coming. And I'm pretty sure I did the whole scramble thing on the way down, but it was just too slippery on the very obviously fake wood floor. And it takes me a second to recover. But I jump up and get right back in step. The instructor, who was standing next to me, turns to face me (while moving) and he's all "Are you okay?" Of course, in my head, I'm all "Please, I'm the girl that tripped and fell down the stairs at my junior prom. This ish happens to me all the time." But I just utter a "yeah" and keep moving.

After all, I was the girl who also fell down a flight of stairs while seven months pregnant at my best friend's mom's house the night before her wedding. 'Cause when I do it, I do it big.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Happy 12th Birthday, Teddy!

Twelve years ago today, you were born (That would be 1998 for those of you that are math-challenged like me). You had one sister, who was named Eleanor. Apparently, your mother died in birth, and you and your sister were left on the doorstep to the Norfolk SPCA in a box, your mother in a bag next to you.

The first person to arrive for work was a woman named Dianne (if my memory serves me correctly). She worked for the SPCA for more than 20 years. Immediately, she fed the two of you. Later that evening, she took you and your sister home to raise you.

Fast forward to the first week in June. I'd been living in my first house with my first roommate just off campus since March. Coming from the house I grew up in, where we rescued animals, I missed having a dog. I'd left five at my parents' house. My boyfriend at the time was on his way to take me to lunch. Instead, we ended up at the Norfolk SPCA.

When I first saw you, you were hiding in the corner. Your sister and you were in one cage, she was all over the place. It was instantly obvious why Dianne named you Teddy, you looked just like a little teddy bear—with oversized legs and feet. I was smitten. Dianne told me the story of how you came to her, you were claimed to be a "Lab/Shepherd mix". You were six weeks old that day, and she'd decided you were ready to find a forever home. I filled out the information and brought you home to meet my roommate and her dog, Jasmine Marie (My roommate didn't have a middle name, so she gave her dog one).

The fun part began when I took you to my parents' veterinarian and he was scared to tell me (but told my mom instead) that you were Great Dane, not Shepherd. Which explained your ginormous feet. And appetite.

You tried my patients, chewing everything you could. You peed all over the carpet. And you had an affinity for expensive underwear, but normally only when we had people over. You loved rawhide bones that were bigger than you, and normally you ate them within 3 days. You loved to ride in the car. And you loved your soccer ball. You didn't care for the tide at the beach, but the first time you saw a pool, you ran and jumped right in.

Then we stayed overnight for our first Christmas at my parents' house, and my father came to get you out of my room to go outside with the gaggle of hounds. Later that morning, he said to me, "You really have a good, well-behaved dog." And then you proceeded to win over my mother by sitting at her side while she cooked, not begging, not being a nuisance. I found out later she had a pocket full of treats and was slipping them to you all day.

Now, twelve years later, you've chewed up one pair of brand new New Balance shoes (ever wonder what the real use of the "tongue" is in your shoes? Try wearing them without one), two couches, the electrical cord to a fan (that was plugged in), and one Cox Cable remote control—where the service rep informed me I "should not let my dog chew on the remote..." I told her it wasn't like I ran out of Snausages. You have caught one bird (who knew you could move so fast), one opossum (thanks for that), and somehow missed a chipmunk being in the same room as you for hours. You detest premium dog food and have always preferred the cheap stuff. You won't drink from a clean water bowl, you prefer snarfle in it. You don't like to be outside on your own, only if I'm out there. Unless you're laying on the deck in the sun. You get anxious in the car, but if someone says "wanna go for a ride?" you will push your way into the first vehicle with an open door. You have a bark that scares the beejebus out of most people but have only bitten one person. And as my mother says, you don't seem to age much, you've been in a state of shock since Avery was born.



Happy 12th birthday, Teddy Bear. Or "Theo" as Grammy refers to you. I've enjoyed you being part of my life. But you're not getting a cake because you took it upon yourself to celebrate this morning by eating a library book. And washed it down with some carpet, because apparently that's how you roll. Or was it the remainder of garlic mashed potatoes I fed you last night?

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Town of Blackstone: Major FAIL.

We have lived in this small town (of 8000) for a little over three years now. We've lived in the same house since we moved up here, a half-duplex. We've had no other names, places, or anything. Just us. Here. At the same address.

For some reason, the Town of Blackstone cannot figure out their billing. Here, we get billed for water every six months--which sucks, by the way. When we first moved in, it took almost a year to get the water bill straightened out. Because we were the first owners of the house, they were billing us for the builder's portions of the water bill. We paid late fees. Many late fees. But I didn't have the time to fight with them. So we paid them.

Last week, we got a demand for payment in the mail for Excise tax on the Husband's truck. Which means there apparently was a bill before that which we did not receive. This bill stated that the tax be paid before March 17 or it would go to the collector. And we got it last week. So unless I own a time machine, we are late.

Now, this isn't the first time we've had an issue with Excise Tax bill. Previously, we've gotten blank bills, where they sent us a sheet of paper with our address on it, and we rarely get a bill on time. We always get the demand bills. So I go to Town hall to pay our late bill and bitch.

For those of you that don't know, here in Taxachusetts, apparently legislation was signed in that states if you do not receive a bill, you are still liable for all taxes, interest, and late fees. No one else shall be held responsible. The public has NO rights. This allows towns to send out bills late and purposely collect late fees without repercussion. So now, even though I believe someone did not send out our mail, I now have to pay $93.93 for a $65 Excise bill. But I actually have a longer period to pay the elevated fee than I did for any other portion of this Godforsaken process. How nice of them.

My problem? These people effing suck. Basically, I was told I am supposed to go looking for my own bill should I not get one. So you mean to tell me that these people who are paid a publicly listed salary--which essentially I am paying for--get more days off than most people and work better hours than bankers are not doing their job. Someone's job there is to send out bills to the households in Blackstone. And they are not sending them out. And please spare me the details of our mail getting lost. The postmaster knows who I am and can recall my address when I walk in the door from three years ago when we had no mailbox and I had to check my mail there every day. Mail doesn't "get lost" in this town. Quit blaming the post office. You people are overpaid to do a lousy job and simply get to collect for it. Hell, I can click print, and I know how to send out bulk mail. I'll gladly work for your salary.

The best part? The Tax Collector told me that apparently I am the only person with a problem with the town's billing. Really? Just me? Should I round up everyone that has had a problem and show up at the Town meeting so we can break up the bitching over the school budget? Because everyone I have spoken to seems to think that the Town of Blackstone can't seem to get their head out of their ass. Think I was irate after that conversation?

See, I knew we should have bought that house in Rhode Island. At least their tax issues have ties to the mafia, not because some nitwits are running this joint.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Dear Fellow Gym Member,

I don't feel that I should really have to write a post on gym etiquette. It's been done too many times. However, today? You have really pissed me off. First of all, they make lockers that are kept in rooms called locker rooms. Go put your bag there instead of rifling through it every two minutes. And if I trip on the handle again because you insist on leaving it somewhere inappropriate, I am going to hurl it.

Second, stop staring at the women working out. Yes, we lift weights, too. Apparently more than you. But this ogre-like behavior? Will not land you any dates. And I'm pretty sure the girl you've walked past five time to stare at her ass yet again doesn't bat for your team. Leave her alone and wipe the drool off your mouth.

Lastly, just because you intend on using a piece of equipment does not mean you own it. Yes, I like the inverted leg press. Girls can use those machines, too. So when you stack 75lbs of weight discs on each side and then proceed to talk on your cell phone while pacing worse than my Husband, you need to get your show on the road. Just so you know, I used three other pieces of equipment, did my proper 3 sets of 16 reps, you finally sat down to attempt to lift all this weight you have now stacked up. Oh, wait, did you forget the main plate weighs 115 lbs? Yeah. That's what that big sticker says on it. And if you even try to make me think you've lifted anywhere near the 265 lbs you are now struggling to press, you must be out of your tree, because no one works out in "windpants" anymore and you? Just look like an asshat. Which is further proven when after two more phone calls, you left all that weight on your machine and didn't rerack it. You're not that important, so hang up the damn phone. Also? No one wants to sit in your butt sweat, so like the sign says, wipe down the machine when you're done.

I may be a novice to the gym, but just so we're clear, struggling through three "reps" of insane weight which is clearly too heavy for you and circling the gym four times to check out the ladies does not constitute a good workout. How you're sweating like a pig, I'm not sure. And next time you try to comment to me how you're feelin' your workout, try not to spit on me. Because apparently, I can lift more weight than you.*

K? Thanks,
—the mama (who was not in fact in red today, but purple instead)


*Umm, no, I can't do the 275 lbs with the inverted leg press. But I didn't drop the weight discs, either. And I did three full sets. Just so you know. =)