The Lisa Life

Just A Good Ole Boy

CMT is sponsoring a contest to find the new vice president of the Dukes Of Hazzard Institute.  They require a job application which features questions not normally found in a job application.  For instance, I don't think they are going to care that I have a master's degree.

The position requires some travel on CMT's dime, you must watch the Dukes Of Hazard every night at both 7 pm and 11 pm EST and do some promotional stuff.

I'm going to apply.

Okay, now that you have all picked yourself up off the floor and are once again comfortably settled into your chair, here's why.

1. I can convincingly affect a southern drawl.

2. I can sing the Dukes of Hazzard theme song and I know it by heart.

3. I look good in a cowboy hat and boots.

4. I'd love the chance to drive the General Lee.

5.The position requires you to write a blog about the Dukes of Hazzard.  I already write one blog, what's another?

6. The position pays $100,000 for a year long employment contract.

My husband at first thought I was joking about this.  He knows I'm not a big fan of country music.  He didn't realize that I loved the Dukes of Hazzard as a kid.  When I told him he had to help me make a videotape to submit, he realized I am not kidding.

I'm doing it in a lighthearted manner and I know there's no chance in hell I'll get picked, but what the heck, for a hundred grand, there's not much barring illegal or immoral activityI won't do.

www.cmtdukesinstitute.com

Cabin Fever, A.K.A. Seasonal Affective Disorder

It's cold.  It's rained a lot this winter.  It's snowed a lot this winter.  I have a lake in my front yard because there is frost in the ground and when the snow melts, the frost acts as a sort of underground Hefty bag and keeps the water from absorbing back into the ground.  Hence, Lake Lisa.  It's grey outside and when it's sunny, it's like 8 below zero so you don't want to actually feel the sun hit your face, you want to run to the nearest shelter.

I am a summer person.  I like to plant and tend my flowers.  I like to sit on the deck with Bain de Soleil on, the CD player going and a great book to read.  I like to get tan.  I like to be outside until 9:30 at night and it's still light.

I am damn sick of winter.  I have read more books this winter than I can even remember.  I have spent countless Saturday and Sunday afternoons this winter eating a paperback for lunch.

I have read at least 1000 blogs.  I've read a lot of blogs that didn't do a thing for me, but some of them were very good and are now on my regular reading list.   A Special Note Of Thanks to Loretta of www.misfitting.com for getting me hooked on this habit in the first place. Loretta, why didn't you warn me?

I have cooked til I could drop and I have no more original amusing meals left in me, nor any complicated baked goods.  At least not until summer.

To combat this,  I have been revisiting the tanning bed.  I don't know if the plastic surgeon would endorse my re-entry into the tanning forum, but at $85 an office visit (he doesn't accept any insurance whatsoever) I don't really feel the need to get his advice.  The scar from the accident is fading nicely and I figure if it doesn't tan well, I will douse it in SPF 45 or cover it while I tan.  So far, though, it seems to actually be fading faster.

I feel so much better in the dead of winter with a little color.  I think it's because I miss all those rays you get in the summer that make you happy. 

With that being said, I must now go tan or else I will disrupt my TV watching schedule.  I don't watch enough TV during the winter, you know.

The Girl Scout Cookies Are Here! The Girl Scout Cookies Are Here!

As you can see, I was very pleasantly surprised to receive my Girl Scout cookies today, courtesy of my co-worker Chuck's daughter.  (NOTE: Chuck has four small daughters.  FOUR.)

I didn't go crazy this year and order 10 boxes, nine Caramel Delights and one Thin Mint for Martin.  I only ordered three boxes.  (NOTE: I know I can hit up the Girl Scouts outside of local grocery stores.)  I showed remarkable restraint in ordering one box of Carmel Delights, one box of Thin Mints and one box of the new Iced Berry Pinatas.

Oh. My. God.  Are those Berry cookies excellent.  Mia liked them too.  I highly recommend them.  They may even surpass the Caramel Delights on my list.

Meijer Thrifty Acres Has Stolen An Hour Of My Life

Let me give you the background here if you are not familiar with Meijer Thrifty Acres, a.k.a. as My GERS or MTA or "going Meijering."

Meijers was a one-stop store started back in I believe the 70s out in Grand Rapids.  It slowly grew, based upon Henrick Meijer's leadership.  Old Henrick is the Michigan version of Sam Walton, only Henrick was Dutch and he doesn't carry clothes endorsed by Kathy Lee Gifford or the Olsen twins.    And that's a good thing, Henrick, may you rest in peace knowing that you made your pennies exploiting something other than child labor.

Meijer stores are enormous in size.  On the positive side, you can buy an outfit, tinfoil, a gallon of milk, a fifth of tequila and windshield wiper blades, not to mention that R rated DVD and some adult content labeled CDs, in addition to getting a cup of Starbucks right inside the store. (TAKE THAT SAM, YOU SELF-RIGHTEOUS OLD FART BAG!)  On the down size, you have to walk sixteen miles to do so. 

They do have good deals, an extensive booze collection and decent clothes.  Not great, but decent.

And they sell tequila. What more could you want, really?

I avoid the Brighton Meijer because they have particularly lazy, scarce employees and not enough of them.  Waiting in line is always a terrible ordeal because even though they have like 50 check-outs, only half are open and there are four of five people ahead of you in every single one.  Including the stupid check yourself out ones, which I refuse to use since they have already made me walk 16 miles without reasonable intelligent interaction with one of their employees, other than the elderly mentally addled greeter at the door who says hello every time I get within 10 feet of her, although she has already said hello to me 6 times. They can damn well check me out in person and bag the shit, too. Meijer also hires mentally challenged adults to bag.  I have no problem with this at all, my mother taught developmentally disabled children.  I do have a problem, though, when I buy 12 items and all 12 are placed in a separate bags for no apparent reason. I also have a problem when the baggers try to do the whole cart switcherooy thing and my CHILD IS IN THE BASKET OF THE CART THEY ARE PUSHING AWAY.

Yesterday, I waited in line for about 40 minutes in Meijer.  I waited out the first 15 fairly calmly, in fact I lost track of time since I was caught up in reading about The Woman Brad Really Loves in some tabloid, I think it was In Touch. (NOTE: This was such a banal article, I couldn't tell you Who The Woman Brad Really Loves Is, so don't ask.)  When I put it back into the rack, the woman ahead of me, who's shopping cart was loaded for bear groceries, commented to me, "We have been in line far too long."

I suggested that if we had to wait so long, the least Meijer could do is serve cocktails and a little something to munch.   Or at least a chair and a good foot massage.

NOTE: This is not the first time I have amused myself by making friends in line at Meijers.   This is generally because my husband is sick of talking to me on the cell phone and I just can't read some of the magazines they have by the checkouts.  Yeah, I'll read the National Enquirer and In Touch and the Star, but I'm certainly not a fan of Teen Vogue or Cosmopolitan (the 70s are over, girls, really.)

After waiting in line all that time, I had to traipse all the way to the far entrance to the service counter, where I was ignored for several additional minutes.  Then, all the way back to the entrance near where I think I parked.  I am not completely sure where I am parked since I have been sucked into the retail vortex and my brain turned to mush waiting in line so long.

Like every time after my infrequent visits to Meijer, I tell myself, never again.  Henrick Meijer just stole an hour out of my life and he's never giving it back.  On the plus side, we plow that Meijers.  Maybe Henrick can make it up to me somehow, since I do the billing.

The Interview Game

This comes via Slices Of Stacy.

Official Rules For The Interview Game

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment saying "interview me."

2. I will respond by asking you five questions.  Each person's will be different but they may all included the dreaded "dead hooker" question.

3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.

Stacy's Questions For Me

1.  Choose one of the three1) Bennifer, 2) Bennifer Redux, 3) Drown Ben Affleck in his non-alcoholic beer.

2. You have captured Osama Bin Laden, you have a gun and there's nobody around.  Do you bring him back to the U.S. for trial or do you shoot his ass right there?

3. Free will or predetermination?

4. What's your favorite curse word?  Give us an example of when you used it and were glad and when you used it and regretted it.

5. I'm taking my daughter and her best friend (both of them not quite 3) to see "Pooh's Heffalump Movie" on Sunday.  Should I sneak in a flask or take a Valium first?

My Responses

1. Drown Ben Affleck in his stupid pretentious non-alcoholic beer.

2. Shoot his ass right there!

3. Free will

4. Fuck! My overall favorite usage is "For fuck's sake."  I used it this morning and it made me very happy.  I regretted using it when I dropped my purse at the doctor's office and everything fell out and I exclaimed,  "Oh for FUCK's sake!"

5. Just to be safe, both, for fuck's sake!

Paris Hilton vs. Gretchen Wilson

So I finally broke down and bought some clothes.  I'm not much of a fashionista these days since I wear sweatshirts and jeans or shorts and tee shirts to work. 

I bought a pair of jeans that from here on will be known as my Paris Hilton Jeans. 

I have some jeans that have a flare to them, no problem.  I do not, however, have any that could be termed "low riders". 

I bought this pair at Old Navy and didn't try them on.  I am a pretty standard size eight in their pants so I just grabbed them.  I never thought to look how long the rise was.

As a result, I now have a pair of low riders.  They sit right on my hips. 

They look like something Paris Hilton would wear if she shopped at Old Navy and could get by a day without her thong hanging out the back of her pants.

On the flip side, they have pretty big flared legs and I have a pair of high heeled western boots that look pretty good with them and put it all together and I look like a country western singer who hasn't quite made it big yet; still living in the trailer park, shopping at the Old Navy clearance sales with the non Dan Frye western boots.

Altogether though, I am not displeased.  For being 38, I don't look half bad in these jeans.  Granted, I may not have the six pack abs, indeed, not even the four pack nor the buy one get one free diet Coke abs, but at least they are flat and I don't have fat rolls.

And that's something right there.

It's The Little Things

I have several pieces of clothing with the logo of the company I work for on it.  Tee shirts, a pretty nice, very warm but lightweight winter jacket and a couple sweatshirts.  Today, Michelle, my co-worker and friend, and I, hit the jackpot. 

We got new grey hoodies and they are soft and they are warm and they are nice and the logo is positioned correctly.

See, we had ordered women's tee shirts earlier with the logo and on a couple of them, the logo was in a rather attention-drawing spot.  Like right in the middle of the left boob area.  Those tee shirts, although they were the female-friendly stretch cotton, had to go back.  Neither of us really wanted to encourage anyone to look down our shirt. Or stare at our chests, such as they are.

We have all our company shirts and jackets done at a great local place (can I plug BSPN?) and I found out today from Patty, the great lady who runs the place with her husband, that he is the one who did the women's tee shirts so he probably had no positioning in mind.

Like guys would care if the logo hit right in the middle of their left nipple.

My Life As A Suburban Glamour Queen

NOTE:  The title is meant to be sarcastic, for those of you who wander by my blog and feel obligated to leave condescending comments telling me how stupid I am.  Please also note, none of these sanctimonious assholes leave any sort of link to their blogs.  Probably because although they are quick to criticize, they are loathe to put themselves and their writing out to the world.  IDIOT (said in my best Napoleon Dynamite voice.)

Okay, rant over.

We need a new toilet.  Isn't that just to die for exciting?  I know I've been very excited about it these past couple days.  Our toilet is the original toilet from when my parents built this house back in 1973.  So, I think we've gotten our money's worth out of it.  And I am bummed to think that we will have to buy one of the new-fangled water saving toilets and anything involving plumbing and my husband is frightening just by itself but the thing that really gets me is that this stupid toilet is going to cost about $250. 

TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS! 

So, next time you come to my house, expect me to show off my new toilet, just like I showed off the new tires on Martin's Mustang.

I hate pissing money away.

Sci-Fi Night

Tonight is Sci-Fi night at our house.  Enterprise and Battlestar Galactica.

Oh boy.

I am not a big Sci-Fi fan.  I have been exposed to it by more than one male attachment.

I watched Star Trek, The Next Generation, while I was in labor (and on good painkillers) with my son.

Tonight, Enterprise is on.  Then Missy Elliot's rip off of American Idol.  Then Battlestar Galactica.

I'm not quite sure what Missy Elliot's show is doing in between there.  Like it's going to draw the same fans? 

Just in case, we are taping Battlestar Galactica.  So we can watch it again.

(NOTE: I'm using "we" completely in the sense of the royal we.)

Chinese New Year

Today is the Chinese New Year.

This is a bit of folklore that comes via my friend Darr.

To insure good financial fortune for the coming year, do the following:

Take out your checkbook.  Make the check out to yourself with today's date (Feb. 9, 2005).  Leave the amount spaces blank.  In the memo section, write "Paid in Full."  In the signature line, write "Law of Abundance". 

Put it in your wallet for the next year.

Don't know if this will work, but hey, it won't hurt anything and who knows?