tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31410544400154784662009-02-20T19:04:47.618-07:00Memories, mammaries, and overall Marie-ishness, with an excellent pinot grigio and a wedge of piquant gouda. I extrapolate in your general direction!Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.comBlogger247125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-29911348074049573632008-06-02T11:45:00.004-06:002008-06-02T11:49:54.046-06:00Today is a great day to not be on Blogspot anymore, judging by the issues they were having this morning, eh?<br /><br />But before I congratulate myself too much, I must confess that if you subscribed to what you rightfully assumed to be my new feed on my new site, well, that was actually my old feed on my new site. The new feed is now in place, so please <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/memarielane/CWKS">re-re-subscribe</a>. Spanks!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/175/8B1DC87179BF5F0CB6DC4F190869A8B7.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-2991134807404957363?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-71159270031949569412008-05-31T15:32:00.002-06:002008-05-31T15:47:16.968-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://memarielane.com"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SEHHFXkiPvI/AAAAAAAAA08/fdr4tbLgCcU/s400/moved.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206661539257532146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/175/8B1DC87179BF5F0CB6DC4F190869A8B7.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-7115927003194956941?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-81102108568106892452008-05-30T08:00:00.001-06:002008-05-31T14:03:25.563-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SB4jrpkHs4I/AAAAAAAAAtA/q6CPy2RGvEM/s1600-h/magazine5581995.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SB4jrpkHs4I/AAAAAAAAAtA/q6CPy2RGvEM/s320/magazine5581995.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196630252830831490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Originally this was simply a detective novel spoof that I gave up on. But today </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-style: italic;" href="http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2008/05/29/today-i-am-a-woman/">Neil is having a Write Like the Opposite Sex day contest</a><span style="font-style: italic;">, so I delved into the sewers of my abandoned drafts and pulled this one up for air. No way will it win, but here it is anyway. You can read my last spoof <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/2008/04/big-announcement.html">here</a>. </span><br /><br />"Can I warm that up for you Hon?" asked a raspy voice, sending a warm, moist breeze of carcinogenic ash across the table.<br /><br />Detective Carmichael Marion Edge VII inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment, absently scratching at the layers of Nicoderm patches on his bicep. "Yeah," he said, "sure."<br /><br />He turned to look at his waitress, a pair of wobbly double D's slung in a polyester hammock that crushed them into a single, tubular entity. He knew well the constellations of freckles winking back at him. Them and their cousins too, farther South of the equator. The left one was adorned by an embroidered patch that read "Paulette." And so he called it, but was too embarrassed to ask the other its name. He ought to know and was too much of a gentleman to ask.<br /><br />"You sure you don't want a coffin nail? I got a spare pack in my locker." She leaned over and poured what passed for coffee from a glass decanter, a light brown liquid that may or may not have passed through a pre-measured coffee filter unit.<br /><br />"No," he said. "I mean yeah, I'm sure."<br /><br />"Your call. I get off at two," she said, and walked away, plastic heels grinding into the gritty linoleum.<br /><br />He turned back to the rain streaked window and his target, the Mile High Club across the street. Once a parasite of the long closed municipal airport, at one time it aspired to some vestige of credibility but never quite managed it. It finally gave up in the late 90's along with everything else. An old single engine turbo prop was still perched on the roof of the place, an old city landmark and proving ground for randy teenagers. The only reason they didn't condemn the dump was its placement on the Historical Society's preservation list; it held steady at number nine, well behind the old water tower and the lamp post Mayor Krenshaw had crashed into during the Great Budget Crisis of '73. And of course there were the bottomless pockets of the proprietor of Mile High, one Dooley Grimes.<br /><br />Edge had been after Grimes for years, but until now the slimy bastard had kept the wheels of his operation as greasy as Paulette's blouse after a turn with the deep fryer. Finally he'd messed up though, and Edge had the goods. And he'd deliver them as surely as Grimes had run over Edge's Blue Tick Hound all those years ago.<br /><br />God, he'd loved that dog.<br /><br />Just then a man came out of the Mile High, a black silhouette against a blacker night. He paused just outside the door for a moment and seemed to lock eyes with Edge before turning to walk down the alley past a row of abandoned warehouses. Not Grimes.<br /><br />He drained his coffee with a single gulp and stared at the residue stained fissure that ran across the bottom of the cup. When had he last slept? He wondered. Must have been 1987, the year he'd made detective. The year his mother succumbed to fatal cumulonimbus of the ginglymus. The year he'd lost his trust fund and all his savings on the stock market in one fell swoop, thanks to the "inside tip" of one Dooley Grimes.<br /><br />It had been 21 years. 21 long years dreaming of revenge. 21 years of just scraping by, the single detective in a one horse ghost town where the most exciting thing that ever happened was when Tommy Tonkerson became Tammy Tonkerson and got her own talk show in Helsinki. And while Edge suffered in mediocrity, there was Dooley Grimes, slowly buying out the entire town and turning it into some kind of wannabe Route 66 hot spot. Like that's what the town needed.<br /><br />But Edge had him now. Everyone has a weakness, and he'd finally found Grimes'. An officer of the law, with a lot of time on his hands and a wealth of information at his fingertips, Edge had discovered, quite by accident, that Grimes was the city's one and only registered Republican.<br /><br />The lone Republican in a town full of Generation X blue collars who'd been out of work for nearly five years, ever since Kazinsky's Kettle Korn, an American institution since 1951, had pulled out. The X's had been producing Y's and Z's ever since, having nothing better to do, and the town was little more than a breeding ground for the Democratic party. They were a hot spot on every campaign trail, the very picture of a small town America with dreams refocused from enterprise to the social programs that kept them solvent. If the town was divided at all, it was by a fuzzy line that separated the Clintonites from the Obama... Ites.<br /><br />And now their very favorite person, the man they'd come to see as their savior, turned out to be a die-hard corporation humping big hairy Bush lover.<br /><br />And Edge was the lucky man who had him by the short and curlies.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-8110210856810689245?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-75106764466772918452008-05-27T19:30:00.011-06:002008-05-31T14:07:11.369-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.stykera.com/wallpapers/movies/prideandprejudice/prideandprejudice.htm"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SD2QdXkiPmI/AAAAAAAAAz0/GQ-nBlI7Lyo/s320/mrdarcy1024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205475578528022114" border="0" /></a>Netflix is evil. I have in my queue the 1995 BBC version of <span style="font-style: italic;">Pride and Prejudice</span>, the one with Colin Firth, who is supposed to be the best Mr. Darcy ever. I'm pretty sure this is the only version of P&amp;P I have not seen, so I have been eagerly watching it creep up the list. In my queue. Qeueu. Q. Why the hello do they call it a queue anyway? This isn't Britain! I have to look it up every time! And let me remind you I was school spelling bee champion two years in a row, back in the olden days before spellcheck!<br /><br />So last week they finally sent it, along with <span style="font-style: italic;">The Magic School Bus, Bugs! Bugs! Bugs!</span> Except they only sent disc one. They sent me half of a movie. And we're not talking about <span style="font-style: italic;">Legally Blonde</span> here people, this is <span style="font-style: italic;">Pride and Prejudice</span>! Not a series either, but a single film. Did they really expect me to placidly watch disc one and then just wait around for them to send the other half? It probably cuts off at a really crucial moment too, like when Mr. Collins proposes to Elizabeth or Mr. Bingley suddenly leaves Netherfield.<br /><br />So I let Max and Jessamine have two days with <span style="font-style: italic;">The Magic School Bus</span>, then I packed it off right away. Forgetting completely about Memorial Day and the lack of mail service thereon.<br /><br />They're just lucky I have ice cream.<br /><br />Had.<br /><br />So now I wait. Disc two is at the top of my queue now, and if they dare to skip it? I will be forced to take measures. And that's all I have to say about that. Thank God for <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.officeepisodesonline.com/season_4.php">this</a>, which has been occupying me in the meantime. Jim and Pam! Pam and Jim!<br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.allthetests.com/quiz09/quizpu.php?testid=1088032658">Which Bennett sister are you</a>? I was sure I'd be Mary but I'm Elizabeth. Psh. Here is a video I found of Mr. Darcy's finest moments, for all my P&amp;P sisters:<br /><br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/L4JGXxmzPHo&amp;hl=en&amp;rel=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/L4JGXxmzPHo&amp;hl=en&amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/175/8B1DC87179BF5F0CB6DC4F190869A8B7.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a><br /></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-7510676446677291845?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-55423034721956254112008-05-27T19:30:00.010-06:002008-05-31T14:01:31.369-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/it_works_for_me/index.html"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDxglXkiPlI/AAAAAAAAAzs/u_BNiuCPaF8/s200/wfmw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205141464432131666" border="0" /></a>If you were stranded on a desert island and had to choose just one book to read for the rest of your life (no rescue is imminent), what would you choose?<br /><br />It was hard, but I managed to whittle it down. I'd have to go with <span style="font-style: italic;">The Alchemist</span> by Paulo Coelho, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Cider House Rules</span> by John Irving, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Bluest Eye</span> by Toni Morrison, <span style="font-style: italic;">Pride and Prejudice</span> by Jane Austen, all of <span style="font-style: italic;">Harry Potter</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of Green Gables</span>, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Twilight</span> series, the complete works of Pablo Neruda and Emily Dickinson, and about 150 others.<br /><br />Yes, I did say one book. Because I've got this.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDsgaXkiPjI/AAAAAAAAAzc/Ilqfb5F6ILs/s1600-h/reader.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDsgaXkiPjI/AAAAAAAAAzc/Ilqfb5F6ILs/s400/reader.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204789431732682290" border="0" /></a><br />And it holds about 160 complete books.<br /><br />What is this thing? It's a <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.sonystyle.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/CategoryDisplay?catalogId=10551&amp;storeId=10151&amp;langId=-1&amp;categoryId=16184&amp;XID=O:sony%20reader:dg_read_gglsrch">Sony Reader Digital Book</a>. It works pretty much the same way as an ipod, just with different media (although it does have an MP3 player built in as well). You just go to the ebook store to purchase books, download them to your library, and upload them to your Reader.<br /><br />This thing has been a real lifesaver for me. You all know what a huge reader I am, but not having a car makes it difficult to get to the library very often. When I do go to the library I've been finding myself compromising on the quality of books I choose because I'd rather read something I can hold easily for long periods of time, something small and light. So often I'll end up with Nora Roberts instead of Thomas Pynchon. Okay, Thomas Pynchon is over my head, but you know what I mean. Now I can read anything I want without contracting tennis elbow.<br /><br />I also really like the bookmark feature. People like to give me bookmarks because they know I read a lot, and I like bookmarks. Unfortunately, so do my kids. They have a collection hidden somewhere that looks suspiciously like mine. They pull them right out of my books and I never see them again, and it takes me a good five minutes of flipping around trying to find my place again. I don't mind dog-earing my own books, but not library books. So I tell myself I'll just remember the page number, but it escapes me the moment I snap the book shut. Digital bookmarking saves me a lot of trouble.<br /><br />But I'd have to say my favorite feature is that it comes with "dummy cards," information cards you can hand out to people that want to know what on earth that thing is you're staring at. I think I'll make some dummy cards to hand out to people that want to <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/2008/04/five-things-not-to-ask-pregnant-woman.html">ask me stupid</a> <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/2008/05/dear-googler.html">pregnancy questions</a> or why I'm so skinny. My brother gave me a t-shirt for Christmas that says "Judge me for my size, do you?" But maybe a card would be even better.<br /><br />The Reader came with a generous 100 book credit too, so considering I read two or three books a week, I'm set for at least another eight months. At $300 these things aren't cheap, but neither is an ipod, and the 100 book credit pretty much negates the cost.<br /><br />So while you're sitting there on your desert island with a ragged copy of your favorite book, I'll be plush under a palm tree with my reader, my laptop, and a frosty pina colada. Because my island comes with an all-inclusive resort too. Oh, did I fail to mention that?<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/175/8B1DC87179BF5F0CB6DC4F190869A8B7.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a><br /></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-5542303472195625411?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-86819587427571082102008-05-26T18:30:00.003-06:002008-05-31T13:46:22.789-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://jackidyrholm.blogspot.com/search/label/Tickle%20Me%20Tuesday"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDsKdnkiPiI/AAAAAAAAAzU/MTKGrqDwPuU/s200/tickle+me+tuesday.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204765298311446050" border="0" /></a>No, seriously. It is. My wonderful sister-in-law, <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://simply-sarah.com/">Sarah</a>, is negotiating my move to my own URL even as I type. I've been packing all day, and I am exhausted!<br /><br />I'm excited though, moving to a solid URL is kind of like graduating from high school. Will I move on to great things, or will I get knocked up and drop out of beauty college and end up working at Subway?<br /><br />And then of course there's the merchandising, and that's great. I think we can all agree that if there's one thing this country needs more of, it's merchandise. I've got some ideas for that. A lot of bloggers go into merchandising, but they just don't seem to use their imaginations. Do you really need another logo t-shirt? Mouse pad? Coffee cup? Tote bag? Didn't think so. Honestly, who uses a tote bag anyway? Here's what I'm thinking.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDr4C3kiPeI/AAAAAAAAAy0/_HII7Z4Xjiw/s1600-h/flash+drive+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDr4C3kiPeI/AAAAAAAAAy0/_HII7Z4Xjiw/s200/flash+drive+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204745047540645346" border="0" /></a>We've got the Memarie Lane flash drive. It can hold up to 2 GB of Memarie schtick! And get this. <span style="font-style: italic;">It doubles as a keychain</span>. I know, goundbreaking, isn't it? Where do I come up with this stuff?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDr5wHkiPfI/AAAAAAAAAy8/IoES2iKoNtA/s1600-h/patch.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDr5wHkiPfI/AAAAAAAAAy8/IoES2iKoNtA/s200/patch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204746924441353714" border="0" /></a>The Memarie Lane osmosis patch, which was actually developed for me by my cousin, the brilliant <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/search/label/Dr.%20Electrica%20Venue">Dr. Electrica Venue</a>. Now you can have my feed filtered directly into your bloodstream. This patch is revolutionary in that it is also bi-directional, allowing you to leave comments just by thinking about them! Still working on the spell-checker function though.<br /><br />But that's not all! These patches contain microchips that allow me to track your every move, thought, and blood pressure fluctuation. That helps both of us, because while I have the benefit of controlling your mind and turning you into my evil minion, <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> get around the clock health monitoring. I'll know you're having a heart attack before your heart does. In fact, I'll know <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span>!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDsDtXkiPgI/AAAAAAAAAzE/B5C_pJi-kcs/s1600-h/pillow.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDsDtXkiPgI/AAAAAAAAAzE/B5C_pJi-kcs/s200/pillow.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204757872312991234" border="0" /></a><br />The Memarie Foam pillow. I know that many of you have fantasized about sleeping with me, and now you can! This is the uncontoured design, I'm still waiting for the contoured prototype. The label on the front is actually a pocket that hides a silk bag full of lavender and flaxseed, which you can throw in the microwave in the winter or in the freezer during the summer. The pillow is actually hollowed out there to prevent lumpiness. So you get the calming scent of lavender, temperature control, and unparalleled comfort. Sleeping with me is a multisensory experience!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDsExHkiPhI/AAAAAAAAAzM/z84F0lN5bBk/s1600-h/scrapbook+kit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDsExHkiPhI/AAAAAAAAAzM/z84F0lN5bBk/s200/scrapbook+kit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204759036249128466" border="0" /></a><br />And last but not least, the Memarie Lane line of scrapbooking materials, the best way to preserve your MemarieBilia. I don't get the whole scrapbooking craze myself, but a craze it is. So what makes my scrapbooking kits different from everyone else's? Mine consist not of cookie-cutter little frou-frou things, but of <span style="font-style: italic;">actual scraps</span>. Each kit will include:<br /><ul><li>Headline letters from my Sunday paper, perfect for assembling the ultimate ransom note</li><li>Canceled stamps from my mail</li><li>Candy bar wrappers (brands may vary)</li><li>Expired coupons</li><li>Hair from my shower drain, which can be braided into decorative cording, tied into lovely bows, or substituted for lost baby locks.</li></ul>I have more ideas still in zygote status as well. Right now I'm working on a collaboration with Krispy Kreme and Dairy Queen to design my very own ice cream / donut dish, a project very close to my heart. I've also got some irons in the fire with Breyers and Stouffers for a line of frozen dinners just for pregnant women (with flavors like MemarieBerry Cheesecake Swirl and Frosted Brownie Pretzel Cream Pie), and here's the kicker: no cooking is necessary! You just open the box straight from the freezer and dive in. Each meal contains 25% of the recommended daily allowance of calcium. Why no one else has thought of this is beyond me.<br /><br />So there you have it, I'll let you know when the new site is fully operational. And I'll be adding a Suggestion Box for more merchandising ideas. If I use your idea, you'll get a free subscription!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/175/8B1DC87179BF5F0CB6DC4F190869A8B7.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><br /><br /><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-8681958742757108210?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-1230863831485414492008-05-25T14:12:00.005-06:002008-05-26T12:27:54.787-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.aguntherphotography.com/blog/self-portrait.html"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDnOZXkiPdI/AAAAAAAAAys/i7Hujailk10/s320/self_portrait_grass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204417779622624722" border="0" /></a>So what did you do at church today? While pastor Gary continued the neverending saga of Paul and Silas (it does end eventually, right? I mean, they died, didn't they?), I ate a breakfast of two eggs over easy, hash browns, one piece of toast with margarine (ew), two slices of bacon, and a package of stale donuts covered in brown wax that was meant to taste like chocolate. I also drank some water and doodled.<br /><br />I drew a self portrait. That should be alarming for two reasons.<br /><br />1. I cannot draw. I can't even make a convincing stick person.<br />2. I am generally opposed to doing anything that has ever been done by an angst ridden college student who uses a flat iron and cuts herself.<br /><br />But I did, I drew a self portrait. In a small lined notebook from WalMart. And it was therapeutic, especially after all the wallowing I did yesterday. In fact, it led to even more wallowing, but of a much more constructive variety.<br /><br />At some point this week I'm going to attempt to transpose this self portrait in a more legible fashion and have my dad scan it, and I will post it next Monday. I'm curious to see what you all think about it, not of my artistic ability, which I assure you I have none of, but of the symbols I used and what they might mean to you. If anyone else would like to do a self-portrait, whether it's drawn or photographed or written, let me know, and if there's any interest I'll put up a Linky when I post mine June second.<br /><br />You can define "self-portrait" however you like, mine is purely conceptual. I think a self portrait should be more about who you are than what your face looks like. The photograph above is a self-portrait by <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.aguntherphotography.com/blog/self-portrait.html">Andre Gunther</a>, which makes me think of my favorite <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://wwwtheothersideofparis.blogspot.com/">Parisian blogger</a>.<br /><br />No buttons, no viral tagging, no showing off, just self-discovery. So if you're going to do it, say so in a comment. There are few things more embarrassing than an empty Linky widget.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/175/8B1DC87179BF5F0CB6DC4F190869A8B7.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><br /><br /><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-123086383148541449?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-34676524565077819242008-05-24T13:23:00.004-06:002008-05-24T14:16:25.685-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDh1WHkiPcI/AAAAAAAAAyk/710oSm7rJi0/s1600-h/lookingInMirror.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDh1WHkiPcI/AAAAAAAAAyk/710oSm7rJi0/s320/lookingInMirror.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204038392276467138" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Yes, I spelled it "altar" on purpose. Just in case you were wondering. It's called irony. Or something.</span><br /><br />Today is a bad day for me. I knew that it would be the moment I opened my eyes and saw the same wall, the same closet door, the same stacks of the same books I see every same morning.<br /><br />I sat down to my Google Reader with a cup of coffee, and found all these blogs speaking to me, saying things their authors would never have intended. The blogs told me that my life sucks and my blog sucks and the forecast doesn't look good either.<br /><br />My mom came bearing Starbucks. She told me that she Googled her name once to see what came up, and she found another woman with her name that had a condo on every beach, a veneer on every tooth, a flashy ring on every finger. It was like she'd discovered her alter ego.<br /><br />I wonder if there's another one of me out there? A me with a more interesting, more privileged life, who can just go buy clothes when she wants or needs them, and find some that fit right there on the rack. A me with a dayplanner filled past the margins with notations and scribbles that must be consulted before the smallest engagement can be committed to. A me who knows how she's going to pay her rent and doesn't even have to think about it. A me with all the sorts of things that are so ordinary to everyone else and yet so unobtainable for <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> me. And which me is the true me?<br /><br />Maybe the privileged one is out there dreaming of a simpler life, just staying at home with the kids all the time and never having anywhere to go or even any way to get there. Maybe she's doing it right now, sitting on a settee at an awful baby shower with a glass of sorbet punch, cursing me with her daydreams of simplicity.<br /><br />If you see her, slap her for me.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/175/8B1DC87179BF5F0CB6DC4F190869A8B7.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><br /><br /><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-3467652456507781924?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-67639742461136115912008-05-21T19:30:00.005-06:002008-05-22T17:27:09.604-06:00A few years ago Brad and I had our picture taken by one of those traveling photographers that dresses you up in vintage clothes and snaps a vignette so you can have something nice to hang up next to your Billy the Big Mouthed Bass. It was a Western bar set, so they dressed Brad as a gunslinger and me as a "floozy" (their word, not mine). Except when we got the picture I simply looked like a kindergarten teacher in fish net stockings five sizes too big.<br /><br />No matter how I try, I can never be convincingly bad. Maybe that's why I always root for the bad guy. It's not that I play devil's advocate exactly, more that I tend to be empathetic to a fault, feeling the pains of not just the Supermen of the world, but the Lex Luthors as well. Think about it- An all-powerful alien descends upon your planet, capable of all sorts of freakish things. Wouldn't you try to stop him too? Think of everything we could learn if he was turned over to Science! I'll bet one of his toenail clippings could cure all sorts of horrible diseases. But he stubbornly hordes them just so he can try to get into Lois Lane's Anne Tylers.<br /><br />Here are a few of these defamed personalities, and my arguments for their acquittal.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC85IJy9SvI/AAAAAAAAAww/WmTbX2cibIU/s1600-h/NurseRatched.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC85IJy9SvI/AAAAAAAAAww/WmTbX2cibIU/s200/NurseRatched.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201438906867600114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nurse Ratched</span>. She took a run-down, mismanaged psych ward and turned it into an efficient piece of finely oiled machinery. Then that reprobate McMurphy -who, must I remind you, is a criminal- comes along and destroys it all. Why? Because he's bored. Chief makes some interesting arguments, but in the first place you have to recognize that the guy is crazy. In the second place, the things he complains about are the same things we all complain about. Routine. Monotony. Being forced to swallow bitter pills. The Man. Except in this case The Man is a woman. If she were a man, would they have tried the same thing? I think not. A man would be an acceptable authority figure. Her femininity works against her because they expect a woman to be more nurturing. What we've got here is not a sadistic nurse, but one lone, courageous woman struggling to bear the weight of misogyny and everything else that's wrong in the world.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC85R5y9SwI/AAAAAAAAAw4/tBdjudJVUfw/s1600-h/nellie-oleson.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC85R5y9SwI/AAAAAAAAAw4/tBdjudJVUfw/s200/nellie-oleson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201439074371324674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nellie Oleson</span>, the arch-nemesis of one Laura Ingalls, Walnut Grove's resident goody-goody. Nellie was always my favorite character. Yes, she is spoiled, and says some nasty things, but you know what? So does Laura. And you know what else? Laura always hits first. I was looking through old video to make sure my memory served me correctly, and sure enough, for every one of Nellie's sneers, there's Laura sneering even harder, fist at the ready.<br /><br />Nellie was also a lot more interesting than Laura. She was adopted, she'd lived in the city, she was in general a more adventurous spirit. And while I normally favor the brunette in any such altercation, Nellie simply had better hair.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC845Jy9StI/AAAAAAAAAwg/JIVp5hC2BM4/s1600-h/AAAAAoAa3u0AAAAAAIzssA.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC845Jy9StI/AAAAAAAAAwg/JIVp5hC2BM4/s200/AAAAAoAa3u0AAAAAAIzssA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201438649169562322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Joan Crawford</span> was ahead of her time. If she was around now, parenting under the same circumstances, she'd be paraded on Katie Couric and HGTV. Now there are drugs for people suffering from OCD, and olympic sized swimming pools full of understanding. Then, all they could see was villainy. But behind all the cold cream was a sick, lonely woman that just wanted to be loved.<br /><br />And what was her crime anyway? So she had something against wire hangers. Does anyone <span style="font-style: italic;">like</span> wire hangers? I watched the movie again, and I saw not an abusive mother but a bratty, disrespectful child. Crawford was a dedicated parent who took out her frustrations on grout. Big whoop.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC84xJy9SsI/AAAAAAAAAwY/PB2O69zj2ck/s1600-h/lumberg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC84xJy9SsI/AAAAAAAAAwY/PB2O69zj2ck/s200/lumberg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201438511730608834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bill Lumberg</span>, the soulless boss. Another case of someone being derided merely for his position in life. His staff ought to recognize in his glazed eyes and careless stance that he too is bored with his job. He doesn't want to be there either. Look at him. Does he really look like he gives a crap about the 2000 switch?<br /><br />His only joy in life is his car. He worked hard for that car, and for his parking space and nice office. He feels threatened by Peter because Peter reminds him of himself when he was a cubicle guy. I'm not saying I'd want him at my Superbowl party, but come on. Give the guy a break!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC8335y9SqI/AAAAAAAAAwI/otHoYOJXABY/s1600-h/Copy_of_ChickenRun4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC8335y9SqI/AAAAAAAAAwI/otHoYOJXABY/s200/Copy_of_ChickenRun4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201437528183098018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mrs. Tweedy</span> didn't know what she was getting into when she married a chicken farmer. But she was smart and industrious, and had her eye on the future, and that is all she's guilty of. That and her enjoyment of a nice chicken dinner, but who doesn't enjoy a nice chicken dinner?<br /><br />If you lived on an unprofitable chicken farm and were married to an apparent schizophrenic, wouldn't you try to do something about it? If your very livelihood built an airplane and attempted to fly away, wouldn't you go after it with an axe? Mrs. Tweedy embodies the American spirit of survival and ambition, even though she's British. So why are we taking a chicken's side over hers again? Because she has bad hair?<br /><br />Next time you see someone being vilified, think about what their crime truly is. Are they really the embodiment of evil, or do they simply have a big heart for hairless cats and pinky rings? Are they really psychotic or did they try the neighborhood beauty college's new Botox injection service, forever paralyzing one eyebrow? Just step into their shoes for a few minutes and you may see things differently.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a><br /></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-6763974246113611591?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-67469150408407353802008-05-21T19:30:00.003-06:002008-05-21T19:30:01.813-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDTII5y9S7I/AAAAAAAAAyU/DyKXpJm3PjM/s1600-h/Hot%2520Fudge%2520Sundae.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDTII5y9S7I/AAAAAAAAAyU/DyKXpJm3PjM/s400/Hot%2520Fudge%2520Sundae.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203003524798827442" border="0" /></a><br />When attempting to replicate a McDonald's soft serve hot fudge sundae with granulated peanuts-<br /><br />(secondary note to self: find out why they call them granulated rather than chopped or some other synonym more suitable for IQ of average McDonald's customer, and while you're at it, find out what is so fancy about fancy ketchup.)<br /><br />- do not, ever again, no matter the temptation, attempt the following procedure:<br /><br />1. Retrieve ancient carton of vanilla ice cream from bowels of freezer<br />2. Scrape protective ice crystal covering from ice cream with heated ice cream scooper<br />3. Transfer remaining bits of vintage ice cream to bowl<br />4. Melt three bars of leftover Halloween fun-sized Hershey's bars in the microwave<br />5. Dump products of chocolate microwave experiment over vintage ice cream<br />6. Attempt to both eat and enjoy.<br /><br />- Rather, call Brad and instruct him to stop by McDonald's on the way home from work and purchase an actual soft serve hot fudge sundae with actual imitation hot fudge containing delicious and gooey chemical stabilizers, and packet of actual granulated peanuts. If he then presents an argument against the wisdom of spending the last $1.08 we posses, remind him that his precious gnome collection continues to exist only out of love and benevolence.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/175/8B1DC87179BF5F0CB6DC4F190869A8B7.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a><br /></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-6746915040840735380?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-17059563161458038322008-05-20T19:30:00.012-06:002008-05-22T09:17:48.631-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/it_works_for_me/index.html"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC4Oy5y9SoI/AAAAAAAAAv4/OK_ekji0PzY/s200/wfmw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201110887330302594" border="0" /></a>Like my new layout? It's all thanks to <u><b><a href="http://designsbysummer.blogspot.com/">Summer</a></b></u>, who is both talented and surprisingly affordable.<br /><br />It's been awhile since I let my cousin write a post, so I agreed to let her write for <a href="http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/it_works_for_me/index.html">WFMW</a> this week. But I also wanted to plug in my own tip, so here it is in brief.<br /><br />I'm really picky about my vitamins. The prenatal vitamins I use, Rainbow Light Just Once Prenatal, cost about $30 at local health food stores for a bottle of 90. I recently found <a href="http://www.vitacost.com/">this website</a>, which sells them for $14, plus $4.99 shipping. I browsed a bit, and they really have incredible prices on all their nutritional supplements. I worried that maybe they'd be expired or otherwise damaged, but they turned out to be perfect. So I saved $10 <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> a trip to Whole Foods. Next time you need vitamins, check them out!<br /><br />Okay, now here's Electrica. I apologize in advance...<br /><br />**************************************************************************<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC4QNJy9SpI/AAAAAAAAAwA/XlEeAcU8Nns/s1600-h/ask+dr+venue.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SC4QNJy9SpI/AAAAAAAAAwA/XlEeAcU8Nns/s200/ask+dr+venue.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201112437813496466" border="0" /></a><em>Dr. Electrica Venue has a PhD in Extrapolation from the prestigious University of the </em><a href="http://www.sealandnews.com/facts/"><em>Principality of Sealand</em></a><em>, where she also minored in both Nullification and Obfuscation. She now serves her Alma Mater as the dean of her field, and has made several televised appearances, on shows such as "Good Morning Sealand!" and "Great Sous Chefs of the North Sea." Look for her book, <span style="font-weight: bold;">The Proper Care and Heeding of Wives</span>, at a bookstore near you!</em><br /><br />We're living in troubled times. The economy is terrible. Prices are up, pants are down, and lubricant seriously lacking. Everyone's looking for ways to save money, even here in Sealand. My cousin Marie shared <a href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/2008/05/cheap-easy-and-delicious.html">some recipes</a> with you last week, and I passed several of them on to my chef. I'm very much looking forward to saving some money in that area. Like many of you I too have been looking for ways to cut costs, and the information I've found out there is disappointingly obvious. <span style="font-style: italic;">To save gas, make fewer trips!</span> You don't say! <span style="font-style: italic;">To save money on food, eat out less!</span> Such insight!<br /><br />So I put together some tips that you may not have thought of. They have certainly saved me oodles of money!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDHzwJy9S6I/AAAAAAAAAyI/w2s9koAfYYA/s1600-h/sexy_man_cooking%2Bcopy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDHzwJy9S6I/AAAAAAAAAyI/w2s9koAfYYA/s200/sexy_man_cooking%2Bcopy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202207053178555298" border="0" /></a>1. Instead of keeping both a cook <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> a maid, fire the cook and send your maid to a cooking school. I actually fired both and put Darren, my pool boy, in charge. I'm now only paying out a third of the payroll I was before and the results are quite satisfactory. In fact, I've finally lost those last ten pounds! In this picture he is trying to figure out where he went wrong with my breakfast. Naughty boy!<br /><br />2. Re-think your next vacation. I was planning on doing space tourism this year, but when the economy got sour I made some new arrangements and decided to take several frugal vacations throughout the year instead. I went to <a href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/2008/02/path-to-natural-beauty.html">Belize in February</a>, and at this very moment I'm in Cannes for this quaint little film festival. In August it's Kenya (safari time!), and in December, Dubai. All of these vacations combined do not equate even a fraction of what space tourism would have cost me. Staying closer to home really does save!<br /><br />3. I don't have children, but many of my friends and neighbors do. My BFF Saffron's daughter, Marlynn, turned 11 a few months ago. Saffron was very concerned over the extravagance of children's birthday parties, which really have become ridiculously overdone in recent years. She decided to do something low profile and save some money. So she booked Miley Cyrus to come out and play the party, and she was able to negotiate nearly $500 off of the fee by agreeing to cover all travel expenses for Miley and her staff. And she remembered the story about some airline saving millions by simply removing one olive from every salad, so she had her caterers do the very same thing, cutting nearly three dollars from her total. Next time a birthday approaches, think of the many ways you too might be able to cut costs.<br /><br />4. If you're planning to get married and have any amount of wealth, make sure to have a pre-nuptial agreement drawn up. My husband failed to do so, and now he lives in his attorney's casita in Fresno while we finalize the divorce. <span style="font-style: italic;">And I'm in Cannes!</span> *wink wink*<br /><br />5. Here's a tip I actually got from Marie's husband, who is a car salesman. I wanted to trade in my decripit 2007 Cabriolet (which gets excellent mileage by the way, and has plenty of room for both Darren and Perez, my Goldendoodle puppy) for a 2008. Since the 2007 wasn't quite paid off, Brad advised me to ask my insurance company about something called Gap Insurance. I tried to tell him I would never shop at Gap, but he insisted. He said it covers the difference between what the car is worth and what you actually owe, so the difference isn't tacked on to the price of your new car. That little tip saved me nearly $20,000. I was so grateful I sent him a Hallmark e-card, thus saving money on a stamp as well. See, I'm on a roll!<br /><br />You know, during the Depression, there were still plenty of millionaires. It's all a matter of personal economy. A penny saved is a penny earned, I really believe that.<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a><br /></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-1705956316145803832?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-10687185651120309322008-05-19T19:30:00.001-06:002008-05-19T21:19:45.902-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://jackidyrholm.blogspot.com/search/label/Tickle%20Me%20Tuesday"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDHOBJy9S5I/AAAAAAAAAyA/GxH4hS3enjQ/s200/tickle+me+tuesday.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202165563794475922" border="0" /></a>Found these <a href="http://www.collthings.co.uk/2008/04/25-funny-country-song-titles.html">here</a>: 25 Country songs that didn't make it.<br /><br />1. Get Your Tongue Outta My Mouth Cause I'm Kissing You Good-bye.<br /><br />2. I Don't Know Whether To Kill Myself or Go Bowling.<br /><br />3. If I Can't Be Number One In Your Life, Then Number Two On You.<br /><br />4. I Sold A Car To A Guy Who Stole My Girl, But It Don't Run So We're Even.<br /><br />5. Mama Get A Hammer (There's A Fly On Daddy's Head).<br /><br />6. If The Phone Don't Ring, You'll Know It's Me.<br /><br />7. She's Actin' Single and I'm Drinkin' Doubles.<br /><br />8. How Can I Miss You If You Won't Go Away.<br /><br />9. I Keep Forgettin' I Forgot About You.<br /><br />10. I Liked You Better Before I Knew You So Well.<br /><br />11. I Still Miss You Baby, But My Aim's Gettin' Better.<br /><br />12. I Wouldn't Take Her To A Dog Fight, Cause I'm Afraid She'd Win.<br /><br />13. I'll Marry You Tomorrow, But Let's Honeymoon Tonight.<br /><br />14. I'm So Miserable Without You; It's Like Having You Here.<br /><br />15. I've Got Tears In My Ears From Lying On My Back Cryin' Over You.<br /><br />16. If I Had Shot You When I Wanted To, I'd Be Out By Now.<br /><br />17. My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, And I Don't Love You.<br /><br />18. My Wife Ran Off With My Best Friend and I Sure Do Miss Him.<br /><br />19. Please Bypass My Heart.<br /><br />20. She Got The Ring and I Got The Finger.<br /><br />21. You Done Tore Out My Heart and Stomped That Sucker Flat.<br /><br />22. You're the Reason Our Kids Are So Ugly.<br /><br />23. Her Teeth Were Stained, But Her Heart Was Pure.<br /><br />24. She's Looking Better After Every Beer.<br /><br />25. I Ain't Never Gone To Bed With An Ugly Woman, But I Sure Woke Up With a Few.<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-1068718565112030932?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-80232941721017350362008-05-18T15:39:00.009-06:002008-05-18T15:56:10.557-06:00I just can't pay attention in church. My pastor is great and everything, but when I look at him I just want to take pair of scissors to his hair. And he is a very good, interesting speaker, but he's been talking about Paul and Silas for eight weeks now. So I stare at the screen from my little seat in the church cafe and it goes in and out of focus like a hypnotist's pocketwatch and the next thing I know I'm off to Happy Place Square Mall with a wallet full of cash.<br /><br />Except this time I brought along my handy dandy notebook and made a few notes, which resulted in these buttons. You may use anything you like, just be a sport and link it back to me.<br /><br />For the Alpha Mom:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjOpy9S4I/AAAAAAAAAx4/IxYsi9y1JB4/s1600-h/mommie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjOpy9S4I/AAAAAAAAAx4/IxYsi9y1JB4/s400/mommie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201837041746004866" border="0" /></a><br />The breastfeeding advocate:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjMpy9S3I/AAAAAAAAAxw/Evd6qBqNBZM/s1600-h/lactate.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjMpy9S3I/AAAAAAAAAxw/Evd6qBqNBZM/s400/lactate.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201837007386266482" border="0" /></a><br />The misunderstood humorist:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjHJy9S2I/AAAAAAAAAxo/qtcUDgD93fc/s1600-h/300.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjHJy9S2I/AAAAAAAAAxo/qtcUDgD93fc/s400/300.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201836912896985954" border="0" /></a><br />The underdog:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjD5y9S1I/AAAAAAAAAxg/N0PTFCNLo1c/s1600-h/subscribers.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjD5y9S1I/AAAAAAAAAxg/N0PTFCNLo1c/s400/subscribers.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201836857062411090" border="0" /></a><br />The comment poor:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjBZy9S0I/AAAAAAAAAxY/s7UIInPWO7s/s1600-h/bunny.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCjBZy9S0I/AAAAAAAAAxY/s7UIInPWO7s/s400/bunny.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201836814112738114" border="0" /></a><br />The grateful recipient of warmth and fuzziness from her fellow bloggers (I was going to use a jock strap, but it looked gross. And then I was going to use Bartles and James but wasn't sure if people would get it.):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCi85y9SzI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/zyUM6ZvjVvw/s1600-h/support1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCi85y9SzI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/zyUM6ZvjVvw/s400/support1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201836736803326770" border="0" /></a>The Madonna fan:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCi3py9SyI/AAAAAAAAAxI/_j5Gbc5cabo/s1600-h/poser.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCi3py9SyI/AAAAAAAAAxI/_j5Gbc5cabo/s400/poser.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201836646609013538" border="0" /></a><br />And the David Hasselhoff aficionado (I know you're out there!).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCi0py9SxI/AAAAAAAAAxA/Bdad3fgNF00/s1600-h/untitled.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SDCi0py9SxI/AAAAAAAAAxA/Bdad3fgNF00/s400/untitled.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201836595069405970" border="0" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a><br /></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-8023294172101735036?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-90575620473798200452008-05-16T19:30:00.001-06:002008-05-16T19:30:01.469-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCoLc5y9SiI/AAAAAAAAAvI/QxO-tc-8UeA/s1600-h/100_2041hj.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCoLc5y9SiI/AAAAAAAAAvI/QxO-tc-8UeA/s200/100_2041hj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199981310931454498" border="0" /></a>Once you become a parent, there are often moments when you slap yourself on the head and say out loud, "so <span style="font-style: italic;">that's</span> why Mom did that!" I think it actually takes becoming a parent to make those realizations, and that the childless among us are more likely to end up on a therapist's couch dissecting all the ways their parents did them wrong.<br /><br />So what would Max say to his therapist?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Max</span>: My mother is so crazy that she once took away all the toilet paper and hid it from me. If anyone had to go to the bathroom, they had to ask her for a toilet paper ration. I know my parents didn't have much money, but... rationing toilet paper? And now, every time I go shopping, I feel compelled to buy enormous quantities of the stuff. It's in the bathroom cabinet, the garden shed, under my bed, and the trunk of my car. But I still need more!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What really happened</span>: Every time I put a new roll of t.p. in the bathroom, as soon as Max notices he will unroll every last bit of it and flush the evidence down the toilet just so he can get the tube to play with. Toilet paper isn't hugely expensive when used appropriately, but going through 2-3 rolls a day really adds up.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Max</span>: My mother is the most sadistic person I've ever heard of. When I was little I loved to look out my bedroom window and watch the birds in the tree just outside. One day she came in and just slammed it shut, and told me if she caught me near the window again she'd take it away. I was too little to know you can't actually take a window away. But I still can't believe it, how can you deny a window to a child? I wish I could say that I know why the caged bird sings...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What really happened</span>: Max's room is on the second floor. He had opened his window all the way, pried off the screen, and was leaning out and yelling at the neighbors in their yard. Telling Max "you will fall to your death," isn't enough, nor is a spanking or other disciplinary action. He will do it again and again until either he falls to his death or the fear of God is put into him. A sad kid is better than a dead kid.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Max</span>: My mom never let me play with the neighbor kids. I'd see them from the windows, out there riding their bikes and chasing the ice cream truck, all the sorts of things kids are supposed to do. But I wasn't allowed near them. I only wanted a friend!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What really happened</span>: Let me tell you about the neighbor kids. Their favorite words are "f*ckweasel," "f*ckstick," and "b*tch." Coincidentally, those are also the nicknames their parents have chosen for them. They're allowed to roam in the street with no supervision. A couple weeks ago the police were called on the 3 year old, because he'd been throwing rocks at passing cars, as he does every afternoon, and managed to break a window that time. No, I don't let Max play with them. Guilty as charged.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Max</span>: We lived less than two blocks from a park, but Mom never took us. We only had our tiny back yard, about ten square feet of dirt to play in.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What really happened</span>: I used to take them to the park almost every day when we first moved here, despite its lack of play equipment. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and there's a decent basketball hoop. I never saw any other families there though, just shady characters in hooded jackets bending over the picnic tables or squatting under the trees. One day I saw what they were actually doing while they were squatting under the trees and I decided I didn't want my kids to see that too.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Max</span>: One day I discovered the flap in my underwear and thought it was really neat. It became my new favorite game to get Mom to look, and when she did I'd pull my penis out. At first she thought it was funny, but when I added a trench coat to my repertoire she just freaked out. Is it any wonder I have self esteem issues?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What really happened</span>: Do I really need to explain this one?<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><br /></a></p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a><br /></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-9057562047379820045?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-41726942905757616722008-05-15T19:30:00.001-06:002008-05-15T19:30:00.954-06:00Am I the only one that thinks this picture -which is popping up in OB/Gyn waiting rooms everywhere- is creepy?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCmprZy9SgI/AAAAAAAAAu4/GNpGEA--N_M/s1600-h/mothers-tummy-baby-foot-print.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCmprZy9SgI/AAAAAAAAAu4/GNpGEA--N_M/s400/mothers-tummy-baby-foot-print.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199873807900035586" border="0" /></a><br />I know it's supposed to be about the miracle of life and all that, but to me it looks more sci-fi than anything else. And not in a good way.<br /><br />(The viral proliferation of this picture has caused the original source to be buried in obscurity. If anyone knows whose creation it is, please let me know so I can give due credit.)<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-4172694290575761672?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-67152267958016429432008-05-14T19:00:00.003-06:002008-05-14T19:46:04.690-06:00<p>Every once in awhile I will update my sidebar to show the various phrases people used to find me via Google. That's always fun. But sometimes I wish there was a way to contact the Googler to enlighten them a bit further.</p>For example, at least once a day someone asks Google: "Does <a href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/2007/11/possibilities-are-endless.html">Quick Fix</a> Synthetic Urine work?" And for each one of those there's another informing Google: "Quick Fix Synthetic Urine made me fail my drug test!" If only I could put these two groups together. In the meantime I can only hope they will figure out on their own that the whole idea behind synthetic urine, and its dubious origins and purposes, should tell them something about themselves and maybe they should just go home and rethink their lives.<br /><br />But here are some other questions Google has asked me recently, pertaining to <a href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/2008/04/five-things-not-to-ask-pregnant-woman.html">this post</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Is it rude to ask a pregnant woman if it was planned?</span> Not at all. The strange truth is, women <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> to be asked this question, it gives them an excuse to discuss their private sex lives with others. In fact, many women don't actually realize what causes pregnancy, which is why we have the population problem we have today. You may consider asking the woman, "do you know what causes that?" And then explain it to her, preferably with diagrams and descriptive hand gestures. She will be eternally grateful.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why do people tell pregnant women that they look big?</span> Because in general pregnant women <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> look big. It is common knowledge that women lack the spacial visual aptitude of men and therefore rely on others to tell them how big they are. Without this help from the community, they will spend hours in clothing stores trying to determine their correct size, which is why women will often inquire whether a certain article of clothing makes them look fat. It's important to be as honest as possible. It's also very helpful to compare the size of the woman to various animals and buildings to give her a better idea of what to shop for.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Can you tickle pregnant women?</span> Of course you can. In fact it's a great way to get those suicidal tendencies out of your system. For best results, try it in the kitchen next to the knife rack.<br /><br /><a href="http://memarielane.blogspot.com/2008/03/lets-hear-it-for-boys.html"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do women have perineums?</span></a> No. Only men have perineums, because when God created men he fashioned them from the woman's perineum. Which is why women are cursed to bear children in pain and suffering, and which also explains the recent dramatic increase in Cesarean Sections.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why do men walk away when you tell them you're pregnant?</span> Among the indigenous peoples of Greenland, legends abound of women who, upon becoming pregnant, begin to emit a gaseous substance from their nipples that is toxic to all men. Some men still believe this to be true, and are simply afraid for their lives. There is a preventive measure though, an archaic ceremony involving a poofy white dress, a tuxedo, and the chicken dance.<br /><p>I hope those Googlers can find this page, and that their questions will finally be answered.<br /></p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><br /></a></p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-6715226795801642943?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-30947720510624011362008-05-13T19:30:00.000-06:002008-05-13T19:30:01.018-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/it_works_for_me/index.html"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCTE7DhKGWI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/tO85zr7JMhI/s200/wfmw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198496388728101218" border="0" /></a>I've been broke my whole life, and it's pretty interesting for me to see everyone else suddenly facing the trials and hardships of brokenness as well. Everyone is scrambling for ways to save money, and one of the places they turn is also generally the most difficult to work out: the kitchen. So I've decided to share some of my cheapest, easiest recipes. If there's a link it'll take you to the original recipe, but I've added my own notes or tweaked it somehow. If there's no link it's my own invention. If I say "spoon" without specifying what sort, it's because I'm just using a regular spoon from the silverware drawer. All recipes make 4-6 servings, so you may need to double if you have a larger family.<br /><br />Aside from throwing them away, making <span style="font-weight: bold;">banana bread</span> is the most common way to dispose of spotty bananas. But most banana bread recipes call for criminal amounts of expensive items such as butter and milk. I found <a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Mrs-Kurtzs-Banana-Bread/Detail.aspx">this recipe</a> to be the most frugal out there. I made a few changes to make it more user-friendly, plus added my own special ingredient. People go nuts for this whenever I make it, and I don't even usually add nuts. Go figure! You can add some if you like.<br /><ul><li>1/4 cup margarine or butter, softened </li><li>1 cup white sugar </li><li>1 egg </li><li>3 medium-large bananas </li><li>1/4 cup milk (I use powdered) with a drop of vinegar mixed in </li><li>1 teaspoon baking soda </li><li>1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour </li><li>1/4 teaspoon salt</li><li>1/2 cup chocolate chips :)</li></ul>Preheat the oven to 325. Cream together the butter and sugar, then mix in the egg. As you continue to mix, drop in chunks of banana until all the bananas are well incorporated. A few chunks are fine. Then add the milk. Turn off the mixer and add the dry ingredients, then mix just until everything is fairly homogenous. Then stir in the chocolate chips. Pour it into a loaf pan and bake for 1-1.5 hours, or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tuna Melts</span>. When you think of a frugal meal you generally think of tuna casserole, which in turn can lead to thoughts of bulimia. Tuna melts are another more palatable way to use canned tuna. I usually serve them with fresh baby carrots and potato chips or baked tater tots.<br /><ul><li>4 cheapie hamburger buns</li><li>1 small can of tuna</li><li>1 scoop of mayonnaise</li><li>1/2 cup your favorite shredded cheese</li><li>salt and pepper to taste</li></ul>Preheat the oven to 350, or whatever temperature is convenient for you. If I'm making tater tots I just throw them in at the same time at the prescribed temperature. Drain the tuna well, and mix it together with the mayonnaise, cheese, and salt and pepper. Distribute the mixture evenly between the buns. Wrap each bun in foil, then pop them in the oven for 10-20 minutes, or whenever you remember to take them out.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Po' Folks' Shepherd's Pie. </span>My mom used to make it like this when I was a kid, except with mashed potatoes on top. Mashed potatoes are pretty durn easy to make, but not as easy as tater tots! Most people use cream of mushroom soup, which gets boring. Cream of celery makes it a little more interesting, but not <span style="font-style: italic;">too</span> interesting.<br /><br />Filling:<br /><ul><li>1 lb. 80% ground beef (about $2 a pound if you buy one of the big tubes)</li><li>1 can cream of mushroom or celery soup, whichever you prefer</li><li>1 can green beans</li></ul>Topping:<br /><ul><li>1/2 package of tater tots OR:</li><li>1 cup Bisquick</li><li>1/2 cup milk (I use powdered)</li><li>1 egg</li></ul>Preheat the oven to 400. Brown the ground beef, drain it, then mix it together with the green beans and soup. Pour it into a casserole dish. Top with tater tots, or mix together the Bisquick, milk, and egg and pour that over the top. Bake for half an hour.<br /><br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Simple-Slow-Cooker-Meatloaf/Detail.aspx">Crockpot Meatloaf</a>. This is extremely easy, tasty, and much more moist than the oven baked variety. I usually mix up a double batch and freeze half for a future meal.<br /><ul><li>1 pound roll ground sausage (I use Great Value from WalMart, about $2.12 a pound. </li><li>1 pound ground beef </li><li>1 cup ketchup, divided </li><li>1 (1.25 ounce) envelope dry onion soup mix </li><li>1/2 cup dry bread crumbs </li><li>2 eggs </li></ul><span>In a large bowl, combine sausage, beef, 1/2 cup ketchup, soup mix, bread crumbs and eggs. When well combined, shape into loaf to fit your slow cooker. I just dump it in and smoosh it down with a rubber spatula.</span><span> Cover and cook on low heat 4-6 hours. Spread remaining 1/2 cup ketchup on top of meatloaf 30 minutes before serving. Cover and continue cooking on low heat for 30 minutes.<br /><br /><a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Beef-And-Beans/Detail.aspx"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beef (or whatever) and Beans</span></a><br /></span><ul><li>1 pound any stew meat </li><li>1 tablespoon prepared mustard </li><li>1 tablespoon chili powder </li><li>1/2 teaspoon salt </li><li>1/4 teaspoon pepper </li><li>1 garlic clove, minced, or 2 spoons store-bought pre-minced </li><li>2 (14.5 ounce) cans diced tomatoes, undrained </li><li>1 medium onion, chopped (I usually leave this out) </li><li>1 beef bouillon cube, crushed, or 1 spoon beef bullion powder </li><li>1 (16 ounce) can kidney beans, rinsed and drained </li><li>Hot cooked rice </li></ul>Put tomatoes into the crockpot, then mix in the mustard, chili powder, bullion, salt, pepper, and garlic. Then add the meat and onions and stir to coat. Cook for at least half a day on low. Add the kidney beans about thirty minutes before serving, so they don't disintegrate. Serve over hot rice.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Crockpot Beef (or Whatever) Stew</span><br /><ul><li>1 pound any stew meat</li><li>1 can tomato soup</li><li>2 large potatoes, washed and cubed</li><li>1/2 pound baby carrots</li><li>2 celery stalks, cut up (optional)</li><li>1/2 white onion, cut up (optional)</li><li>1 spoon beef bullion</li><li>2 spoons minced garlic</li></ul>Pour tomato soup into the crockpot, then mix in the bullion and garlic. Add everything else and stir it up. Cook on low all day. This is especially good served with sourdough bread.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chicken Strips</span><br /><ul><li>2 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into strips</li><li>1/3 cup bread crumbs</li><li>parsley</li><li>Lawry's seasoned salt</li><li>crushed red pepper (optional)</li></ul><br />Preheat oven to 375. Put bread crumbs in a gallon sized baggie, and dump in however much salt, red pepper, and parsley seems good. Add the strips to the baggie, close, and shake. Lay the strips out on a cookie sheet and bake, uncovered, ten minutes on each side. Serve with ranch or honey-mustard for dipping.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thai Chi Cken</span>. I got this off a forum board years ago, so I don't know who to credit for it. It was originally called something like "Chicken With Broccoli and Thai Peanut Sauce," but I hate such unimaginative names so I gave it a new one.<br /><ul><li>2 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into small pieces</li><li>1/2 cup chunky peanut butter</li><li>1/2 cup water</li><li>2 tbsp. soy sauce</li><li>1 tbsp. brown sugar</li><li>minced garlic</li><li>1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper</li><li>1 package frozen broccoli florets</li><li>oil for cooking</li><li>1 cup uncooked rice</li></ul>Steam rice in 1 and 7/8 cups of water and 1 tbsp. oil. While it's cooking, heat 2-3 tbsp. oil in a skillet. Throw in a couple spoons of minced garlic and the red pepper. Stir for a bit until the oil is hot, then add the chicken. While the chicken is cooking, mix in a small bowl the water, peanut butter, soy sauce, and brown sugar. When the chicken is done, add the broccoli, cover, and allow the broccoli to steam. Once the broccoli is cooked through, pour in the peanut sauce. Serve over the rice.<br /><br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.recipesecrets.com/recipeDisplayMRS.asp?RecipeID=4636&amp;Version=1">Onion Roasted Chicken and Vegetables</a><br /><ul><li>1 envelope onion soup mix (I use generic)</li><li>1/4 vegetable oil</li><li>1/2 tsp. garlic powder</li><li>1/4 tsp. parsley</li><li>2 large boneless, skinless chicken breasts cut into strips or chunks</li><li>2 medium-large potatoes, cut into chunks</li><li>1/2 package baby carrots</li></ul><br />Preheat oven to 450°. In large plastic bag or bowl, add all ingredients. Close bag and shake, or toss in bowl, until chicken and vegetables are evenly coated. In 13 x 9-inch baking or roasting pan, arrange chicken, breast side up, and vegetables; discard bag. Bake uncovered, basting halfway through, 45 minutes or until chicken is thoroughly cooked and vegetables are tender. This tastes best if you keep it cooking until it's almost burnt. Yum!<br /><br /><a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Sausage-Cabbage-Bake/Detail.aspx"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cheater Stuffed Cabbage</span></a>. Tastes just like stuffed cabbage, but without all the hassle.<br /><ul><li>1 pound ground sausage (I use Great Value)</li><li>1 medium onion, chopped (optional)</li><li>2 cups cooked long-grain rice</li><li>4 cups shredded cabbage (I use more like 2 cups, and buy the angel hair coleslaw in a bag)</li><li>1 (15 ounce) can tomato sauce</li><li>1 tablespoon brown sugar</li><li>1 tablespoon lemon juice</li><li>1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce</li><li>1/2 teaspoon pepper</li><li>1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt </li></ul><span>In a skillet, cook sausage and onion until meat is no longer pink and onion is tender; drain. Stir in rice and cabbage. In a separate bowl mix the remaining ingredients, then add it to the meat mixture and mix it all together. Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees F for 1 hour or until cabbage is tender.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cheesy Jambalaya</span>. I used to buy the boxed version from Zatarain's, but it's not available in stores here so I made up my own version.<br /></span><ul><li><span>1/2 package wide egg noodles</span></li><li><span>1 lb. polish sausage</span></li><li><span>1 bell pepper, chopped</span></li><li><span>1/2 can cheddar cheese soup</span></li><li><span>1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese</span></li><li><span>cayenne pepper to taste</span></li></ul><span><br />Cook the noodles according to package directions. Slice and brown the sausage along with the bell pepper in oil. When the noodles are done, Combine all ingredients until cheese is melted.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Side Dishes<br /><br />Microwave baked potatoes. </span>I've seen a lot of people complain that these never turn out right. Brad shared the secret with me when we got married. Scrub the potatoes, then poke them all over with a fork. Wrap each potato in a paper towel, then run them under the faucet, making sure they're really wet, then gently squeeze off excess water. Put them on a microwave-safe plate. If your microwave doesn't have a "potato" button, figure about 2.5 minutes for each potato. Check them every 2 minutes or so for done-ness so they don't overcook.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Oven Roasted Potatoes</span>. Dice two or three medium-large potatoes, then toss them with 1/4 cup vegetable oil and salt and pepper. Bake at 450 for about thirty minutes, stirring halfway through.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Easy Scalloped Potatoes</span>. Peel 2-3 potatoes, cut them in half lengthwise, then slice them thinly. layer them in a casserole dish or an 8x8 pyrex dish. Pour 1 can of cream of celery soup over the top, then sprinkle about 1 cup of cheese over the top. Bake at 375 for about 45 minutes, checking for done-ness along the way.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tasty Rice</span>. Much easier than Rice-a-Roni or Uncle Ben's, and cheaper too. Measure 1 and 7/8 cup of water into a medium saucepan, then add one cup of rice. Place a large cube of chicken bullion, a thick pat of butter, and a sprinkling of parsley in the water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to very low, cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Mix and fluff with a fork before serving.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sweet Carrots</span>. Boil baby carrots in just enough water to cover. When they are tender, drain the water, and add 2 tbsp. butter and 1 tbsp. brown sugar. Stir to mix and coat.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tomato Salad</span>. Cube three Roma tomatoes, one cucumber, and 4 oz. mozzarella cheese. Toss with about 1/4 cup Italian dressing or your favorite vinaigrette.<br /><br />Enjoy!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span> </span><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-3094772051062401136?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-67724132873683731842008-05-12T19:30:00.001-06:002008-05-12T19:30:00.797-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://jackidyrholm.blogspot.com/search/label/Tickle%20Me%20Tuesday"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCSnwThKGVI/AAAAAAAAAuI/KGJSUPTWbdI/s200/tickle+me+tuesday.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198464318207301970" border="0" /></a><br />My mother-in-law makes large, elaborate cross-stitches for each of her grandchildren when they're born. She's three behind right now, and there are two more baking. So when I saw this, I thought of her.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.idiotcomics.com/digitalneedlepoint.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCSnaDhKGUI/AAAAAAAAAuA/Veyzf4SZvqY/s400/digitalneedlepoint.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198463935955212610" border="0" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-6772413287368373184?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-47333381846980935662008-05-11T19:00:00.004-06:002008-05-12T19:35:41.262-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCYV2zhKGZI/AAAAAAAAAuo/1q9kiq8th5s/s1600-h/100_2099.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCYV2zhKGZI/AAAAAAAAAuo/1q9kiq8th5s/s320/100_2099.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198866851132217746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">This post is going to be my shortest ever, I can feel it! Don't worry, I'll make it up to you tomorrow with a nice long one.</span><br /><br />Here I am at the 19-20 week mark. That's supposed to be about the halfway point, but for me it's more like the first trimester. My gestation period rivals that of the great pachyderms. Just as well because I have yet to purchase a single sock for this child. I don't really feel any urgency about that either, I seem to have this sense that an entire wardrobe and nursery will come out with the afterbirth.<br /><br />So I went to a Mother's Day brunch with my mom on Saturday. It was a salad pot luck, so I made Brad's family's famous 7-bean salad. It's not the kind of salad that actually looks very tasty, but once you've tasted it there's just no going back. Unless it's for seconds or thirds.<br /><br />Brad stole a bowl of it the night of. I didn't realize it at first, I was laying in bed reading (<span style="font-style: italic;">The Age of Innocence</span> by Edith Wharton). Then I heard Brad say, "(mumble mumble) better than sex."<br /><br />"What?" I asked, sitting up, "whats better than sex?"<br /><br />He guiltily held up the bowl. It really is that good. Or maybe I'm that bad?<br /><br />When a woman brings a dish to a pot luck, she watches surreptitiously to see who is eating it, and how much. She fantasizes about being asked for the recipe, and wonders if she ought to have brought a few copies of it to hand out. If her dish is ignored, she will feel slighted.<br /><br />Normally I would be doing that very thing, but with this salad I was actually hoping no one would eat it so I could bring it home and serve it with dinner that night. And breakfast the next morning and so on.<br /><br />At our table there were seven women, and only two of us did not have some version of the name Marie, one of whom was a very tired woman of about my age. My mom and I filled our plates once and were full. We watched then in awe as the other five women repeatedly filled their plates and quickly polished them off.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span>When it</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span>was time to go I was thrilled to find my beans virtually untouched. We picked up the kiddles from the kiddle area where they were being watched by some very responsible 12 year olds. Jessamine told me angrily that the girls had continually called her "Baby." "I'm not a baby," she said, "I'm a big gworl!" And at the wisened age of 2.5, indeed she is.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">7 Crack -I mean Bean- Salad</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1 can each:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">kidney beans</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">garbanzo beans (chickpeas)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">butter beans</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">great northern beans</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">lima beans</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">wax beans</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">green beans</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1 white onion, chopped</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1 cup apple cider vinegar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1 cup sugar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1/2 cup vegetable oil</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1 tsp. table salt</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1 tsp. Lawry's seasoned salt</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1/2 tsp. oregano</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1/4 tsp. pepper</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Drain and rinse the beans and put them in a large bowl with the onion. Mix the other ingredients in a separate bowl until the sugar is dissolved. Pour over the beans, cover, and refrigerate at least overnight.</span><br /><br />Sunday morning Brad kindly took the kids to church by himself so I could <del>watch porn and engage in heathenistic activities</del> make Pioneer Woman's <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2008/02/apple_dumplings/">apple dumplings</a> for our family brunch. I had just gotten started when my MIL and SIL Delanie called to wish me a bittersweet Happy Mother's Day, bittersweet because Brad's beloved grandmother passed away last week.<br /><br />"Are you excited?" Delanie asked (about Mother's Day, not Nynee's passing, you sicko).<br /><br />I was taken aback, then I remembered that her son is only two and she hasn't yet learned that breakfast in bed and all that jazz only happens on commercials for Hallmark and franchise jewelry stores. Cackle Cackle! Not at all, we spend such days slaving away in the kitchen, that we may concoct delightful vittles with which our spouses and children may then honor us. And then we wash the dishes.<br /><br />As far as the apple dumplings are concerned, let's just say you can't die until you've had them. And once you've had them you'll probably be three steps closer to a heart attack, so it's just as well. They were extremely easy to make, and something kids can help with. Pioneer Woman put together an excellent tutorial <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2008/02/apple_dumplings/">here</a>.<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><br /></a><p></p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-4733338184698093566?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-37039410692455874462008-05-09T19:00:00.001-06:002008-05-09T19:00:01.849-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCMrBun1MBI/AAAAAAAAAt4/MZD8u31ldm8/s1600-h/me+and+mom.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCMrBun1MBI/AAAAAAAAAt4/MZD8u31ldm8/s400/me+and+mom.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198045703610642450" border="0" /></a>There is no doubt I am turning into my mother. This picture, taken last October, demonstrates the similarity. We're both snappy dressers for one thing, though we have different color preferences. (This tank top looked much better on the hanger, I promise. I was counting on the horizontal stripes to make me look less anorexic, but I haven't worn it since I saw these pictures. Let's just say I fought the frump and the frump won).<br /><br />I thought about listing all the ways in which I have morphed into her, but it would be much easier and more succinct to list the few ways we are different.<br /><br />1. She wears glasses. I can only dream.<br /><br />2. She's 25 years older, although she doesn't look like it.<br /><br />3. She leans to the right, I lean to the left, as evidenced both by our postures and our politics. But the lean is there in reflection.<br /><br />4. While many have suggested otherwise, we are not actually married to the same man.<br /><br />5. She's holding a margarita. I left mine in the kitchen, to my eternal regret.<br /><br />6. She pays attention at church. I sit in the church's cafe and stare out the window.<br /><br />7. She drives like a nervous 15 year old, I drive like an 80 year old grandmother.<br /><br />8. When conflict arises she freezes; I put on my boxing gloves. And my mouth guard. And I smear black stuff under my eyes.<br /><br />9. She makes her own carrot juice and knows what to do with stuff like chard and kale. I eat frosting out of the tub.<br /><br />10. She loves to dance, I don't see the point. It seems like a strange sort of thing to want to do, like marathon running or scrapbooking. Honestly, why <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> people do such things?<br /><br />There's more, but it's against bloggy code to make a list longer than ten items in one post unless it's your 100th post. So I'll leave it there.<br /><br />I know plenty of women wring their hands over the prospect of turning into their mothers, but it honestly doesn't phase me. Maybe it would if my mom were an alcoholic or a Tupperware representative or an interfering type, but she isn't. She's Practically Perfect in Every Way.<br /><br />And I'll try to keep that in mind at the mother-daughter brunch we're going to on Saturday if she fails to win the floral centerpiece.<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-3703941069245587446?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-8649847226384691472008-05-08T17:37:00.002-06:002008-05-08T18:21:22.571-06:00<p>Today was a rather Nothing sort of day.</p><br />It's funny how once you get into a routine, you can go through a day getting your house clean, your kids maintained, even exercise done, and still feel like you've spent the entire day in your sweats playing the Sims. It's the danger of routine I guess. It almost makes me want to let everything go to seed, so I can do ten loads of laundry in one day and feel like Superwoman afterward. <span style="font-style: italic;">You think that was something</span>, I'd say, <span style="font-style: italic;">watch me nuke this lasagna!</span><br /><br />Instead I fall into bed each night feeling like I never left it. I'm not tired or depressed, just a tad too efficient methinks.<br /><br />I need to mix things up. And I'm not talking about breakfast for dinner. Wee-haw, now that's living! And then we'll play a rousing game of Clue! And we'll drink <span style="font-style: italic;">regular</span> coffee while we're at it!<br /><br />Some people thrive on routine, I just don't. I pack the exact same lunch for Brad every day: a turkey and swiss sandwich on whole wheat, a granny smith apple, a bottle of juice, and a bag of Cheez-Its or some-such. If I try to mix it up a bit, say use red leaf lettuce instead of green leaf on his sandwich, his whole day will be thrown off.<br /><br />I used to make fun of my friend Dawn, because when we'd go out to some very collegiate hangout, like Denny's, I'd order the most complicated dessert on the menu, and she'd get one scoop of plain vanilla. Every single time.<br /><br />Me, I need some variety.<br /><br />Last night we went to the library, and there was a bluegrass band playing in the courtyard. It was so incongruous, signs everywhere begging for quiet while just outside a group of men in straw hats and white suits belted out Dixieland.<br /><br />That's what I need, a bluegrass band blasting old Southern tunes over my dusty bookshelves. And the next day, a barbershop quartet. The day after that a hair band. You get the idea. I need Atreyu at the Ivory Tower shouting out my new name, and Mr. Bingley to rent Netherfield Hall.<br /><br />Something.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><br /></a></p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-864984722638469147?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-88199424835583855722008-05-07T19:00:00.002-06:002008-05-07T19:00:01.589-06:00I'm not about to do the math, but after glancing over my stats from the last couple of days I think it's safe to say that at least 85% of you Googled "n4k3d." Roffles!<br /><br />Brad is quite the up and comer at work. Sure, they shaved about 25% off his paycheck, which was quite the belly punch, but they issued him a crackberry! Like, OMG! Keep your useless greenbacks and give us a crackberry! We'll eat THAT for dinner!<br /><br />Nice to see Marie Jr. over there ----> has fattened up a bit. Much better.<br /><br />Help me out here. The kids made these in Children's Church this week. But what the Sweet Fancy Moses are they supposed to be?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SB4lzZkHs5I/AAAAAAAAAtI/QKrCXo3n_74/s1600-h/100_2088.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SB4lzZkHs5I/AAAAAAAAAtI/QKrCXo3n_74/s400/100_2088.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196632584998073234" border="0" /></a><br />Let's consider some data. According to census information, there are about 74 million children in the United States, and 28.8% of Americans go to church regularly. So that makes about 22 million children in church every Sunday. To be conservative, let's say half of them bring home a similar craft each week. That means 11 million paper plates and 55 million cotton balls gone to complete and utter waste in one Swell Foop.<br /><br />Imagine what you could do with 11 million paper plates and 55 million cotton balls. <span style="font-style: italic;">Besides this, smartypants.</span><br /><br />And that's only one Sunday School project!<br /><br />When I was a kid, doing crafts meant being issued a pile of things that might have gone into the trash and turning them into something clever. Toilet paper tubes, paper bags from the grocery store, cereal boxes, holey socks, old comics from the Sunday paper, feathers we'd find out in the desert, old Christmas cards, gum wrappers, popsicle sticks, soup cans. As long as it was clean it was fair game. Is it just because we were poor?<br /><br />Because now craft stores are as big as Walmart, and you actually <span style="font-style: italic;">buy</span> packages of popsicle sticks. I dunno about you, but if I had to make a popsicle-stick replica of the Alamo for class, it wouldn't take too long to deliberate between a jumbo pack of actual popsicles and a package of sticks. The point isn't the Alamo, it's eating 900 popsicles! I haven't seen any packages of toilet paper tubes yet, but I bet they're out there.<br /><br />Crafts are also a lot more organized these days. You can't just sit your kid down with a box of sugar cubes and a bottle of glue, you have to show them the blueprints, don hardhats and monitor every aspect of the operation. "Are you sure you want to put that cube there, Johnny? I thought we were going to save some for the flying buttresses and crenelated towers."<br /><br />Where's the fun in that? Where's the creativity?<br /><br />Admittedly, I don't do crafts with my kids. I tried it a couple times, and it just didn't work, probably because I was trying to get a three year old to assemble a recognizable cricket from assorted pom-poms and pipe cleaners. But I'm going to start saving my egg cartons and toilet paper tubes, and one of these days I'm going to sit them down with a heap of the stuff, some glue, crayons and paint, lay down some tarps, and just let them go to town while I chill out on the couch with a trashy novel. And then they'll know what crafts are really all about.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-8819942483558385572?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-81335574008365624732008-05-06T19:30:00.000-06:002008-05-06T19:30:01.031-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCDKiZkHs9I/AAAAAAAAAto/3Wm69UPXXx4/s1600-h/000_0011.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SCDKiZkHs9I/AAAAAAAAAto/3Wm69UPXXx4/s400/000_0011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197376662312301522" border="0" /></a><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-8133557400836562473?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-43891071194080104952008-05-05T20:00:00.002-06:002008-05-06T08:00:15.479-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://jackidyrholm.blogspot.com/search/label/Tickle%20Me%20Tuesday"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SB3ubpkHs1I/AAAAAAAAAso/TP_hD6xeij0/s200/tickle+me+tuesday.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196571703836652370" border="0" /></a>Wanna see something cool? Type "n4k3d" into Google and see what comes up. I've always wanted to be #1 at something, and I've finally succeeded! Woo-hoo!<br /><br />Courtesy of <a href="http://www.shadowmanor.com/blog/">Cobwebs</a>, you must play <a href="http://www.thefump.com/fump.php?id=1046">this song</a> for your kiddles.<br /><br />Also, go <a href="http://topschoolfundraisers.com/news/blog-contest-entries/">here</a> and vote for <a href="http://somedaywewillsleep.com/">Veronica</a>.<br /><br />Anyway, this may be the strangest thing I have ever seen:<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gnNqT0457Mc&amp;hl=en&amp;rel=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gnNqT0457Mc&amp;hl=en&amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><p></p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><br /></a></p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-4389107119408010495?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3141054440015478466.post-61914513001665367392008-05-04T11:14:00.012-06:002008-05-06T08:35:19.430-06:00Have I ever shown you a picture of Brad? No? Well here he is.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SB3wgpkHs3I/AAAAAAAAAs4/kbcTKgq9Cts/s1600-h/dr-evil.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o4ClEzgD62g/SB3wgpkHs3I/AAAAAAAAAs4/kbcTKgq9Cts/s400/dr-evil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196573988759253874" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, that would make me Mrs. Evil (no, you may not call me Frau)! Now you know my real last name, but I trust that none of you will use that knowledge for... evil. Eh?<br /><br />And because I am Evil I can't do things simply. Nossir, if you want easy answers you have come to the wrong place.<br /><br />However, who says Evil can't be fun? In fact, if Evil weren't fun, I'd be able to tell you what the sermon was about yesterday. But staring out the window had so much more appeal.<br /><br />So I've put together a little bloggy scavenger hunt for you. Don't worry, I didn't make it too hard. You don't have to find Waldo or answer trivia questions or download a particular flash player or shave Britney's head faster than the other guy. All you have to do is follow the links.<br /><br />And your prize? The results of my ultrasound last Friday. And if you are in any way related to me, I'm trusting you NOT to spill the beans to other family members. Make them do the work themselves please. You know who you are *cough*Keisha*cough*.<br /><br />For your first link, <a href="http://ivecomeundone.blogspot.com/2008/05/must-know-monday-breastmilk-kegger.html">click here</a>. Have fun!<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><br /></a></p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemarieLane" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Memarie Lane</a></p><a href="javascript:location.href='http://www.stumbleupon.com/submit?url='+window.top.location.href+'&title='+window.top.document.title" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar"><img src="http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p77/dysmalabysmal/stumbleit.gif" alt="StumbleUpon Toolbar" border="0" /> Stumble It!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3141054440015478466-6191451300166536739?l=memarielane.blogspot.com'/></div>Memarie Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289584923725420572noreply@blogger.com7