“Nobody can make you feel inferior without your permission.”
–Eleanor Roosevelt, diplomat, author, and lecturer (1884-1962)

I came across this again today (from “A Room of One’s Own” — and why is it that all that anyone ever remembers is “…a woman must have… a room of her own…” when there is so much more to it? WM):

“…a woman must have money and a room of her own is she is to write fiction; and that, as you will see, leaves the great problem of the true nature of woman and the true nature of fiction unsolved.”
— Virginia Woolf

“True remorse is never just a regret over consequences; it is a regret over motive.”
— Mignon McLaughlin, author (1915-)

(I miss my doggie. WM)

“Writing is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as the headlights, but you make the whole trip that way.”
— E.L. Doctorow, writer (1931- )

and (just as importantly) from a WM diary entry, 4/6/85:

“The object of painting is not to cover the wall. It’s to empty the can.”
— Homer Groening (Matt Groening’s dad, also an artist)

Reviewed today:

Wacky Mommy: Another parenting book lands on my desk. And even though I’m allegedly a “mom blogger,” I am feeling a little ‘eh’ about one more parenting book. This one is by Pennywise lead singer Jim Lindberg and it’s about his three adorable little blonde daughters and his sexy, supportive, Bunko-playing wife.

She’s not on the cover, the wife, but I’m assuming those are his kids and not models. Pink-Haired Housewife, have you ever listened to Pennywise?

Pink-Haired Housewife: First of all – no thanks to a bottle of Clairol 121A that was NOT “Dark Brown” as labeled, I am now (Joan) Jett Black-Haired Housewife. The little pot of gold at the end of my shoe polish-head rainbow is that there’a not a grey hair in sight. For now… (more…)

We miss you, Lemon. Peace, always.

WM & HG

I was the neighborhood foosball champion, growing up. Did you know that, Internet? That’s right. I even got a first-place trophy when they had a tournament because I kicked ass at foosball. At pool? Not so much. But I still played all the time. That’s because instead of going to the library, I hung out at our local underage poolhall. That’s where I was Aug. 16, 1977, when I found out Elvis Aaron Presley had just died. It was a real shocker to me, finding out the King was gone, because although I was only 13 years old, I was already a huge Elvis fan. (more…)

Sometimes going out to work with your Podmates (I have two. Both girls, and they are so cute and funny and chatty), perhaps to Baja Fresh, where they give you slices of lime for your ice tea (I love this) and 8 kinds of salsa, including this new spicy one that is so good, plus a basket of chips, just for you (you, you, you. No one is reaching their fingers in and eating them because your co-workers have their own baskets of chips…

And even if they didn’t? Unlike your family members, Your Podmates Have Manners and would not swipe your food willy-nilly. At least not this early in the Podmate Game)…

…sometimes, it leaves you energized for the afternoon and refreshed. Like an icy glass of ice tea, with lime.

And sometimes, it leaves you longing to leave work, with your Podmates, and all go for pedicures. And mimosas.

We do work for the government. Don’t government employees do things like that?

We didn’t.

Dear World Wide Web,

I’m tired. I’m working full-time the next two weeks, still waiting to hear on permanent jobs, the kids are getting out of school for the summer soon, we have swim lessons ending and starting right up again, a house torn apart from our awesome painter (no you can’t have his number, I’m keeping him just for us)… weeds to pull, laundry to hang out, fifty more dollars’ worth of gas for the car? Sure thing!

God. I remember having two measly bucks, coasting my Dodge Dart into the gas station for a drink, and praying the attendant would take pity on me and give me an extra buck’s worth. I am that old.

Speaking of — my birthday is coming up. I will be 43. My mother assures me this is not old at all and to please shut up.

A brief round-up, and then I am off to do more laundry and try to figure out where my purse is. (I mean it when I say the house is torn apart. I saw my purse yesterday and haven’t seen it since.) Also, the floors? Trashed. Cooking? Not happening. Dishes? Piled up. So what do you do when you can’t deal with your own house? Go look at the homes of Others. Others Who Can Afford Gardeners and Maids.

My mom and I went on a great tour of gardens this afternoon. My new loves: Baggesen’s Gold shrub honeysuckle, California incense cedar, honey locust, climbing hydrangea, verbena, hostas, candy hearts, clematis… I got so many ideas from the three places where we stopped, I do not know where to start. Perhaps with art. My favorite garden was stuffed full of tiny and big sculptures, pieces of blown glass, decorative stepping stones, everything. It was delightful and a little kooky. But in a genuinely kooky way, not a “Look at me, I’m so kooky!” way. I do not like the “deliberate kook” she is not my style. Wacky Girl went with us and fell in love with the bus stop-sized outdoor hangout that had benches, pillows and shade and everything she’s ever dreamed of, and was just the right size for an almost-8-year-old.

I liked the greenhouse next to it. Ahhhh…

And… in lieu of a real review… next to the DVD player and and next to the nightstand at Wacky House we have:

Punk Rock Dad, by Jim Lindberg (Pennywise lead singer) — totally hilarious read. I’ll give it a full review soon (with help from the Pink-Haired Housewife, I’m hoping) but in the meantime — go pick up a copy. Pick up two and give the extra to a friend. Perfect baby shower gift, anniversary gift or birthday present for the dads (and moms) out there. He’s such a good writer, and so funny.

When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, a Spike Lee Joint, Pick up a copy of this one, too. And please do not forget, when you’re thinking about Darfur and orphans abroad and the movie stars who love them — New Orleans and the South still desperately need our help. Do what you can and do it now.

Sunshine State, directed by John Sayles

Strictly Ballroom, directed by Baz Luhrmann

Onions in the Stew, by Betty MacDonald

Blood Diamond, directed by Edward Zwick

(Yeah, try to figure out how my brain works based on that list.)

Love,

WM

Amongst my top search terms, y’all were looking for the following:

* naked neighbors (they’re not here this weekend!)

* scarf site sex

* nasty neighbors wives

* cathy mincberg

* nekkid pool

* husband parked in front of the damn tv

* hockey wives

* hockey sluts (followed by…)

* dirty sluts (Hey! We are not!)

* i love my wild cherry tree but hate the mess (me too!)

* i rubbed cocaine on my lips will i be tested positive (me too! No, wait… that’s not true.)

* if you see your mother this weekend tell her satan satan satan

We had a combined earthquake/fire drill scheduled at work this afternoon, half an hour before my day was done. So I skipped my lunch break and left early. I’ve been in an earthquake before. Oh, wait! I’ve been in three.

They’re not that big of a deal.

Ha! Ha! I jest. They are scary and there is nowhere to run when the earth is opening up like that. And we live in a 100-year-old house and believe me — it’s shaking when it’s shaking. So this whole “hide under your desk” advice? I call bullshit on that. And if there’s a fire? Don’t use an elevator.

Prepared? Yes, I am, thanks for asking. Although we did break into our emergency preparedness kit in the basement. It now contains: One flashlight, which has no batteries in it. So we’re not so prepared there.

Here is the memo they sent out to prepare us:

During an Earthquake:

Try to be calm. Panic will endanger rather than preserve you.

Call out to remind others: “Earthquake! Drop, Cover and Hold!”

Do we need to limit this advice to office workers only? I think we can all learn a little something here.

WM

Dear Thursday Thirteeners and the Usual Suspects,

Is food an issue at your house? It isn’t here since my father-in-law taught me this neat trick: Just give them whatever they want.

13 Things My Kids Will Eat

13. Dinner out. Always. Seven nights a week would be good by them.

12. “Dino Mac!” (Annie’s Organic Mac and Cheese) “Not that other kind! Dino Mac!”

11. Cheese pizza

10. Waffles & pancakes

9. Strawberries? No. Raspberries.

8. Raspberry & strawberry breakfast bars

7. Chocolate milk & hot cocoa

6. Cheese sandwiches! And tomato soup!

5. “I like when you turn off the computer and make Dino Mac for me!” (No doing until I’ve posted. Sorry, kid.) “Dino Nuggets!” (Chicken nuggets from Costco.)

4. Bagels with cream cheese & any kind of jam. No, just raspberry.

3. Ice cream, cookies & candy

2. “And cake!”

1. Spaghetti with marinara and tons of fresh grated parmesan.

How am I supposed to keep up with my blog-reading, if this work thing continues? I don’t know what is going on out there! Amalah wrote a dynamite post about searching for faith. And I have a whole post I need to write about Rosie O’Donnell being the only celebrity in America brave enough to keep on hammering about the need to End the War and Bring Our Soldiers Home. Now. Now! Now!!! Not tomorrow — today.

Say what you will about Rosie — no, don’t, because I’m feeling more than a little protective of her right now. She’s bold, and she stands up for what she believes in. And what kind of screwed-up world do we live in where people commend you for doing the right thing, because it’s so… unusual to help someone, or to put out a fire, or just to point out, “There’s a fire. Let’s put it out.”

“Oh, my God — you, like, noticed that fire! And I didn’t even notice it! And then you put it out! You are a-maz-ing! Wow!”

I get attention and credit all the time just for doing the stuff — and it’s usually small, tiny stuff, not anything amazing, by any means — that I need to be doing. Today, for instance, I sent two dozen pencils to school with my daughter, because they’re out. Her teacher thought this was a-maz-ing. I may send in erasers tomorrow.

So, Rosie O’ — thanks for being a-maz-ing.

From the transcripts of “The View” for May 17th (this is from Rosie’s blog), wherein Rosie completely blew Elisabeth Hasselback’s mind:

O’DONNELL: …… I just want to say something. 655,000 Iraqi civilians are dead. Who are the terrorists?
HASSELBECK: Who are the terrorists?
O’DONNELL: 655,000 Iraqis — I’m saying you have to look, we invaded –
HASSELBECK: Wait, who are you calling terrorists now? Americans?
O’DONNELL: I’m saying if you were in Iraq, and the other country, the United States, the richest in the world, invaded your country and killed 655,000 of your citizens, what would you call us?
HASSELBECK: Are we killing their citizens or are their people also killing their citizens?
O’DONNELL: We’re invading a sovereign nation, occupying a country against the U.N.

(And I would like to segue this post into some lovin’ and a shout-out for Cindy Sheehan, who is exhausted and giving up. Cindy, don’t give up. Take a rest, but don’t give up.)

Pointing out that we’re terrorizing a nation — which we are, which we have been — is not the same as calling a soldier a terrorist. Killing two-thirds of a million people is called “terr-or-izing them.” It is domestic violence, to go into people’s homes and cities and back yards and kill them. It’s like I tell my kids fifty times a day — don’t hurt each other. It’s wrong to hurt someone. It’s wrong to kill.

The job ends Friday. I will be able to read more and write more after that. I won’t hear back about the interview until end of this week, beginning of next. I’ll let you know as soon as I know, savvy?

In the meantime, don’t stop fighting. And keep on, I command you on this one, keep on putting out fires.