For those about to rock.....

Matt captioned this one perfectly "Steph f*cks around while everyone else works"

Jeez... Sometimes I can’t believe how stupid I am. My band of merry men and I are going to record a demo at a nearby recording studio soon. Guitar Matt (“Sweet Fingers”) had met the guy who runs the studio and everything seemed good to go. So, shortly after that, I get an email from Matt saying, Hey! We will be rehearsing at the small office from now on. I moved all my equipment over there this weekend. Laura is much happier about that. (his wife.)So, I am thinking: damn, he somehow managed to get this guy to agree to let us have rehearsal space in his studio!! So, this past Wednesday was standard Band Practice Night, --held at Matt's house--so I wrote, “Hey… where is this place anyway?”Matt writes back, “Hmmmm…it’s in the small room across the hall.”
The "new space" that I was so concerned about is in his HOUSE!!! I almost peed myself. He died when he thought that I thought he had lugged his equipment across town. So I explained myself in my reply (why I was retarded, that is) and I ended with: I hope I can find the new space OK. Maybe I’ll Mapquest it. Then, he called to laugh at me, asking if I was sure I could find where practice was. Practice ended up being fun, we are trying some new stuff. So, onto other topics….2 weeks ago we had a great show. It was like one big party…. Vinny stayed with us for 3 days and we kicked it. We watched Chappelle's show, and quoted it for the next few days: (the Black Bush skit: “Oil? Who said anythin’ ‘bout oil, bitch? You cookin’?”) We also rented the Grudge, which I had been too scared to see, and Vinny chased my fears away with his MST3k-like comments that actually turned it into a comedy. If not for him I woulda had nightmares 4 shure. We went out for St. Patty's Day and had a groovy time at this new Irish pub. "MO CUISHLE!" to all you Irish out there. (For those of you who don't know Mo Cuishle, RussMan and I just saw "Million Dollar Baby". Isn't it simply, heartbreakingly divine?? I urge you all to SPRINT to the nearest theatre and watch it). NOW. GO. Then we'll all discuss. It's way deep, man. In fact, Russ was so depressed he had trouble getting out of bed...and this is a man I call "Flatliner" due to his lack of emotion.
I reviewed the book for the Dispatch and was great: “Why Business People Speak Like Idiots…” the CLASSIC part was regarding the SGP’s (Stupid Generic Pictures) on Power Point presentations and how they always have the close up of the “Black/White Handshake” to “promote ethnic balance.” It’s reeeallllly funny.
Ughhh, do I REALLY have to go in the rain and get the kids? Can’t they walk? I mean, will they melt?Of course, I talk tough but the guilt will get me when I imagine their poor, sopping wet faces as they trudge glumly along.
Man, what a week for news! My take:
1.) Terri Schiavo is not Jesus, her mother is NOT Mary, (I don't believe the Bible teaches that the Son of God was in a persistent vegitative state!) Since when did our government become a bunch of Bible thumpers?
2.) Michael Jackson: the world’s most famous moonwalking pedophile!!! (Is this even in question? Seriously?)
3.) 10 killed on a reservation: I’d go nuts too if I had to live in upstate Minnesota in the middle of nowhere. As usual, people aren’t paying attention to their kids.
4.) The woman hostage in Atlanta: God love her. She was meant to be there at that time, I mean really. Someone else could have completely blown it. But she made that man her friend. (What the hell happened to that man to make him lose it like that? Something is weird there. He seems to be a lost soul rather than purely evil, like a serial killer or the evil #4 above.)
5.) Scott Peterson enters San Quentin!!! Heh, heh, heh. Bend over, Scotty, Bubbah’s gonna take that smirk off your face.
Am I missing anything?
There are other newsworthy items I had written about, but they were a bit harsh so I deleted them. (I pussed out)..... yes, I admit it. Sometimes my views are too hard-core for my gentle readers. But, I still am who I am....I just won't broadcast it.

OK, new topic: went to SC three weeks ago. Charleston is fantastic. It’s like stepping back in time. It has everything: beaches, history, cobblestones, palm trees, old graveyards, great food, beautiful houses…..I may have to retire there. And only 11 hours away! The B&B was great: an ivy covered carriage house, with a balcony and our own little apartment, living room, bedroom, bath…I LOVED IT!!!! We sat on the verandah with a bottle of really good South African wine that we purchased in the oldest liquor store in the US. Saw a plantation, old buildings, a fort, basically walked our buns off. Had some good shrimp & grits!
Sunday I went to visit Mom in Lima Bean Town. She, Beth and I went to the mall, strolled around, and gabbed.We're remodeling our house. Russ proudly showed me the plans he whipped up. Anyway, the TV room is gonna look sweet. I am great with color and interiors, and Russ is great with the manual labor..you know, that pesky stuff like, ummm, building it. White trim, blue walls (like the color of Kate Winslet’s Oscar dress…oh, what? You mean most people DON’T see things that way?), track lighting above the fireplace (cobalt blue pendants), new rug….schwing!!!!
My back is KILLI NG ME……………………………go-dang it. It’s all the way up in my neck now. I didn’t stretch today. Gotta do my downward facing dog….I am totally turning into my dad. I am getting all his ailments.
OK I have babbled enough for now. Gotta go… Jordy has drum lessons (I broke down and picked them up from school, of course) and I am gonna give the heathens a snack.

Part 2..A Chloe Story
We’re driving to the store, and Chloe suddenly mused that she had been alive for seven years. I said, “Yep… seven little years.” Then she thought about that and said, “Jeeesh! I don’t know nothin’!”
So after I laughed at that, she piped up, “Except about the great wall of China, which my precious gift from above…Mom…told me about.” Could ya die?!I did show her once on the Internet how you could see the Great Wall from space, and she thought that was super cool. But I’m a “precious gift from above!?”You never know what they’ll remember!!!
Another Chloe-ism: she calls a hook (like that you hang your coat on) a "hooker." (IE, "can I hang my coat on this hooker?")
Anyway….I HAVE to work out. It is SO time to lose my lardass. I am sick of it. This f*ing bulk is preventing me from attaining the hotness that I am accustomed to. Oh well. Who cares, anyway?? (except Russ, hee hee) no… he told me he’d leave my ass if I ever got fat, so I must still be OK. (Actually, he’s lying. I AM fat and he hasn’t left.) I don't care... I am going to get a shirt made up that says "I can lose weight, but you'll always be ugly!!" (Not referring to Russ, cause he's hot.)So off I go to Tae Bo... Out!

PS I LOVE CONSTANTINE!!!!! Fellow theatre-rat-rocker!!!! Man, that boy is smokin'. Though I am not a fan of his chin, everything else is working for me. *UPDATE* I am in mourning over his demise....

My house becomes a roadside rest stop

Yesterday I witnessed something that will take years of deep, primal therapy to erase from my tormented brain. Maybe never.
First let me state that you are reading about a girl who, due to some quirky, weird phobia (I have others, too) will travel an entire 12-hour journey in the car without stopping at a bathroom. If something happens where I HAVE to stop, (and NUMBER ONE ONLY! Dear God!)I will take a deep breath, (and not inhale again until I am safely back outside), squint my eyes as not to see anything unpleasant, and kick the door in, a la Sidney in Alias, as not to touch anything. I will then accomplish the task as quickly as possible, all the while a pain-like grimace on my face.
And on an airplane? Forget it. My teeth would float in my head before I would use one of those holes in the sky.
Yep...I like the yellow, warm, cozy, nest-like bathroom in my house. Like a cat, I have marked that as my territory.
But now, my yellow, warm, cozy, nest-like bathroom has been defiled.
Here it is. Yesterday, we had windows installed. I'm thinking, "Cool! Windows! No big deal, I'll go about my day." WRONG. From 8am on, a herd of clomping, dirty, loud, cattle-like men in huge puffy suits that looked like the Feds' when they were chasing "ET" invaded my home. It was 20 degrees out, and frigid blasts ripped through my house all day as they, of course, cut huge holes in the walls. (Well, the holes were already there, but you get my gist.) The noise! The dirt! The mud! But all this was child's play until I heard the first toilet flush at 8:20.
I was at my laptop (I was forced downstairs all day, as the herd of men were upstairs installing all the bedroom windows until 1:30) and my ears perked up alertly, adrenalin beginning to surge, fight-or-fight kicking in: Was that a flush? Yes. It was.
Several flushes followed in the next hour, but since I was tuned into what was going on, I was a BIT mollified when I realized they were Number Ones, because I would mentally time the span between the door shutting and the flush. And the potty breaks were all under a minute or two. So I breathed a bit easier, but was still disgusted. I mean, people. Can't you hold your water for a couple hours? Are we babies with no control?
And then... at 11:30.... I heard ANOTHER flush.
And then, I cocked my head, doglike, when I heard a sound that followed the flush. Was it?....Could it be...?
It was.
THE FAN WAS ON.
A surge of vomit moved up into my throat as I closed my eyes and ears against the horror. No, the large Grizzly Adams window-installer did NOT do what I was thinking in my bathroom. Drop the kids off at the pool, liberate the chocolate hostages, you know the terms. I managed to get up from my desk in the dining room and make my way to the foot of the stairs and look up. Yep..at the top of the stairs, a firmly closed bathroom door with the fan whirling away behind it. You know what a closed door signifies, don't you, friends?? When the person who has just been in there has left and the fan is on? Yes. It's the equivalent of a skull-and-crossbones flag.

Sickened, I wandered into the kitchen where I had cut myself some cheese (not unlike the fellow upstairs) and crackers. My stomach soured and I turned away. (I have discovered a new diet, I think. I just need to have someone poop in my house and I'll be a freakin rail.)
The next hours were spent in a haze of trauma, calling everyone I knew about what had happened, and emailing long, wailing descriptions of the hell I was going through. (One friend asked me, when he checked in an hour later, "So, has anyone asked you for a beer and the remote yet?")
At 1:30, the gang moved downstairs, and I was finally free to go upstairs and FINALLY get dressed, put my contacts in, etc etc. Fearfully, I opened the bathroom door, and surveyed the damage. It LOOKED normal. But underneath...like a disease....something evil lurked.
I had to pee myself by then, so I gritted my teeth and lifted the lid, praying that all was well in Tidy Bowl land. But, 'twas not to be. Being kind, I will spare you the details of what my poor, horrified eyes saw, but let's just say...The bathroom-pillaging gent had left me a present. At this sight, I believe actual tears sprang to my eyes. I quickly dressed, numb and shellshocked, and bolted from the house. I drove aimlessly and distractedly, heading in the general vicinity of WalMart. (As I drove, I was conflicted: I wanted to be out of that house, but now that I was gone, I feared that what was happening in my absence and NOT being able to keep accurate records of the time-between-flushes, fan-or-no-fan, etc., was just as bad. I visualized the gaggle of merry men shrieking "Yeee-haaaw....she's gone!" as I drove off, and going hog-wild, doing their business freely in all of my bathrooms.)
There was one thing I could do.
I picked up my cell phone and dialed Action Maids, saying, "Hi. Can you get someone out to my house tomorrow?"
"Ummmm, let's see. We're pretty booked up...how about next week?"
"Well, you see, I had some workers in my house, and...they used my bathroom." (I felt the need to explain my urgency.)
There was a silence, then... "OOOoooohhhhhh."
I waited through another pause, then the voice said: "We'll have someone out there tomorrow at 10am."
So, in a few moments, when Action Maids arrives with their arsenal of mops and Comet, I will be able to say like in Poltergeist: "This house is cleeeann." My potty will be restored to a virginlike state, and the memory, in time, will fade. But you better believe that I'll be sending A__E___C__ Windows the bill.
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Musings on Spinach Dips

Ahhh, the subtle nuances of the Spinach and Artichoke dips I have loved in my life... and some I have not been so fond of.
All different, yet all providing fulfulling pleasure in their own ways....as Willie Nelson croons, I could say "To all the spinach dips I have loved before, your creamy goodness brings me back for more,....your tanginess I adore, some crabmeat makes me love you more, to all the dips I've looooved before..."

And now, for your amusement and mine, a brief dissertation on various spinach dips. You see, my husband and I have left a wake of destruction across this land, tearing into spinach dips like kids on crack. Over the years, we have gleaned enough expertise to earn a doctorate in this field.... (ummm, the field of appetizers?) So here are my findings.

1.) THE BIG KAHUNA, THE GOLD MEDAL: J Alexander's, Columbus, Ohio.
In 1994, I tried this for the very first time, and it's still the mother of all spin dips. Its consistency is creamy and smooth, its flavor cheesy yet mellow, its base color a gold, the chips are crispy white corn. Simply, no other dip in the universe can even compare.

2.) The Rooftop Restaurant at Vendue Inn, Charleston, SC......
Mmmm, divine. This was a creamier consistency, with whole chunky artichokes that Russ and I fought over. In fact, I had to bite a piece of kitten-sized artichoke in half to appease him. The base color was more of a white, and the spinach not as smoothly blended as the J Alexander spinach dip, which can be good, because sometimes you like to have a bit of variety in each bite. I loved the subtle sour cream-like aftertaste.

3.) Rush Creek Sports Bar (now KC's), Worthington, OH--- WTF is that?? A blob of cold mayonnaise with a few strings of spinach thrown in. No, no, no. I give it a 1.5. A disgrace to the Spinach Dip family's good name.

4.) King Street Grille, Charleston, SC..... Stringy and dry. Not creamy and blended. A bit cold. Chips too salty. Delicious if, for example, your plane went down and you were stranded on an island with the choice of eating this dip or your own big toe. Like, I'll take it if I must. But its dryness, and lack of tartness, makes me give this one a 4.5.

5.) A surprising dark horse candidate: RED LOBSTER. Yes... believe it. This has a leg up because of the crab factor. Sweet crab meat......thick and creamy...chunks of tangy artichokes....colorful chips.... my God, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

6.) Applebees... Booooo. It could have been a solid 5 or 6, but the fact that I had a plateful of chips left over after about a two teaspoon-sized bowl of dip was wiped clean... now that just makes me mad.

7.) A strong contender: Max and Erma's. This, too, has crab. And like typical M&E portions, the bowl could feed a small army. Base color is a pale greenish-gold; it is bold and flavorful, blended wonderfully. Always a solid favorite. Damn.

8.) Moose McGillicuddys, San Diego, CA.....yum. Robust hints of parm and romano cheese, served piping and steaming in a bread bowl. I was warm, happy, and satisfied, like a little girl tucked in bed after bath night. I love a dip that can do all that.

9.) Jake Melnick's Corner Tap, Chicago.... Hot and decadent dip, as sinful as the gangsters that once ruled that city. And damn, we loved it. It's bad (that means good) knows it, and doesn't try to fight it. It's as creamy as melted taffy. The steam rose to the ceiling.

10) Cannon's, New Orleans, LA.... Dayyyam. Stumbled off the St Charles streetcar and stumbled into love, Creole style. Spicy and thick, like a thick soup, but not in a bad way. Very flavorful...... bold, but not impertinent or precocious. A dip who knows who it is.

12) Ye Old AssFreezer Bar and Grille, Nuuk, Greenland: On an ice-fishing expedition, we popped into an igloo and lo and behold, the spinach dip that our waitress, Anke Kirrgkerradddd, brought us was straight from the States. We feasted on a steaming, lumpy dip with notes of butter and cream, zesty artichokes....and then followed it up by a platter of whale blubber. There's no place like home.....

13.) While trekking through Bhutan, the least-travelled country in the Himalayans, we certainly got hungry. So we popped into the village of Paro--- the "Capital City" if you will-- and bothered some monks at the Takstang Monastery. Coincidentally, they were whipping up some lunch in their little kitchen and playing the latest Killers CD. We lunched on a big batch of spin dip-- and man, I mean this stuff was FRESH, they grow their own in their backyard. It was a pure, untouched delicacy. Very light... in fact, all it had in it was hunks of spinach and artichokes, mixed together with some warm goat milk. But we were hungry and it tasted like heaven. OOOooooommmmmm..... everything Zen.
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