and Sunday is the day of rest...

There is a video that my brother-in-law shows my nephew in the mornings, They Might Be Giants, "I never go to work", or something like that. I spent a few days at their house in August, then they spent a few days with us a few weeks ago, so I heard the song many times, and for some reason, all I can hear in my head is the line, "and Sunday is the day of rest!"

I tend to take the last line of that song completely literally. It is very rare that I change out of pajamas, unless it is to change into my swimming attire to hit the lake. Today is an inside day of rest. So far, I have gotten up (at 1030ish), read blogs, set my fantasy football lineup, looked at the new college football polls, and watched a DVR'ed episode of Law and Order: Criminal Intent. I am now waiting patiently for some delicious takeout and the Cowboys/Redskins football game. I am not a complete waste, I have also done a few loads of laundry, fed the dogs, and done some light straightening up.

I have a love/hate relationship with Sundays. Monday is back to work, so Sunday is that last barrier to working....but Sunday is the day we never make plans so we can come/go as we please...watch lots of football, catch up on tv, watch a week's worth of Netflix, fix a nice dinner..ala the activities I have partaken in today.

Not to change the subject so abruptly, but I love Peyton Manning, and he and I were about 1/2 mile away from each other for about 4 hours on Saturday...we were both outside breathing the same air, and that made me happy.

AND, I blogged about my son's complete underreaction to losing his wallet...now last night he tells me he is quitting his job, because the manager of concessions does not do his job correctly...it makes me happy and frustrated at the same time that he is so idealistic...happy because I like knowing that he takes his job resposibilities to heart, frustrated because he won't understand that all people don't act that way and to quit every job because other people are "lazy" is going to give him a REALLY long resume.

Wow, this post really went astray...I will try to do better tomorrow.

Friday Hotch Potch

Fridays are always super busy, but I had a few things I felt compelled to share:

- I read a post on another blog about swapping (not partners...ewww) here, and it sounded like fun, so I signed up. Now I have to send two postcards donning secrets, ala PostSecret and I am so incredibly nervous that my partners won't like my postcards, or think my secret is dumb. Insecurity at its best...I am scared that a stranger won't think I am good enough.

- I. DO. NOT. want to eat ice cream made from homogenized mother's milk. I will say if Ben & Jerry's goes to this, it probably will help my quest to lose weight.

- I love jello shots and Survivor Gabon. Next week I may combine the two.

Edited to Add: As I was posting this, Mr. P called and asked me if I wanted to meet him for lunch at....high noon. Who says that?

What kind of reactor are you?

Do you over-react? Or under-react? Or do you react just right?

I live in a family of inappropriate reactors...and it got me wondering...where does the tendency to over/under react come from? Is it a nature/nurture thing? Is it a chemical imbalance? Is it our own need for attention and drama? Can we change how we react? But maybe more importantly, can I change how I react to someone else's reaction?
Consider the following:

My son is hanging out after work, sees his wallet laying on the floor across the room, he knows it has his driver's license and $200, and yet doesn't go get it. Two days later, remembers he left it on the floor, is sure someone saved it for him...and when he comes to discover it is gone...he is like...ehh. oh well.

My son's total under-reaction to losing his wallet and his money turns me into a complete fuckball wacko. I get going...have I taught him NO value of money...NO sense of responsbility... NO gumption? ...and really, it doesn't take a lot of gumption to pick up YOUR. OWN. WALLET.

I start thinking...what reaction could he have given me that would have been satisfactory? Do I want him freaking out like I would? "Woe is me, I lost my wallet, whatever shall become of me? " Well, no. I hate that regret belly-ache, and I do not wish that upon this boy. Maybe I just wish this kid would start showing some sense so that when we shove him out the door to college next year the frat boys don't roast him over an open flame and serve him at the first tailgate. ehh. oh well.

ugh...car troubles

Over the course of our marriage, Mr. P and I have insured (read that to mean either we bought, or were given the car by my parents) 10 cars over 19 years, and we have had HORRENDOUS car luck. [After writing the post, I re-read and realize we bear quite a bit of the responsibility...it isn't just the car fates fucking with us. Plus I had a post in mind where I talk about my Dad not being a very good Dad but now I can see how often he has given us vehicles...so I guess I will have to wait until all the cars are in good working order to bitch about that...]

1. Dodge Daytona 1989-1990 (given as present) totaled by drunk driver...my Dad was making the payments so the payoff went to him, so we were left with no car, no dollars. I was married and pregnant, so we were on our own after that.

2. Mercury Lynx 1989-1990 (Mr. P bought before we met) we were young and poor and pregnant and stupid and gave the car back to Ford so they could auction it, naively believing they were trying to help us...thus a reposession on our credit report.

3. Ford Granada Station Wagon 1990, 1995-2000 (Dad lent us this car, post repo, then again post Dodger crash, see #6). This car, "Woody" died of natural causes...we are still sad.

4. Mazda 323 1990-1994 (we bought in Germany) had to sell when we were returning to US because of the safety glass, or lack thereof

5. Ford Escort 1995-2000 (we bought) three weeks after purchase, crack in engine block. Got fixed, and drove during undergrad with no a/c. I don't really remember what the end game for this car was...will check with Mr. P while watching Fringe later. Edited to add: apparently when I was driving it, the head gasket blew, and we sold it for scrap, and that is why I bought the Neon #7...so it really only lasted until 1998.

6. Dodge Cavalier 1995 (we bought with #5) MAN, I loved this car. It was the best car I ever had...got totaled a few weeks after starting college. We used the payoff so that we could work less in school, and Dad said we could have "Woody" back.

7. Dodge Neon 1999-2006 (first NEW car we bought) this was a nice car...one week before I mailed my final payment, our daughter totaled it when she backed up with the door caught on something and bent the frame.

8. Chevy Suburban 2004-present (Dad lent when daughter began driving). This truck is the reason for my post tonight...crazy on gas, and two weeks ago we had to get new "power boosters" for the brakes, and today...transmission problems. Plus over the weekend, it got towed.

9. Chevy Camaro 2006 - 2007 (Mom gave my kids) This car was a 1986 Camaro Z28 with T tops...my mom moved away and left it parked, after 5 years Mr. P went and got it and fixed it up for daughter after she wrecked #7. Daughter totaled this car last summer after rear-ending a truck because she was driving while wearing FLIP FLOPS.

10. Pontiac Grand Am 2006 - Present. (We bought). this is now our one and only functioning car, and in the last month it has had to get new brakes and is having some overheating problems. Our son is the primary driver.

So now we have three people with school and jobs, and while we were hanging in with two cars, one car is going to be more difficult. I should preface this all to say, we have good jobs and make a decent living but because we have a daughter who likes to wreck cars (well she probably doesn't like to, she just does), any new car will break us with insurance payments, and we have a 17 year old son which doesn't help.

I do have to take some blame...we are terrible with our money, and because of our lack of budgeting sense (yes, I am an accountant, get that), we have less than stellar credit and I can't bear to pay the insane interest. So this is a whoa is me, I wish I had an Explorer Hybrid that worked all the live long day. And had an iPod plug-in.

He is one of "them"...you know...a liberal...

I am not overly involved in politics. I vote when the time comes, but I do not campaign, adorn buttons or stickers, donate money or anything else that would help someone get elected. I do not hate W., and while his public speaking skills leave much to be desired, I do not think it is rational to blame one human for the clusterfuck that this country has suffered as of late. That all being said, I am ready for change and will be voting for Barack Obama as soon as the polls open (which I saw on the news last night is now in some places). I also know that I am not fond of Palin, but I recognize that I am basing my judgment on a People magazine story and Tina Fey's portrayal of her on SNL. I am pro-choice, want gun control, and think everyone should read as many books as they can (even though I did find on snopes.com that the book banning story was false).

That all being said, I try not to get swayed by the political ads for either side...I understand their purpose...Hey, I have been known to send Mr. P to grab a Sonic junior banana split or McDonald's doublecheeseburger because those ads remind me that I was STARVING to death at that very second, but I get that political ads are just, well...political ads.

BUT, today I saw an ad that did decide my vote in a local race:





You would think the word liberal meant a person who wants to kill all the babies, puppies and flowers, not a person who favors progress and reform...what a bastard. Segall, I don't even really know what you are running for...but you have my vote.

I do it for love. Love. LOVE.

I am a pretty happy person (parent issues aside) and I attribute that to my having a huge variety of "likes"...as in, I like television, most kinds of music, movies, playing games, reading, chatting, dogs, horses, my iPod, text messaging, sports, computers, food...and it is one of those likes that is the topic of this post...

I love. LOVE. extra love. college football. I graduated from a football school, and happily for me, the same school as my husband, and our daughter attends this school currently. My son will attend (hopefully) next year. As an aside, my sister and her husband graduated from the same school, however, they do not share the same obsessive love we do for this school and its football team. I love the way the RVs start showing up on Wednesday waving the school flags, I love running into old friends while walking across campus...this weekend I ran into a great friend from highschool that I hadn't seen in 15 years...it is my true idea of fellowship. I haven't talked about my views on religion, but from my religious friends they always talk about church and say its more than Jesus, its the fellowship of it all. (I wasn't sure if I misunderstood the term fellowship, so I googled, and found this definition.) As I watched the happenings on campus yesterday I kept thinking...this is 90,000 people gathering for the same purpose...love of their school and of college football, and I like being part of something that big. I know that it isn't some grand noble thing, like being in the armed forces or the peace corps, but I love the feeling just the same.

I also really love professional football...a few years ago I started playing fantasy football, and now Mr.P and I both play and we spend all day on Sundays together talking about football and our players and our opponents.

I hadn't really thought too much about it until this post, but I wonder if my love of football boils down to spending lots of time, and having lots of fun with Mr. P every weekend in the Fall.... who wouldn't want to spend time with this face?

One is the loneliest number

So, for all of you bloggers out there...(note the wild assumption I am making that one day someone other than me will have read this), how many posts did you make that very first day? After I came up with my name, I worked on my layout, and learned some cool html code, and am thinking of things I want to add to my "100 things about me" post that seems to be the norm for new bloggers...even after all that I just couldn't stand my one lone post sitting out there in cyberspace so all alone. So, I went back to the old homestead that was my old blog and grabbed the two that I feel define me right now. The first one is a demonstration of the goofiness that is Mr. Potchery...I have been married for 19 years, and got married when I was 19 years old. Some day I will blog about that in more detail, but to sum it up, I look forward to empty nesting with him.

Side note: Ha, I did it, I called my husband by a fake name. I read several blogs that use fake names, like this one, and some I can't recall that just use titles, i.e. ....Husband, Daughter, etc. I tried out a few, and it seems that I like calling him Mr. Potchery because it sounds like crotchery and that is funny.

Anyway, the other post is a rant about my mom. If you have an awesome mom, I envy you and you probably won't get me at all. If you have a crappy mom and still somehow give her credit because after all, "she's your mom", you will probably get me even less. I am very close to the point where I don't care if I ever talk to my mom again. Just so you know, I do not come by that easily. In the post I give a few examples of the awfulness that being her daughter is...I failed to mention when we had to call the police to go check on her because we were sure she was dead because she wouldn't answer the phone, or when she rear-ended someone in the Kroger parking lot (weirdly the same store where the cheese conversation took place) DRUNK at 4 in the afternoon and when the police offered her a phone call she chose not to use it and we were frantic all night until I decided to call the jail and they told me she was there, oh and when I asked her why she didn't call us it was because the other ladies in jail actually talked to her so she didn't want to leave....I could go on. and on. and on.

I spend most of my time extremely happy with my life...I love my husband, my children, my sister and her family, I believe they all love me, and we are trying very hard to make family traditions and memories for our tiny, but strong group of 7. I spend the rest of my time sad that our group isn't much, much larger...with grandparents for the kids, and more aunts, uncles and cousins. It is a weird dichotomy that I hope I come to terms with soon.

For the love of (cheddar) Jack

Edited to add: This is my favorite blog post, and I thought I would bring 'er over too. A little funny to go with my sad.

I was making my dinner of brown rice, black beans, HOT salsa, and cheese and I got laughing out loud when I was adding the cheese...I remembered a conversation Mr. Potchery and I had at Kroger on Saturday afternoon. Just remembering it makes me not as annoyed that he was crabby because somehow the side view mirror got broken off the car at the movie parking lot last night. (Even though when my sister did the same thing to her car he fixed it because he knew my Dad would be a jerkoff about it.)

****************
Scene: Hotch Potchery and Mr. Potchery strolling down the cheese/wine cooler isle at Kroger.

Mr. P: We need cheese for my baked potato.
Me: Ok.
Mr. P: (Putting Kraft Shredded Cheddar Jack into the cart) I like Cheddar Jack.
Me: Ok.
Mr.P: I don't know why you always buy Colby Jack.
Me: mmm, look at these green tea wine coolers....
Mr. P: I mean it, I like the taste of Cheddar with Jack better than Colby with Jack.
Me: Got it. Cheddar Jack.
Mr. P: I will punch you in your face and then divorce you if you buy Colby Jack again.

**************
FYI...he really wouldn't punch me over Colby Jack, but I would definitely move out town if someone switched the BudLight out of his kegorator.

I wish I could just get mad

Edited to add: This entry was originally on my other blog, I have since deleted it in my ever growing angst that someone at my work would see it and take it to mean I don't have family values....

For those of you who happened across this blog accidentally, you may want to drop back by another day, or scroll down to the entry regarding my husband's loathing of colby jack cheese...those are the blog posts I aspire to.

However, I am wallowing in a sea of self pity and what is the blogosphere for anyhow. I usually LOVE Thursdays...love. love. well...yeah, totally love. Here is why: I can work from home (if at all), on Thursdays. I usually have several days worth of good tv to watch on my DVR. Noone is home except for me and the animals...and get this, for the last 6 weeks a group of 4 or 5 women come and clean my house while I watch DVR, or nap, or get a pedicure, or play at the park with my nephew and sister, or whatever the hell I want to do. This is awesome...I really like my house to be clean, and unfortunately the clean gene skipped me and wound up full time in my sister. Plus, the day after Thursday is Friday which is the day that football revelry really kicks it up...everyone is in town for the game, we meet, have drinks, talk trash. So Thursday is like my warm up day for the rest of the weekend.

But today, I am not happy. I am not sitting here giddily watching the Biggest Loser knowing I have Flashpoint and New Christine still in the hopper...no, I am incessently dialing my mother's phone number...over and over and over and over and ...well you get the point. She isn't answering...and the thing is, she is probably sitting on her couch, shitfaced on wine that she bought at 6am this morning when she went out for her daily cigarette run, thrilled in her own sadistic way that she first got my sister's attention...now mine. I want to be angry. I want to be furious. I want to get downright mad...but all I feel right now is unbelievably sad. I can't watch my tv, I keep pausing and having to rewind because I can't hear what they are saying with all the crap going through my head. I really probably need to go to therapy.

When my sister warned me this was happening again, the first thing I did was take a mental inventory of anything I might have done to set this off...now today I feel guilty because its my fun day, and she is sitting somewhere alone feeling awful. I try to remind myself...she should feel awful, not me. I didn't abandon my 16 year old because I was too busy having an affair. I didn't not show up for Thanksgiving dinner with BOTH my children and all my grandchildren because I decided I would rather be drunk then have to spend a holiday alone when my boyfriend was with his family. I didn't refuse to answer the door and force a tiny boy to change into his soccer uniform on his grandmother's porch. I didn't skip my daughter's baby shower because I couldn't bear to see my child happy and successful. I didn't accuse my child of MISSING HER HUSBAND TO TAUNT ME.

We can't talk to our mom about loving our husbands, because she didn't. We can't talk about loving our babies and nephews and nieces because she doesn't. We can't talk about liking (or hating) our jobs because she doesn't have one. We can't talk about being sad, or lonely, or scared, because she is, and so noone else in the world can be. We can talk about the weather, her dog, and that is it...when or if she fucking answers the phone.

I was happy yesterday. Stuff at work is coming together. My kids are declaring majors, and being in the play, and being pretty responsible and cool adults. My husband is goofy and crabby and I love him more now than 20 years ago. My sister and her family are thinking about moving here. My nephew is smart and healthy and sweet. I have every reason to be happy today, I want to be happy today....but I am sitting here crying because I am not happy, and I really, really, really wish I were mad.

Why HotchPotchery?

I have wanted to move my blog to blogger for a couple of weeks, but I couldn't think of a good name...all the blogs I love to read have incredibly clever names and seem to really fit the bloggers.

I was not clever, or original with my first blog address or name, and once found, it is EASILY identifiable as me...the pictures and our real names definitely aid any blog detectives. Anyway, one night about two weeks ago I wrote a post about some frustration I was feeling at work and after I went to bed I couldn't sleep...I was sure someone from work would find the post, send it around, and I would get the academic version of Dooced (not fired, just not tenured).

I lied there laid there lay there continued to rest on my bed, not able to sleep, until I got up and deleted the whole post. Then today I wrote a long post about the gnome of a creature that is my mother and I got motivated to start what is hopefully going to be my secret blog...secret from my parents, my work, and my family..other than my sister. (I found her secret blog, and believe she will find mine quite easily...not that she frequently googles hotchpotchery, but I will comment on a few blogs that she frequents so that she can put it together...it will be more fun that way (for me)).

Whew, all that to get now to the name...I love some elements of other blogs, like daily pictures, themes, humor, and so I wanted to create a blog where I could do any or all of that stuff whenever I feel up to it, mixed in with hate mail to my parents, love letters to my husband, gushing about how awesome my teenagers are, bitching about how awful my teenagers are, and occasionally, should my mom ever find this...weather updates and a picture of my dog, and should my dad ever find this...pictures of me drinking beer. Hence, a hotchpotchery.