Archive for September, 2011

SQUEEE!!!!!!!!!!  Can you believe it? 100!

Um, what? 100 what?

Ya, posts. Hard to believe I’ve had nothing to say 100 times, especially this time.  😆

In other news, I have admitted defeat.  I don’t think the house gremlin is going to respond to my letter.  And I can’t say that I blame him.  Heck, those toe socks are S–E–X–Y!!!

I did order my new shoes (and freebie toe socks!) today. They come with some pretty serious stipulations, though. Even though these are going to replace my regular tennis shoes, Hunny has expressed his desire not to be seen in public with me wearing them.

Yes, he thinks they are that ugly. Initially, I am bothered by his response.

Since when does he care about what I’m wearing, particularly on my feet? Really? There’s never been a single item of anything he’s been unwilling to be seen with me wearing in the last 20 years. Why start now? 

In this case, I am convinced that my ethereal beauty is so overwhelming that people will fail to notice the hobbit feet. 😆

He wouldn’t have had an issue with Z-Coil shoes. 






He wouldn’t have had an issue with the rolly shape-up shoes. 






He even laughed and told me to go for it when I said I wanted to find the flipper heel shoes.








But he has a problem being seen in public with me while I’m wearing Vibram Five Fingers Komodosport LSes?




Ppffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttt !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have to say, I am surprised. Shocked, even. But daunted? Intimidated? Chicken? Thwarted?

Not on your life!  😆  I think he’d better get used to it!  I supposed, if it’s really a hit to his perception of respectability, I will cave and wear heels with my jeans as I have done for the last several years.  But the thought of no foot pain while on vacation?!  Comfort?  No foot pain? Did I mention consistently not having foot pain?

Ya.  I think that trumps his reaction and “need” for fashion. (Like, when did he even start caring about that anyhow?!) 🙄   😆

Now, if I can just figure out how to combine my fashion love of VFFs with chickens……… 😆

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Dear House Gremlin,

You know what I’m talking about. Please, give them back.

I have been hunting high and low the last several days, to no avail. I have nearly torn my house apart.  And you know I find mess overwhelming, particularly when I have to put stuff back.

Eventually, the devil is going to want his hot weather back. At some point, he’ll take his mid-90s back, and I am going to need them. In theory.

You’ve had them for several weeks. Give me my toe socks back. Please. Particularly if we have a wicked frigid cold snap like we had last year, I am going to need them. I think my feet will be cold in -14 degree weather.

I’d hate to think that I will have to order another pair of shoes (although I already have them picked out and sitting in my shopping cart ;)) just to get another pair of freebie toe socks.

Please. I am begging you (which is not a pretty sight)- please please PLEASE give me my socks back. In case you’ve stashed them with the other missing socks and have forgotten what they look like, here is a picture to remind you. Except mine are black.  (They didn’t give me the choice of the snappy rainbow colors, and seeing as they were free, I wasn’t complaining.)

You know my schedule, and it’s ok to return them when I’m sleeping, so long as you don’t wake any of us up. Given your penchant for stealth, this should be right up your alley.

Scratch that- I just want them back, so you can wake us up if you need to. Please, don’t delay. I don’t want to have to hit the “check out” button, if I don’t have to.



P.S. Thanks again for bringing back those two work shirts after several weeks.  I was beginning to give up hope that you would ever return them, and seriously, you know how I am with having broken matched sets of things. So, thanks for that.

Please, leave my socks somewhere I can find them easily.  I have that drawer full of mismatched socks- I’m happy to trade anything in that drawer for the safe return (no questions asked!) of my toe socks.

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Have you been watching? I have, and I am disturbed.

I think we all know by now that before someone is called for a job interview, HR is scouring the internet to see what they can find about prospective employees. That’s one part of this.

My response to this is: privacy settings.  Use ’em.

Be judicious about who you have as “friends.” My rule is that if I don’t know someone, I don’t friend them.  Some people don’t care. I do. If I don’t know someone reasonably well, I don’t friend them. Ya, I know, I’m weird that way. 😆

That’s not what has me thinking. Nope. What’s got me thinking and wondering this morning is another ruling pertaining to firing/disciplining employees for something they shared online. Usually, this happens on FaceBook.

In this case, the ruling was in the employee’s favor. More and more, though, I have seen policies going into play that dictate what a person can share online. In one case, it’s no pictures having to do with the profession (these are public employees). The policy, as I understand it, also includes verbiage that includes dismissal resulting from comments posted online.

I’m not a lawyer, nor do I play one on TV, but this has me scratching my head to some degree. I can understand the need for a policy that deals with any kind of information shared; whether it’s verbal or in writing if it, for example, involves a criminal case. People often lack common sense, and once it’s out there, it’s out there. (Use your privacy settings, people! And don’t count on the fact that things will stay the same and that what you just wrote won’t ever be broadcast to the general public at large- if it’s out there, chances are that someone could- and probably will-  find it!)

But venting and being frustrated getting people fired? Are they sharing state secrets which make them guilty of espionage? Did they share something online that is a federal offense?

As someone who actually was the receiving end of libel, and someone who learned how hard it is to prosecute and win this kind of case (particularly if no big money was going to be able to be won), it just leaves me scratching my head.

Where is the line between freedom of speech and libel?

When did we start living in such a nanny state that people are not allowed to vent without fear of repercussion?

{We’re not talking cyber-bullying (or plain ‘ole bullying) here- that is a whole ‘nother ball of wax. I do agree, in large part, that people have lost manners. It’s really easy to cut loose and dash off stuff we would never say to a person’s face.}

A few years ago, I probably would have taken the stance that if you hated a place so much that you had to disparage it online, maybe you should find somewhere else to work. Not that it wasn’t your right, of course, to offload frustration, but if you were sooooooo unhappy, maybe you ought to shift gears and work somewhere else. No one benefits from continually being mired in a toxic situation.

These day, though, jobs are few and far between. With the economy and job climate the way it is, something really is better than nothing in most cases.

When did the rights of an employer change a person’s fundamental right to free speech? I realize there have always been policies in place for an employee’s conduct. When did it spill over into a person’s private life and the ability to voice an opinion?

I can even see this as a problem if you are in the public eye as a representative of the company.  Clearly, you can’t promote the company, if that is part of your job description, if you are busy talking out the other side of your mouth and being consistently disparaging. Obviously, there is a disconnect there.

But to be able to fire someone for saying/writing on their own time something you don’t like? Am I the only one who feels this is a bit over the top and a lot big-brotherish?

What has this world gotten to?!

Sound off and leave me a comment!

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Oh my chickies,

How I love thee,

Clucky, screechy, cooey,

A delightful sight to see.


Your eggs are marvelous,

A surprise every day,

Which one of you

Will now start to lay?


 Our mystery egg layers,

Brown, brown, brown, blue!

Brown and white speckled-

Was it you?


Oh how your yolks

Are such a deep yellow,

No doubt about it,

You’re sure to spoil a fellow.


Oh my chickies,

How I love thee,

Fluffy, feathery, funny,

The best pet in history!


Eggs were being broken and in the bowl by the time I managed to drag myself out of bed this morning. I was going to wait until we had a full dozen before getting a picture, but apparently eating the eggs was more important to the people I live with.  😆

By the end of yesterday, we had 9 eggs.  We know for sure Cocoa is laying; we think our green egg layer is Chocolate Chip.  Yesterday, someone laid a brown and white speckled egg (beautiful!!).  Process of elimination tells us it has to be one of these girls: BRs Rocky, or Pepper, PR Roxy, or BOs Butternut, Sunny or Daisy. 

While the eggs are a little smaller at this point (they will get bigger as they get used to making and laying), the egg yolks were the same size as store-bought eggs.  The color difference, though- WOW.  Store bought chicken eggs look anemic compared to the rich orangey/golden yellowy color of home “grown” eggs.  And there is no comparison in taste, if you have ever had them.

This picture (obviously) is not mine, but is a good demonstration of the difference between eggs.  It comes courtesy of Jackie Clay’s blog, which is linked on my side bar. This picture comes from a blog post in 2009.  If I grow up, I’d want to live like Jackie and her husband Will……..

Mother Earth News has a good article on the differences in nutritional content between store-bought and home pastured eggs. The article shares the results of studies done in conjunction with USDA comparing commercial eggs to those from hens that have regular or daily access to the outdoors.

What’s the difference?

• 1/3 less cholesterol
• 1/4 less saturated fat
• 2/3 more vitamin A
• 2 times more omega-3 fatty acids
• 3 times more vitamin E
• 7 times more beta carotene

Many people try to be conscious of the food they consume, and will pay extra $$$ for food that is labeled “organic.”  When you are dealing with eggs, you may find labels like “free range” or “organic” or “certified humane.”

This is where your critical thinking skills are important.  Those terms sound good, but what do they actually mean?

Certified Organic: The birds are uncaged inside barns or warehouses, and are required to have outdoor access, but the amount, duration, and quality of outdoor access is undefined. They are fed an organic, all-vegetarian diet free of antibiotics and pesticides, as required by the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s National Organic Program. Beak cutting and forced molting through starvation are permitted. Compliance is verified through third-party auditing.” (my emphasis on this last part)

Free range? No standards.  Don’t believe me?  Go to Egg Carton Labels and read for yourself. For us, this was a no-brainer. Chickens are pretty easy. We planned for, but haven’t lost any yet (except for rehoming Jasmine) and the pure enjoyment factor was completely unexpected. 

Because our chickens have been socialized, they are very friendly. If you try to eat outside, it is guaranteed you will have chickens surrounding you on your lap and chair and trying to eat off your plate. The last time I was outside eating popcorn and had to resort to keeping the bowl on my head, I knew it was probably time to take my eating back indoors. Yesterday, I was in the run and ended up with a chicken (Cocoa) on my shoulder, riding around, being gleeful to be higher up than any of others. 😆

I have to say (and you already knew this :lol:) but I’ll never go back to not having chickens. Entertainment value alone, I’d have them, even if they didn’t lay eggs. And they are inspiring! They made me want to write really bad poetry!

Pets with benefits- YAY!  Now if only we could get the dogs to give us edible eggs…… 😆

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Or maybe not. 

You, my bloggy friends, will have to help me out.  I’ve been warned not to believe everything I read on the internet, and y’all are my first line of defense.  (ok, I’ll admit, I’ve been poking around and at this point in my post, I can’t seem to find a real answer. You guys are my “phone-a-friend” lifeline.)

I have been nominated for an online award. {blush} I’m flattered.  Y’all can stop clapping and cheering now.  Really, you shouldn’t.  Your hands will get chafed. 🙂  Please, do stop now.  😀

I have been searching high and low, and I have deduced nada about this award.  Looky! I found something and linked it below!

Nope. Nothing. Oh wait, now I’ve found something else! 😆

To further complicate things, I have seen a variety of rules. Because you know I am a stickler for getting the rules, I am not sure I can go on unless I have a sanctioned, authoritative version of them. I mean, if I don’t know what the rules *actually* are, how do I know which ones to break?!

Because I am the inquisitive sort of person, the history of such things is important to me.  If I don’t know the history and origins, how can I be sure it’s compatible with my personal manifesto?

What other ventures/entities/life forces is this award affiliated with? Because, you know, I need to make sure who I’m endorsing defacto.  It would not bode well for the award to be partly sponsored by, I don’t know, peta (people for the ex-termination of arachnids- ya, no one said they could spell), for example.

While I am not personally keen on keeping arachnids, the only ill will I wish on them is to be eaten by my chickens. I certainly cannot endorse peta’s methods or ideology, nor can I, in clean conscience, be associated by any measure with it. Thus, it’s critically important to me to know who the award folks are in bed with, if anyone.

What are my responsibilities as a nominee?  What responsibilities would I have should I win? I’m already married, so getting unmarried for an award is not on the table.  I also have kids that I can’t give back, so we’re at an impasse there as well. I’d be open to some product sponsorship/promotion, but my liver has limits, if you know what I mean. 😉

But perhaps the most important question is: what do I get if I win? Will they give me a theme, perhaps, so that I can get with the program and stop being so “versatile”?  😆

Since I am not sure on these points, and because I’m only nominated at this point, I will have to rely on my recommending blogger, Living In Obscurity, for a general look at the rules.  Apparently, to receive this award, one must:

1) You must give credit (which I did above) to the person who nominated you. 

2) You must list 15 blogs you enjoy or follow most; link to them (which I’ve done below), and then tell them you have nominated them.

3) Ya gotta tell 7 things about yourself to accept the award.

Fortunately, I found this link here that led me to this link here which has helped me sort this out.  I am much relieved to not find an affiliation to peta, so I think I’m ok.  As far as I can tell, the award is the button/badge, which hopefully shows up on the side bar.

Without further ado (and in no particular order, so don’t be whiny if you’re not at the front of the line)…………………

  1. The Wandering Atavist
  2. Hobbling Around
  3. Mother Hen’s Nest
  4. You Monsters Are People
  5. Ever Evie
  6. Morning Wood
  7. I Think Divorce is Likely
  8. Growing Up Cate
  9. That Precarious Gait
  10. Mystery Coach
  11. 43 and Single- Heaven Help Me, I’ve Resorted to Internet Dating
  12. Red Gate Farm
  13. Chica Andaluza
  14. RaeDi at Hummingbird Hollow
  15. Better Hens and Gardens

7 things about myself you probably don’t want to know but I’m going to tell you anyhow:

  1. I was an adopted, breastfed baby (and since I’m older, that means something to some).
  2. I am not fluent in German.  Or in any other language- except maybe English, and some days, that’s debatable.
  3. I’m not a fan of heights, unless I’m strapped down, whereby my inclination to jump is thoroughly thwarted.  I’ve contemplated sky diving, but since I’m not on my last leg, I figured I’d wait until my mid 80s when I (hopefully) won’t be as concerned with the logic of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.
  4. Not that this is something you don’t already know, but man, I’m only on number 4 and running out of ideas, so I’m putting it in here anyhow: my favorite pet is a chicken.
  5. Running a marathon is not on my bucket list, but it might happen accidentally.  Just not all at one time.  😉
  6. I am slightly insane. It’s my lie, and I’m sticking to it. 😀 Don’t talk to my hunny or my kids, because I’m sure they will tell you that I’m wrong- they think I’m totally insane.
  7. I am an introvert. I’d rather be by myself (on a mountain somewhere) and reading a book than at a party; even if it had spectacular food.
  8. If we ever hit the lottery, we’re going to hire a chef and a masseuse/masseur (without the sex part).
  9. I like green eggs and ham. We got a green egg yesterday, although we don’t know yet who laid it since we were gone. Every day is like an Easter egg hunt here!
  10. If I could drive anything in the world, it would be a bigger truck than what I’m driving now. Big trucks are my way of compensating for being short.  It’s the only time I can see over anything, including 1/2 of my kids!
  11. I apparently can’t count since I’m already on number 11. 😆 Since I believe these are all fundamentally important facts, I can’t pick which ones I should delete, for fear of hurting feelings. I’ll leave it to you to whittle the list down on your own.

Whew!  I know you feel as exhilarated and excited as I do to have completed the requirements for award acceptance! Thank you for joining my journey of evolution, from ignorance to enlightenment and ultimately acceptance. 

Please do share in my delight as I accept and we view together the Award for The Versatile Blogger:

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I am not a fan of shopping. Of any kind. In particular, I despise shopping for clothes. (I do, however, appreciate appliances being gifted to me!)

When you are short like me, you find that you fall into a category whereby petite pants might fit if you can find your size (which I usually can’t), but shirts are always too short-waisted, and forget it if you have something up top. I have resorted to longer pants and just rolling them up.

Every size from brand to brand is different, and I’ll be darned if the fit between sizes and styles isn’t completely different, too, which means hours and hours of trying on things that don’t fit. If it fits in the store, you have a 50/50 chance that it won’t fit by the time you get home, because, you know, we’re girls.

Recently, I did actually get some new pants. I figure, I don’t care if capris are longer than most because I’m short; it just does not matter to me. Because I don’t enjoy clothes shopping (and what IS it with the fun house mirrors in the dressing rooms?!!!), I try to get in and out as quickly as is humanly possible.

This last venture has resulted in some cute capris. That want to fall on the ground.  Seriously.

What is with these hipster pants?  Really?  I don’t want to see your undies; I am certain you don’t want to see mine.  Or my crack. (please, Lord, tell me that’s covered when I bend over!!) I can tell you for sure that I don’t want to see yours, even if you are a plumber. Just. No. Desire.

Yep, those new capris are hipsters. And if they aren’t designed that way, that is where they land because they are too short-waisted to be pulled up to a reasonable position. How on earth did I miss this in the dressing room?!!

I’m not a fan of belts, either, but by golly, I found some in my closet, buried in the back. (Because, you know, sweats don’t require belts. I always figured if I had to be a Spice Girl, I would definitely be Sporty Spice, because that’s the way I rolled. Until my foot doctor told me to wear heels to help my plantar fasciitis….. but I digress)

If you don’t have belts, but wear hipsters, please, I implore you, invest in a versatile belt. I consider it to be a public service, and will make sure to do my part when my own shopping goes awry.


Trust me when I say, no one wants to see your pants (or mine!) on the ground!

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You know I don’t usually do this.  Actually, I have never done this before (make a blog post out of something I saw on Facebook).  This one, though, was too funny to pass by.

If you’ve been reading along, you may have stumbled across my What A Pain! post, where I share my exercise history and love of yoga.  While I primarily run these days, I’m still doing about 30 minutes of yoga as part of my warm-up, cool-down and stretching regime.

Language alert for anyone concerned.  No idea if this is a real  Craigslist ad or not, but it’s funny, and apparently copyrighted by Craigslist Inc. Courtesty of the Bikram Hot Yoga Albuquerque page on Facebook……


Yoga mat for sale. Used once – $1

Date: 2011-09-17, 8:41PM PDT

Reply to: sale-vuyvq-2604350472@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]

Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class. Usage timeline as follows:



Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself.



Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date.



I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her.



The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiancée may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning.



Begin small talk with my bride to be. She pretends to ignore me but I know how she can be. I allow her to concentrate and stare straight ahead and continue to pretend that I don’t exist. As we finish sharing our special moment, I am suddenly aware of a sweat moustache that has formed below my nose. This must be from the all the whispering between us.



Instructor enters the room and ascends her special podium at the front of the room. She is a slight, agitated Chinese woman. She introduces me to the class and everyone turns around to greet me just as I decide to aggressively adjust my penis and testes packed in my Under Armor. My bride is notably unfazed.



Since I do have experience with Hot Yoga (4 sessions just 5 short years ago) I fully consider that I may be so outstanding and skilled that my instructor may call me out and ask me to guide the class. My wife will look on with a sparkle in her eye. We will make love after class.



It is now up to 95 degrees in the room. We have been practicing deep breathing exercises for the last 8 minutes. This would not be a problem if we were all breathing actual, you know, oxygen. Instead, we are breathing each other’s body odor, expelled carbon dioxide and other unmentionables. (Don’t worry, I’ll mention them later.)



It is now 100 degrees and I take notice of the humidity, which is hovering at about 90%. I feel the familiar adorning stare of my bride and decide to look back at her. She appears to be nauseated. I then realize that I forgot to brush my teeth prior to attending this class. We bond.



It is now 110 degrees and 95% humidity. I am now balancing on one leg with the other leg crossed over the other. My arms are intertwined and I am squatting. The last time I was in this position was 44 years ago in the womb, but I’m in this for the long haul. My wife looks slightly weathered dripping sweat and her eyeliner is streaming down her face. Well, “for better or worse” is what we committed to so we press on.



The overweight Hispanic man two spots over has sweat running down his legs. At least I think its sweat. He is holding every position and has not had a sip of water since we walked in. He is making me look bad and I hate him.



I consider that if anyone in this room farted that we would all certainly perish.



It is now 140 degrees and 100% humidity. I am covered from head to toe in sweat. There is not a square millimeter on my body that is not slippery and sweaty. I am so slimy that I feel like a sea lion or a maybe sea eel. Not even a bear trap could hold me. The sweat is stinging my eyeballs and I can no longer see.



This room stinks of asparagus, cloves, tuna and tacos. There is no food in the room. I realize that this is an amalgamation of the body odors of 30 people in a 140 degree room for the last 55 minutes. Seriously, enough with the asparagus, ok?



140 degrees and 130% humidity. Look, bitch, I need my space here so don’t get all pissy with me if I accidentally sprayed you with sweat as I flipped over. Seriously, is that where this relationship is going? Get over yourself. We need counseling and she needs to be medicated. Stat!



150 degrees and cloudy. And hot. I can no longer move my limbs on my own. I have given up on attempting any of the commands this Chinese chick is yelling out at us. I will lay sedentary until the aid unit arrives. I will buy this building and then have it destroyed.

I lose consciousness.



I have a headache and my wife is being a selfish bitch. I can’t really breathe. All I can think about is holding a cup worth of hot sand in my mouth. I cannot remember what an ice cube is and cannot remember what snow looks like. I consider that my only escape might be a crab walk across 15 bodies and then out of the room. I am paralyzed, and may never walk again so the whole crab walk thing is pretty much out.



I cannot move at all and cannot reach my water. Is breathing voluntary or involuntary? If it’s voluntary, I am screwed. I stopped participating in the class 20 minutes ago. Hey, lady! I paid for this frickin class, ok?! You work for me! Stop yelling at everyone and just tell us a story or something. It’s like juice and cracker time, ok?



It is now 165 degrees and moisture is dripping from the ceiling. The towel that I am laying on is no longer providing any wicking or drying properties. It is actually placing additional sweat on me as I touch it. My towel reeks. I cannot identify the smell but no way can it be from me. Did someone spray some stank on my towel or something?



Torture session is over. I wish hateful things upon the instructor. She graciously allows us to stay and ‘cool down’ in the room. It is 175 degrees. Who cools down in 175 degrees? A Komodo Dragon? My wife has left the room. Probably to throw up.



My opportunity to escape has arrived. I roll over to my stomach and press up to my knees. It is warmer as I rise up from ground level – probably by 15 degrees. So let’s conservatively say it’s 190. I muster my final energy and slowly rise. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. Towards the door. Towards the door.



The temperature in the lobby is 72 degrees. Both nipples stiffen to diamond strength and my penis begins to retract into my abdomen from the 100 degree temp swing. I can once again breathe though so I am pleased. I spot my future ex wife in the lobby. We had such a good thing going but I know that no measure of counseling will be able to unravel the day’s turmoil and mental scaring.



Arrive at Emerald City Smoothie and proceed to order a 32 oz beverage. 402 calories, 0 fat and 14 grams of protein — effectively negating any caloric burn or benefit from the last 90 minutes. I finish it in 3 minutes and spend the next 2 hours writing this memoir.



Create Craigslist ad while burning final 2 grams of protein from Smoothie and before the “shakes” consume my body.



Note to self – check car for missing wet yoga towel in am.



  • it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2604350472


  • Copyright © 2011 craigslist, inc.

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