Historical, any way you slice it.

It's officially announced, Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin is John McCain's VP choice.

So....

No matter who wins the election, history will be made. We'll either have the first woman VP or the first African American president.

Pretty neat, huh?

Yeah, I'm not all that impressed either, but Palin seems like a pretty cool governor. Then again, I really don't know much about her other than she's the mother of 5.

I think it's a nice tactic on McCain's part to pick her. Now he can say "We can have a potential first too!" (I imagine him sticking out his tongue and taunting Obama playground-style.) And, at 44, she's even younger than Obama who is 47.

She's a surprising choice, but a good strategic one. Maybe she'll bring a little youthful energy into the McCain Campaign Train.

where would I rather be?

Lots of stuff is going on this Labor Day weekend in KC. The Irish Fest, the Renaissance Fair, Santa Caligon Days (White Trash Fest! One of my favs!), and probably tons of other exciting stuff.

Where will Moxie be?

In the middle of nowhere. Literally.

We're going down to Handsome's family compound which is located in the rural abyss between Columbia and St. Louis. When people say they live in the country and they mean outside of Grain Valley, I laugh. Handsome's family has owned 80 acres 25 minutes outside of Hermann for over 100 years.

And it's country. Like you have to drive about 3 miles on a semi-gravelled dirt road to reach their house which is at the end of said road. They live in a holler. It took me about 3 years to fully understand the geographic phenomenon that is a holler (or hollow, if you're a city slicker).

It's beautiful. Full of woods, a stream, a pond, fields, hills. Wild animals too, probably, but all I've seen is deer, possums, owls and an occasional cow.

But your cell phone doesn't work there. They don't have cable, they don't have internet. They have well water pumped into the house. I have no idea how they even have electricity/phone line.

Mama'll be off the civilization grid until Sunday night, kids. And she's not really excited.

We're making the 3.5 hour voyage tonight with a fussy 4 yr old and two fussy Handsome siblings. Jealous much? I thought so.

What makes this extra-special-fun is the fact we're going down to celebrate his (by marriage) uncle's 50th birthday. I've never in 12 years seen Uncle Alkie sober. Ever. He's touchy/feely, over-friendly and he always reeks of alcohol.

I just can't wait. Hope you've got better plans than I do.

Funeral Songs....

Ok, morbid, I know...but, when you pass away, what are the song/s that you would want you loved ones to play? The ones that explain you as your life was lived?

Moxie?

Here's my two:
John Denver, "Eagles and Horses". No song explains me more than this one....

or this;

My Jarvis/Common People Post

So, I just told you "Different Class" by Pulp was one of my all time favorite albums. Jarvis Cocker? I love him so much I'd ALMOST leave my hubby for him. (He knows this, accepts it, but won't let us name one of our children Jarvis Cocker *Moxie* since he's afraid our kid would get beat up on the playground. He's probably right.)

anywho....

Here's a taste of who I was.



I "remade" this video as a project in one of my video classes in college. I'll have to say...My video kicks the ass of the "real" Jarvis video as my video stars Handsome and my erstwhile roommate who is now a big actress in Chicago. But enjoy my Jarvis love anyway

Sophomore Memories...

This week is the week school started. As in the college I graduated from...Handsome's 2 youngest siblings started back this week. Is it bad to say I'm kind of jealous of those tumultuous times (in some ways)? His youngest brother, Spoiled (because he IS) is a sophomore.

Upon realizing this, my mind wandered back to August 1996. The first few weeks of my own sophomore year.

It was one of those years for me that changed my life forever, irrevocably. So much shit happened in one condensed 8 week period for me.

I walked out of my parents' house forever against their wishes.

I did shit that I shouldn't have to forget things that shouldn't have happened.

I was date raped.

I was utterly on my own for the first time ever.

I was scared.

I was alive.

For the first time.

I met Handsome, my salvation from pain.

He shouldn't have been.

He deserved better than that.

I learned what unconditional, instantaneous love was.

I started to figure out who I was.

I was given support in fighting life-long demons.

The soundtrack for this time in my life was Pulp's "Different Class" CD.

I've never been the same.

That time in my life could never be repeated.

It was horrible and it was glorious.

All at the same time...

The best of times AND the worst of times.

This week is in a vacuum

That is to say in the venacular, it sucks. I've had to be at work at 6:45 the last few days and since Tuesday, I've been thinking that it was really Thursday. Now that it is indeed Thursday, I wish it was Friday.

It's been a long, tedious week, and it ain't over yet, kids.

On the bright side, I went to lunch at Max's Autodiner on Wornall. Thanks, DLC for the reminder to visit locally-owned eateries.

Best. damn. seasoned. curly. fries. And I mean that.

Excellent burgers too. I'm completely stuffed. I'm never eating again. Plus, with the gentle purr (roaring, exhaust-emitting purr) of the traffic on Wornall a few feet away from your table to aid in the outside dining ambiance, how can I not be in a good mood?

I'm going to have a "Mommy Has a Headache" night and let Darling play with Daddy until she goes to bed and he has to go be advice counselor to his younger (and currently troubled) brother, Savior. I can sum up the entire advice he needs into one simple paragraph: "Shut the hell up, pull your head out of your ass and get on with it. You're pissing your 20's away and you're not happy. Quit whining, being a pussy and stand up for yourself." (Really, I should do this professionally, don'tcha think?)

Getting up too early is not helping my intense current bout of insomnia.

Maybe I'll go swimming.

I guess I'm just too full and too fussy right now. Please pardon the bitching.

True Love and a Lost Art

It was love at first sight.

True love.

Ok, well, maybe just intense, passionate desire to possess the object of my affection.

I was 13.

It was at a old folk's home garage sale.

Nothing would stand in my way.

I reached out across the abyss that separated us and wistfully, tenderly stroked it.

It was a match made in heaven and I was ready to do anything it took to be together forever.

My mother was even supportive.

She recognized the fire in my eye and turned to the gentleman to ask how much it would cost to make her daughter's dreams come true.

$20.

Twenty dollars of my hard earned baby sitting money. I would have paid triple.

The object of my affection? A 1920's #10 Underwood typewriter in perfect condition.

It was like something out of "Needful Things". Even the old guy.

The elderly gentleman who owned it seemed a little hesitant to let it go. He asked me why a kid like me would want something like an old typewriter. I told him about how I wanted to be a writer, maybe a journalist (blogger fore-shadowing?) when I grew up and I had always like antique things.

His face beamed from ear to ear and I'll never forget his words:
"Well, I've found the right person then. My father used this when he wrote for The Star back in the '20's. Kept it all those years and I didn't have the heart to get rid of it until now. (This was about 1990ish) I didn't want it to go to just anyone. I think he'd approve."

He ended up just giving it to me. He wouldn't take any money. He just told me to become the next Hemmingway. (oopps.) Apparently, his dad wrote classified ad copy for The Kansas City Star. I'm pretty sure he told the truth, because on the side of my typewriter, in white paint is "MKTS".

And thus started a lifetime love affair. I learned to type on that typewriter and by the time I reached my freshman typing class, I could type circles around everyone else.

Over the years, I've collected about 12 typewriters ranging from 1885-1940 (nothing younger than that).

I'm picky about my typewriters. They have to speak to me. They have to be in perfect working order and none of them date post-WWII. When you collect something like typewriters, everybody's got a rusting piece of shit in their basement they want to pawn off on you.

I've got some favorites:

My #1 Remington Rand Portable (complete with case)

My LC Smith Bros. #8

I've even got a few Royals that are pretty awesome.

But, you always remember your first, don't you?

Typing on a pre-1960's manual typewriter is actually pretty strenuous. Typewriters were originally designed for male secretaries who naturally had stronger fingers. Typing on them is a lost art, considering the tippy, tap ease we have today of ergonomic computer keyboards.

I've been thinking a lot about typewriters this week. With the layoffs at The Star this week, unlike others, who cheer on the demise of the "dead tree media", I'm saddened to think not only of people losing their jobs, but the fact that someday I may not be able to curl up on the couch with the Sunday paper, some coffee, my husband, cats and while away an hour or so.

It's just not the same with a laptop...

Maybe there's still a streak of journalist wannabe in me, one I haven't really fed since my days as editor of my college newspaper. Maybe it's because I just got done reading The Bonfire of the Vanities (so good!)but it's kind of sad that the "hey-day" of busy newsrooms of major newspapers is coming to an end. Bonfire, written in 1987 reminds me that only 20 years ago no one could foresee the coming of the Internet and it's power on the news. I wouldn't even have a blog 7 years ago.

Strange. I feel like getting out my harmonica, channeling my inner Bob Dylan and singing some "Times, They Are A' Changin'"

There is hope for the future though. Darling, out of the blue, asked me the other day if she could play with my keyboards.

Not knowing what she meant, I asked her to show me. She led me by the hand over to the secretary/desks that I keep my typewriters on and pointed to them with big eyes.

I saw the gleam in her eye when I smiled and told her yes.

Are passions hereditary?

*all typewriters shown are not my actual typewriters, but pictures of the ones I have. FYI...

Moxie (or You) 4 Prez!

A co-worker forwarded this to me. It pretty much kicks ass. (Isn't viral marketing glorious?)

This is possibly the coolest thing on the Internet right now.

I expect to be bested by Midtown Miscreant. And rightfully so, I might add, as I myself would vote for him, but it never hurts to throw your hat in the ring.

Go ahead, type your own name in and feed your ego!

Not My Fantasy, Boys

It's that time of year again.

*sigh*

Happy Fantasy Football Drafting Time, kids.

I'm not a big football fan. I went to my first Chiefs game last December, courtesy of one of my radio ad reps (alike I was going to spend that much of my own money to see something I could potentially hate).

I spent most of the game huddled in their suite, shivering, watching the game on tv. I only ventured outside to the actual seats a couple of times and only until I couldn't feel my feet anymore. Needless to say, I was less than really super impressed, but I was trying to figure out what the big deal is with football.

I'm a sporty kind of gal. Baseball/softball, swimming, diving, soccer, volleyball, tennis...Hell, I even love hockey. I'll play/watch pretty much everything.

But I just don't like football. It's boring to me and I just don't like it. (Except the Superbowl which is like the Oscars of the advertising world.)

Even more perplexing to me is Fantasy Football. I don't even begin to try to understand it. All I know is that it has invaded my work and home life.

In an effort of team-building (male bonding), my work has a Fantasy Football League. I designed the logo, and other miscellaneous signs, trophies, etc. but refuse to play. I didn't mind doing that work, but I'm tired of it being the only talk in the hallways.

Last night it was even worse. Handsome's workplace also has a FF League. Yesterday was Draft Day. As we were driving home from picking up Darling from daycare, he was on the phone talking about his picks. When we got home, he bee-lined for his Man Cave/laptop and Darling and I ended up kicking back, watching some Noggin while "Daddy played his game."

Handsome emerged a little later and we had a perfectly lovely evening. I guess the pressure is on, since he was first in his league last year. I can't wait to start tuning out/acting really interested/being supportive of his imaginary showmanship on Sundays/Mondays when he starts talking about his standings in his League.

Is it February yet?

Bully Cat

So, Darling got an orange and white tabby striped kitten (well, he's 6 months old) for her 4th birthday.

She loves him.

He loves her.

He likes to pounce, but likes to sleep on her bed.

He uses the litter box.

He's cute, but a bit on the crazy hyper side.

He's a great cat for a little kid.


Only problem? He's a bully! A tyrrancial brute!

Our other cat, 7 year old Fraidy is in torment. Bully attacks him, scratches him, bitch slaps him when Fraidy tries to eat from the communal cat dish.

It was so bad that I was in tears Saturday night when Bully was gnawing on Fraidy's ears and he was crying, but not fighting back.

Handsome says Fraidy will get fed up and stop being a pussy (cat) soon, but it's really upsetting me.

Fraidy has always been my baby, before I got married, before I had Darling. Yes, I know he's a wimp, but he's my kitty. He looks upon me as a Goddess.

Now the poor baby is probably wondering what he did to deserve my Wrath.

sigh...if only he would have let Darling pet him once in awhile, he would still be an only kitty.

Handsome's getting irritated with the kitten antics. You know, the table jumping, the mad dashes through the living room, etc.

Now, the only one who's happy is Darling who can finally say she has a pet that adores her and likes to be pet.

See what happens when I try to make everybody happy (because that's my job. It's what I try to "do"). I'm doing a horrible job...

Gloria Squitiro vs. Mary Todd Lincoln...let's compare

Gloria
vs.
Mary

I've kept my mouth shut about the mayor's wife for FAR too long. Let's play a little comparison game, shall we, kids?

Gloria: married to a tall man (6'8")
Mary: married to a tall man (6'4")

Gloria: loud-mouthed and controversial
Mary: loud-mouthed and controversial

Gloria: Into questionable occult practices
Mary: Into questionable occult practices

Gloria: "Supportive Spouse"
Mary: "Supportive Spouse"

Gloria: Subject to public scorn
Mary: Subject to public scorn

Gloria: Likes to call African American women "Mammy"
Mary: Likes to call African American women "Mammy"

If you've never read "The Emancipator's Wife" you should.

It is a very historically accurate fictionalization into the life of Mary Todd Lincoln, one of the most fascinating First Ladies (including Dolly Madison, Eleanor Roosevelt, Mamie Eisenhower and Jackie Kennedy.) It even postulates she was an opium addict and she tricked Lincoln into marrying her by lying about being pregnant. As an historian, I looked at the dates of marriage/birth, the mores of the times and, well, it's feasible.

Here's my unadulterated two cents on Gloria S.:
I gladly voted for Mark Funkhouser.
I liked his "honesty".
It was a very hard decision for me since I've met Alvin Brooks and have never been so swept over by someone's genuine goodness. Twice. You can't fake that kinda stuff. He's genuine, honest and incredible.
I voted for Funk because he was younger and seemed like a "Give Em Hell, Harry" kind of politician.

I never imagined this.

Or this.

Or even this.

Don't get me wrong. I like going barefoot as much as the next gal, but I would NEVER assume to do so in City Hall if my husband was the Mayor.

I adore my hubby. I'm the most supportive Theatre Widow ever (well, friends that are abandoned spouses like me are going to make t-shirts that say "Supportive Theatre Widow" and wear them to the shows, but whatev!)

I would never show up at my hubby's place of employment barefoot and expecting to be a prima donna volunteer.

I would never ever accept him doing the same to me.

I would never ever put myself into an ELECTED position that would assume my spouse was just as important as me. I was voted in, not him.

I would never show up at his work/theater rehearsal and demand a say in the creative process.

I wouldn't tolerate him telling me how to run my next ad campaign or giving me a history lecture.

I'm good at history and advertising. He's good at computers and theatre.

We don't cross our professional paths, but we are the other's biggest advocate.

I'll never say a wife should stay home where she belongs, but Gloria DOES NOT belong in KC City Hall.

(That's a Period AND Exclamation Point!)

I would never threaten to break the law over my spouse's VOLUNTEER STATUS!!!!!!!

Gloria, they chose the Funk to do the work, not you. Stop being so paranoid to let him out of your sight (trust me girl, NO ONE's going after him) and get back to being a Douala where your talents can possibly be appreciated.

Funk, get your ass in gear. Fix the KCMO School District, Light Rail (I'm sick of that shit) and let's get going. Your wife is a distraction and this controversy is too.

Thank you.

###END RANT###

The Political Buddy Intrigue is Getting to me. HELP!

So, I've been ignoring politics for a bit this last couple of weeks (I've needed a break.)

I'm 50/50 split between Obama and McCain. I'm equally apathetic to both.

PLEASE, will someone answer this question:

WHY IS IT SO INTRIGUING TO FIGURE OUT WHO OBAMA'S RUNNING MATE IS? DOES ANYONE CARE WHO'S MCCAIN'S BACK UP IS?

Honestly speaking, McCain is a one-termer at best due to his age. I'm more concerned with who's the back up plan for him rather than Obama.

Is the swarming media attention because of the upcoming DNC or the fact Obama's got more media appeal?

Or is it something else?

Whadda ya think?

Sure you can drop out of school for Chik-Fil-A Combo Meals

It's stories like these that make me feel like there IS hope for my parenting skilz. My favorite line:

But this is not all fun and games. Blakes hopes to turn his gaming abilities into a lucrative career. Players signed by Major League Gaming (no, I'm not making this up) earn as much as $80,000 a year competing in tournaments.

So far, Blake has won around $1,000—but that money came in the form of gift certificates, gaming equipment, and Chick Fil-A combo meals. He hopes to start bringing in some actual cash after his father takes him to the U.S. regionals of the World Cyber Games.

Let's play good choice, bad choice

Ok, so nobody's ALWAYS a perfect parent.

Good Choice:
Spending quality Mommy/Daughter time after I got home last night from going out to dinner with a friend. Darling reminded me that I PROMISED to paint her toenails FOREVER AGO!

What's better bonding than girlie pedicures? Sounds like a great time, right?

Bad Choice:
Trying to paint an excited 4 year old's toes in the bathroom with "Toepaint for Big Girls" (mine) instead of going into her room and digging around for the "Kiddie Toepaint That Peels Off Easily".

Here's what went down:
After repeatedly telling Darling to sit very, very still and not wiggle her toes, New Birthday Kitten comes in, pounces her feet as I'm painting the last baby toe. Darling freaks out at the attack, starts running, knocks over the "Toepaint for Big Girls". There's paint on the mostly white cat, there's red paint on the mostly white bathroom floor and a trail on the hardwood floors. Oh yeah, and there's paint on the couch as she dives for Daddy. And paint in Daddy's leg hair.

It was a nail polish blood bath.

Next time I'll use the Kiddie polish and shut the bathroom door.

Because it's a cold and dismal August day...

During my teenage angst filled years I totally dug poetry and angst and Edna St. Vincent Millay go together like ham and cheese.

It's kind of a crappy day outside, so let me depress you even more....

One of my favorites from her...

If Still Your Orchards Bear

Brother, that breathe the August air
Ten thousand years from now,
And smell --- if still your orchards bear
Tart apples on the bough ---
The early windfall under the tree,
And see the red fruit shine,
I cannot think your thoughts will be
Much different from mine.

Should at that moment the full moon
Step forth upon the hill,
And memories hard to bear,
By moonlight harder still,

Form in the shadows of the trees, ---
Things that you could not spare
And live, or so you thought, yet these
Are gone, and you still there,

A man no longer what he was,
Nor yet the thing he'd planned,
The chilly apple from the grass
Warmed by your living hand ---

I think you will have need of tears;
I think they will not flow;
Suppposing in ten thousand years
Men ache, as they do now.

Bigfoot Still Doesn't Exist?!

Bummer. Turns out the "DNA" of the alleged Bigfoot is really human and possum.

Seriously...Possum? If you're going to fake something like that you'd think they'd use a bit more imagination to secure their spot on the next episode of America's Dumbest Criminals.

I was wondering how this BS was going to play out. Let the crackpipe conspiracy theories commence on how the government really stole the real DNA to disprove it's existance.

I love me some conspiracies.

Love Blooms on Sesame Street

I don't know why, but this just strikes me as a little amusing and a little disturbing. Even more disturbing is the IM banter I just had with my husband:

MOXIE says:
Not sure why, but this slightly disturbs me... http://babble.com/CS/blogs/strollerderby/archive/2008/08/20/love-blooms-on-quot-sesame-street-quot.aspx

HANDSOME says:
that is a bit disturbing

MOXIE says:
Love blooming on Sesame Street...Snuffy and writer, sittin' in a tree, k i s s i n g....weird.

HANDSOME says:
I bet that writer was doing some snuffing herself later that night

MOXIE says:
HA! Or petting Slimy. Talk about weird sex toys.

HANDSOME says:
true- there would be no kissing and "telly" with them

MOXIE says:
Maybe a little tickling the Elmo, though.

HANDSOME says:
I wonder if he has a big bird?

MOXIE says:
Nah, probably a Baby Bear...

HANDSOME says:
are we sick in the head?

MOXIE says:
Most likely. Duh.

HANDSOME says:
you make me smile

How stupid are we that we can put sexual innuendos into Sesame Street romances? Pretty stupid or just pretty bored at work. Or maybe it's a way of keeping our parental sanity.

BTW, I miss old school Sesame Street. It's depressing to see Gordon and Maria old. And the voices aren't the same for some of the characters. And I intensely desire to punch Baby Bear smack in his obnoxious lisping face.

Depressing, But Not Surprising Economy Woes...

Saw this article over at Sweetney.

Watch out for pieces of Recession falling from the skies.

How depressing.

I'm actually excited for next year. We'll pay off Handsome's car and Darling will be going to school (no more daycare costs!) so things are looking up for us wiping out some serious debt other than our student loans and mortgage.
Hopefully. Who knows what can happen.

Now I'm paranoid. Thanks alot.

It's Not Our Fault the Rest of the World Are Crybabies

I know people are getting sick of the Olympics, but I'm seriously distressed over the fate of Women's Softball as an Olympic sport. I even thought that it was ousted for this Olympics, but was then told by Meesha it was on. Guess the softball team wasn't as glitzy to plug as Swimming or Gymnastics.

Joe Posnanski wrote a great article about the fate of the team this morning. Check it out.

So why is this possibly the last year (It's definitely out for 2012, but may be reinstated in 2016)for Olympic Softball?

It seems like the rest of the world is a bunch of crybabies because our team is just that good. Boo hoo, losers!

According to Posnanski (one of my favorite sports writers):

Everyone at the IOC has denied that America’s dominance has anything to do with the great softball purge — after all, they say, dominance is not the point, China is dominant in table tennis, Austria in alpine skiing, Germany in luge, the Hungarians in water polo and so on. But there is something fishy here: IOC president Jacques Rogge said that softball does not have “universal appeal,” even though it is played in more than 100 countries, probably quite a few more than modern pentathlon. He seemed to be saying, “We’re tired of watching the rest of the world get pummeled by these Americans.”

So what? Just because the US has scored 44 runs to 1 (to Canada) in the entire series doesn't mean they should toss the sport.

The super-bestest part of all this? Some people think that the US Softball team should apologize for the dominance.

WTF?

I agree with Posnanski. Losing a game won't save the sport's spot in the Olympics. I disagree with Posnanski's commenters who think it's all about anti-Americanism (even though the whole US team has dominated the medal count, FYI), but in some ways I think it's anti-American female.

The MBL are being jerks about letting their players join the Olympic Baseball team, so why do the girls have to suffer?
It's not our fault that Americans play the best baseball and softball in the world...So, rest of the world, you can just cry and take your mitts home and say you don't want to play anymore.

(Oh yeah, buy JoPo's book "The Soul of Baseball: A Roadtrip Through Buck O'Neil's America" It's awesome.)

Lessons Learned this Weekend

1. I'm not ready for Kitten Wrangling (too late!)
2. 4 yr olds are just as volatile as 3 yr olds.
3. The Disney Princesses can still suck my ass.
4. Darling is still the most beautiful thing in the world.
5. My mother and mother in law CAN get along (sort of).
6. Handsome is still the guy I most want to shag (longish hair still a consideration).
7. I'm too old for this shit.
8. Family is cool, but sometimes I just want a quiet Sunday...
9. Time Warner can suck me!!!! (Why pay for a DVR if it will spontaneously reboot at the precise moment of Olympic Glory?!)
10. My kid rocks!

Mama Still Loves You...

Yes, I've been SUPER Busy IRL this last weekend, but soon...updates shall come. Stay tuned, Constant Reader, I still love you...

My Obligatory (Yet Weepy) Olympic post

I'm all shades of emotional this week. Darling's turning four on Friday and I'm getting all worked up that this is the last August of her babyhood. Next August we'll be buying school supplies and backpacks and uniforms.

So what does this have to do with the Olympics? Hardly anything really.

But, if you remember, watching the 2004 Olympics (swimming, diving and softball) was how we spent the first weeks of her life.

I didn't know what else to talk to her about. The whole "Ouch, stop kicking me..." conversations were over. We were now on to "Ouch, stop biting me with your gums" as we both traversed the painful trail of breastfeeding a newborn.

We would be awake at all hours of the night. There was nothing on tv other than the re-runs of that day's events and what's a better distraction than my 3 favorite sports?

We spent hours talking about how to slide into second, the perfect form for the backstroke and how I almost broke my foot in a failed back pike off the diving board the summer I was 15.

Ya know, girl stuff.

I remember telling her these were some of the greatest athletes in the world, but maybe someday she would top their records. Or not. She could be anything she wanted to be (as long as it wasn't a drug dealer or prostitute or anything like that).

While Handsome still slumbered (he was working crazy hours while I was on maternity leave), I began the maternal bonding.

How blissful it was to let her tiny, tiny little fingers wrap around my finger, seeing her staring at everything in the world, seeming to take in every word I said (and oddly appearing to understand it.) How her breathing changed as she slipped into slumber. How she would smile (I swear she did) from even the first of her days.

(Yep, now I'm getting weepy.)

I can't wait to really sit down with her (for the two seconds she will) and try to watch swimming and diving this year. I want to make it a tradition.

We'll probably watch for approximately 5 minutes and then she'll want to watch "Curious George" or "Arthur".

I guess there's always 2012.

Maybe by then they will reinstate softball. We sort of embarrassed the rest of the world in 2004.

Proper Pilfering Manners....

Wow, I never knew that rules pertained to raiding your neighbor's garbage.

Huh.

Too bad KCMO discontinued it's regular bulky item pick up day. How are the scrap metallers going to earn their crack?

One time, while he was living with Handsome and I, my Brother In Law, Savior (because he looks like Jesus if He smoked A LOT of pot), came home with a couch that smelled like Chex Mix. Even the cats wouldn't go anywhere near that gold, brown and tan piece of crap.

He called the couch and the abandoned shopping cart he picked up "Found Art".

Mind you, he never did anything with either and I ended up pitching his shit once he moved out.

Still, kids, follow the rules, m'kay?

McConna-Hottie FAIL!

Like most red-blooded American women, I've loved Matthew McConaughey.

But planting your son's placenta for fertilizer?!?

WTF? That borders Tom Cruise crazy.

I've heard of bizzare tales of placenta eating, but seriously?!?

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

I'm going to stop now.

Awkward....Very Awkward....

Last week I found one of my very good friends from high school on Facebook.

We exchanged the usual catching up crap and then at the very end of her note she did what I was dreading.

She asked about Shakes, my best friend from high school.

"Do you still keep in touch with Shakes? I've been kind of worried about her."

I should have known it was coming. Nevertheless I didn't know how to answer that question.

Shakes and I became instant best friends in high school. I was the outgoing, super-involved one. She was the eccentric "Well, if you really knew her..." socially inept one. Despite our differences, we were very good friends and did bring out good qualities in each other.

We inevitably drifted apart in college but when she moved back we were still very close. She was even my maid of honor though the title really should have gone to one of my college friends.

We both changed dramatically during our friendship hiatus. We grew up. She came back to a Moxie that was driven to start her career off with a bang, juggling rent and student loans and who was planning her wedding to her college sweetheart. I wasn't perfect or put together but in that "starting out in the real world" mentality, I was at least trying to get my shit together.

When she came back, I a got Shakes that moved back in with her dad, was less focused, took a crap job in her dad's office and started dating a complete Loser (and that's with a capital L). A Shakes that was much more neurotic than before. Nowhere near as happy but she never wanted to do anything about it.

Things were ok for a few years until she met Loser. Loser did/dealt drugs, I think he hit her, but that's not totally proven. Her already stagnant life spiralled out of control. She stopped going to work, stopped going home, stopped returning calls from me, her dad and her other best friend, Anna (who inevitably became mine due to concern over Shakes circumstances.)

Anna and I, who knew each other, but never really hung out, started talking to each other a lot. And we were both worried. We saw unexplainable bruises on her, saw the drastic change in her appearance and it pretty much seemed like she was either drinking heavily, or doing drugs or both.

Right before Darling was born, her father dropped dead. Literally, in a hotel in Vegas and Shakes' last thread of sanity snapped. She couldn't handle anything and Loser sure wasn't helping. Anna and I were the ones who made all the funeral arrangements, brought his body back from Vegas and the day after Darling was born, he was finally put to rest.

Things went from bad to much, MUCH worse after that. Shakes quit/was fired from her job. She lived totally off her father's pension. Spent it like a sailor. Loser broke up with her. Her physical shaking became much more than just the mild tic. Her drinking went wild.

She couldn't understand why I couldn't just drop everything and go out to dinner with her at the drop of a hat. (Hello, newborn. Hello, hubby working his ass off around the clock. Not easy to find a babysitter.)

Shakes had a major falling out with Anna. They didn't speak for 4 years. I kept in touch, but distantly. I finally cut it loose with her when Darling was about 1 years old. I was nervous to have her around Darling or myself.

Handsome didn't want her in the house after she showed up one night, threw up a bottle of wine in my front yard and told me about how when she was driving to St. Louis, she was first pulled over for suspicious driving and how the cops followed her in an airplane all the way. How they didn't take away her father's gun (which was in the car), after she promised to turn it in to a Catholic priest.

That was the point where I said, "Enough is enough. You can't help someone who doesn't want it."

We broke off our friendship in a heated argument in which I begged her to get help.

We didn't talk for 2 years until she just showed up at my work one day. Just showed up, freaking me out. We tried to mend our 15 year friendship.

The night I invited her to Handsome's show and I called her at intermission to ask where she was, she told me that she couldn't find it and went shopping instead.

I said nothing, but the de ja vu washed over me as I remembered a very similar night years before when that exact thing happened and she ended up with her first of three DUIs.

I snapped my cell phone shut and haven't talked to her since.

She just got done with her 6 months house arrest for the third DUI. Her license is suspended, but she is able to walk to her job at McDonalds up the street. Anna says she's doing much better, but I'm not ready to try again. I know this makes me a bad person, but I just can't go through all that again.

SO, that was a really long background to my "How's Shakes?" conundrum. I called Anna, asked what she would do because I COULDN'T tell my old friend what was really going on, but I didn't want to lie.

Anna told me to tell her that I wasn't in touch with Shakes anymore but I could probably find her number if she wanted it.

Which is exactly what I would tell someone to do in my situation, so hopefully it's the right thing. If she calls, Shakes can tell her whatever she wants.

Happy 08/08/08!!!

More Fun With Numerology, Constant Reader (all 2 of you)....

So today's the 8th day of the 8th month of the 8th year in this century.

As someone with a history degree, I love me some dates. I remember being horribly jealous of this guy I went to grade-high school with because his birthday was 7/7/77 and if only my parents would have waited another 2.5 months or so, that could have been MY birthday. How cool would that be? I was a kid, ok?

And then there is always 11/11/1918 at 11:11 am...

So anyway... Here's how some people are celebrating...seems kinda nerdy.

The Olympics kicks off at 8:08 pm tonight (I'm assuming local Chinese time). In Chinese, the word for 8 is similar to the word “wealth” or “fortune.” But apparently, it might not be a super-swell day in Western Numerology terms.

I was surprised by all the articles about 08/08/08 and the Olympics out there when I did a Google search.

If you want some really New Age-y stuff, check out this.

Or don't, see if I care. I think this stuff is fun, but I'd never position my life around the "numbers". Besides, I suck at math.

Here's some interesting background on Numerology/famous people who believed in this in case you still don't really know what I'm talking about.

Annnnnd...one more for you 8 symbologists out there.

Just Saying(s)

Subtitle: Moxie-isms

I read a really informative post by one of my favs, Emaw about a curious saying last week.

Then, I guess Sugar Britches was tickled after reading one of my posts in which I used my favorite phrase to express "Boy it's hot out there!" ("Hotter than a whorehouse on Nickel Night")

So it got me thinking. I use a lot of sayings/words I totally make up.

Here's some of my usual suspect phrases:

"I'm going to go do my part for American Capitalism" (Instead of "I'm going to work")

"Somebody just poopalanched" (Instead of "Seriously, use air freshener next time you take a crap?!")

"Fine as a frog's hair" (In repsonse to "How are you?")

"Fair to middlin'" (see above)

"Well that's super craptastic!" (Instead of "Bummer")


"Excellent, Smithers" (affirmative response to Handsome usually. In reference to The Simpsons)

"See you anon." (Instead of "See you soon!")

"So, how're we gonna pimp this thing?" (Instead of "What are the appropriate marketing channels for this new promotion?" Boss Man loves this and has adopted it on occassion.)

"That's rather fetching" (Instead of "That's pretty")

"That's a few pepperonis short of a pizza pie" (Instead of "That's crazy")

"That rivals the Dirtiest Toilet in Scotland!" (Instead of "Ew! Gross!" see: Trainspotting)

"Well, someone sure needs a nap" (Instead of "Stop being cranky/a bitch/whiny/a party pooper." Rarely this is said to my child. Mostly adults)

I could go on and on. But I won't. What's some of your favorites?

Good News......Bad News ~ Moxie's Torment

Good News: Handsome got a part that he auditioned his ASS off to get...At a theatre that pays pretty good (Hello, Christmas Cash) and doesn't affect his day job. He's an up and coming star...YIPPEE!!!!!!

Bad News: The director told him that he has to grow his already-longer-than-I-like hair out and can't even shave until fucking Thanksgiving.

Seriously. THANKSGIVING!!!!!!!!!!

I'm tolerant of the physical demands of his art. I've endured everything from long hair to a shaved belly (but not full chest, don't even ask about THAT show) to man-scara and guyliner. I didn't even say anything (well, very much) when he had simulated sex with a Miss Kansas on stage. (She didn't win the title until a year or so later, but whatever).

I'm the best off stage wife EVER! OK?

I love my husband.

But he hasn't had a haircut since Christmas.

He's furry.

It's like living with The Wild Man of Borneo.

His hair is thick and it grows FAST. Think Jim Morrison when we was fat and bearded (but Handsome isn't fat. And only remotely looks like Jim, RIP...)


I miss his choir boy hair cut and cute little goatee. The Catholic Seminary Drop Out look that I first fell in love with.

I miss him clean shaven where I can see the sexy I-got-hit-in-the-mouth-with-a-pig-feed-shovel-accidently-by-my-dad-when-I-was-8-but-Moxie-pretends-it's-a-dangerous-pirate scar.

I love that scar that you can't see unless you're really up-close (and no one should be that close to my Handsome unless you're asking for an intense cat fight).

Seriously!

This is fucking up family Christmas Card photos.

I like running my fingers thru his hair while we're driving along (and he does too), but when Darling comments that Daddy needs to shave? It's time to mow the yard.

HE'S GOING TO LOOK AMISH BY THANKSGIVING!!!

HIPPEE AMISH!

There is a silver lining though...The director has said nothing about back hair.

You know what True Love is?

Nair-ing your hubby's back hair without being totally disgusted (well, mildly grossed out).

And I appreciate that he shaves his armpits for me. This was a request when we were first dating. Nothing is grosser than cuddling with a guy who has sweaty, deoderant caked pits. YUCK! He balked at first and then became a convert and now can't have hair there any more.

If he ever has to shave/wax his chest, I'll be super pissed. I like chest hair. It makes a man cuddly, IMO...

I'll be over this (probably) by tomorrow.

Bear with me, Constant Reader.

Feral Child

This is one of the most horrible things I've ever read.

I seriously wanted to cry for that poor child.

When I read stuff like this I absolutely can't believe it. HOW does this happen in America, in the 21st Century?

How did Child Services who had been there several times not snatch her away long before?

How can a mother do this to her child? Even animals have parenting instincts beyond this pathetic excuse for a mother.

I need to hug Darling extra hard tonight.

Super Sonic Advertising

I don't write enough about advertising on my blog. Maybe I think it will bore you. Maybe I'm bored with my profession. (I'm not.)

But it's always interesting to read how good ideas are developed.

I just got done reading this article from The Pitch about the Sonic Drive-In commercials that Barkley (a local superstar agency) designed.

Love them or hate them, the Sonic ads stick with you even if their hamburgers suck. (I like their coneys and slushes though). YouTube the videos if you're super-curious. I'm blocked by the Corporate Internet Gestapo at work.

Moxie's Culinary Melting Pot

So...new venture for me...

I'd like to be able to cook a complete meal from each of the ethnic groups that make up the Moxie DNA.

I'd like to keep my heritage alive.

Maybe I just like to eat, I don't know...

My grandmothers were both "a little of this, some of that, a lot of this" kind of cooks. In other words, they failed to pass down written recipes, other than my great grandmother's German Potato Salad recipe and my grandma's povitica recipe.

It's a culinary quest.

Food binds people together. Traditions in food can define a people. (God help us as Americans...hamburgers, nachos, etc...)

So, I'm asking for help. Got any recipes from any of these cultures?

Here's the Moxie stewpot:

1/4 Lithuanian
1/4 Ukrainian (I'm staring at YOU, Meesha!)
1/4 German
1/4ish Britannic (Scottish, English, Irish)
Splash of Native American (Powhatan and TBD tribe)

Please help if you can, otherwise, I'll rely on the Internet...I'll keep you posted on the meals as they progress...

Dirty Politics ~ GO VOTE!

I am an active voter. I know today is expected to have very low voter turn out (Like almost every August election). This really irritates me. My poli-sci professor in college told us that voting in the presidential elections is wasting your vote and that you should ALWAYS know the issues and have your vote count on the local and state elections. I take his strange wisdom to heart.

I'm lucky enough to live in the Missouri 44th District. The race for State Rep has my bikini briefs in a bunch.

The Kandor vs. Coffman race is going to be close (supposedly) and honestly, both of them have decent credentials and would be a good representative of my District.

But I hate smear campaigning. I hate politicians who play dirty during elections. That's why I refuse to vote for Jason Kandor.

Amy Coffman has the official Moxie family seal of approval. Here's why:

1. She actually went door to door herself asking for our vote. Handsome was home at the time and spent a few minutes talking with her about what she hopes to do in Jeff City. She lives a few blocks from us and actually answered intelligently the questions Handsome posed. (He LOVES door to door salespeople/political canvassers. He can keep them busy for 20 minutes, thinking they've got a sale/he's going to sign their petition just to shut them down because he doesn't agree with them.)

2. She sent her dad in for back up. I was the one who answered the door when he came by. He's a very nice guy, knows what his daughter's stances are and even joked with me about the Kandor Sign that Soccer Neighbor Mom has in her yard. Sending Daddy might have been overkill, but it was still nice anyway.

3. Jason Kandor's propaganda. Over sized yard signs make me angry. They just do. I hate clutter and the Honesty, Integrity, blah blah blah signs irritate me, but his postcard royally pissed me off. His one major contention with Coffman was that she was a lobbyist. Ok. What he failed to illuminate was the fact that it was for groups like the AARP and the Women's Political Caucus.

He'll win votes by shooting dirty pool. When the word lobbyist comes to mind, visions of the NRA and Big Tobacco come to mind. Under-informed voters will look at that postcard and toss their vote to Kandor. That sucks. I checked out her website and I liked her response to his low blow. That shows class. Unfortunately the damage is done by his not-quite-all-the-truth advertising.

As a marketer, nothing pisses me off more than twisted truths. If your product isn't good enough to win over the consumer on it's own features and benefits and instead has to attack another, you're incompetent and should hang up your jock and go into a different field.

4. A good soldier does not necessarily make a good political leader. For every George Washington and Theodore Roosevelt, there's a Ulysses S. Grant, Eisenhower and John Kerry (and dare I say John McCain?) I hate it when politicians use that as a bonus point for themselves. So what? I know plenty of veterans from the Vietnam War on that would make crappy politicians. You can love your country without serving in the military.

5. I want an advocate, not a politician. Look at the experiences of the two. Kandor's an attorney/poli-sci teacher. Good for him, but is he going to fight for the economic and social rights of those he would serve in the 44th District or will he get caught up in the political games? Amy Coffman already knows how to fight for the rights of Missourians. She even told Handsome she was tired of the "politicians" running Jeff City and losing focus of the needs of the working class.

I could go on and on. But I won't.

The 10 pm news is going to be a nail biter tonight.

Not dead for 32 years

I just read this story about a guy who was presumed dead in a Colorado flood in 1976. Turns out he had no idea he was "dead" and has been living in Oklahoma.

What particularly tickles me about this story is the fact that he's a funeral director. I find it semi-ironic. Why? I don't know.

Weekend Shenanigans

In case you didn't notice (or weren't in KC), it was hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night last weekend. Not a good weekend to do much of anything but stay in an air conditioned cocoon. Nevertheless, it was a busy one for the Moxie household.

Friday night was a family night so Handsome, Darling and I hung out in the inflatable pool and splashed around. Saturday I got a TON of projects on my To-Do List accomplished (yay me!). Darling went for her first sleep over/camp out with a friend (They camped in the living room)and had a great time.

Saturday night, Handsome had some work to catch up on and I met up with one of my best friends and her significant other for dinner/drinks at Lew's. We got into a bizarre conversation with this totally drunk guy who befriended us about how the Native Americans were the first Communists (Don't ask me, I can't explain his theory.)

Anywho, after we left Crazy Guy at the bar, I headed up to the museum. It wasn't my weekend to work, but I'm the official Paranormal Wrangler for the museum and we had a group that wanted to come in and investigate. I'm the only one who isn't scared to be there after dark by myself, so it usually falls to me. I don't mind, it's really pretty interesting. And I get paid to be there. Bonus.

We started letting groups come in about 2 years ago and have noticed a lot of visitors who come to the museum just because they read the investigation reports on the various paranormal websites. Free advertising = good.

Is it haunted? Yes. A lot of crazy shit happened there before it was a museum and I myself have had some very freaky sightings/experiences. I usually don't believe a lot of stories I hear from other people, but like I attract weirdos, I seem to attract ghosts too. I've had several sightings/experiences in my life so that I totally believe in them. So, no making fun of me because I'm weird. (I'm already planning on blogging a few of my encounters during October. Ghost stories with Moxie, so stay tuned.)

Anyway, if you ever have the opportunity to go on a paranormal investigation, do it. It's sort of fun. Unfortunately, don't expect it to be like Ghost Hunters. It's not. It's a lot of sitting around in the dark with electronics. If cool stuff happens, you don't know about it until they go back through their tapes/photos.

The freakiest that I've been a part of was an EVP that was caught in a part of the museum that always creeps me out. On the tape you hear me and and the investigator guy just talking and then right over us, you can hear very clearly: "Get out. Get out!"

Had I really heard that before listening back to the tape, I would have freaked!

This investigation was no different. We'll have to wait and see if they find anything. Only thing that was really visible was a hanging lamp that moved on it's own, but nothing being hurled at us or anything. I'm convinced cool shit like that only happens on tv.

I'm always really amazed by how non-believing a lot of investigators are. They are very technical in their work, and only once has a group brought a psychic (who by the way was totally the real deal. She talked about stuff that even we, the museum staff had to look up to confirm.)

This group was a bunch of really awesome people. I genuinely liked them. Some groups are not that cool. They are either really weird or just a bunch of people who have no idea what they're doing.

I've become really good at separating the real from the BS when it comes to these guys. So, if you've got a haunting, let me know. I can definitely recommend a great group that will do it for free.

I didn't get home until super late Saturday night, so Sunday, after retrieving my child from her sleepover, I just lounged, did laundry and watched Mad Men.

Such was my so-called life this weekend.