Cowgirl Betty

Confessions of a Thrifting Addict

2010-01-22T17:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, my name is Betty, and I'm a thrift-store shopaholic.

I have not gone thrifting since . . . well . . . 12 hours ago. I was doing really well for the past couple of weeks. I told myself that I could handle it, that I would only glance around to see if there was anything there. I didn't even buy anything.

Although, I admit that two weeks ago, I was a bit gluttonous. I couldn't help myself. They were having a 50 percent off sale on sweaters, and I really needed to buy some 'tween pants, as I found that maternity pants were too big and I poured myself in my "regular" pants with a lovely flabby overhang--if I could get them buttoned. I figured the thrift store would be a safe bet to buy, since I've been losing weight and was tired of looking (a) dowdy or (b) trashy. Also, I've been frequently peed on by my contented infant son(The Calf), so I needed extra clothes to bum around the house in--as I was changing my clothes as often as I was changing diapers.

I went to the DC-area thrift-store Mecca, Unique Thrift Store and Unique Bazaar, and hit the mother load. I bought six pairs of pants, three sweaters (half off), and three sweatshirts (again half off). I also found a cast-iron skillet, a copper-bottom skillet, and a Le Creuset sauce pan. I bought all of these treasures for the price of one pair of designer jeans.

I am currently on the hunt for another Baby Bjorn and another sling, in case said infant unit chooses to void on our current ones. (Since The Calf has difficulty getting to sleep without the sling and we travel with him in the Bjorn, you can see how convenient it would be to have a spare around.

I guess I'm like Amy Winehouse when it comes to thrifting.

I don't wanna go to rehab, no, no, no.

If the apartment we were renting wasn't already furnished, I would buy furniture there. I spied an art deco waterfall bedroom set for about 50 bucks, I shit you not. All you need is some sandpaper, varnish, and elbow grease. Booo yaaa!

However, Hun has reminded me that we have two of my thrift pieces stored with friends back in Albany, awaiting our return when Hun concludes his research year in DC and completes grad school. I also have a china hutch back at my parents' house in Denver.

When I moved into my adult apartment, I think I furnished the whole thing for about 500 dollars. It didn't look like off-campus housing either. I think my most expensive purchase was my cedar chest I bought and refinished for about 80 dollars.

We also have a used bookstore nearby, whose profits go to events for the public library. I used to volunteer there while I was pregnant, and I got a discount for that. When I went a couple of weeks ago to the used book store, I bought 10 comic books, two paperback books, and two cookbooks for the price of a paperback at Barnes & Noble. I will miss this store when I leave.

Not that I haven't scouted thrift stores in Upstate New York. Most of them have an amazing selection of furniture. Some of the pieces are quite old and need a little TLC. I also got a big chunk of my wardrobe there.

Hippo gnu deer!

2010-01-13T16:08:00.000-08:00

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More Ramblings and Extra Baggage

2009-08-12T07:02:00.000-07:00

Howdy, Folks!
Cowgirl Betty has been a might busy the past few months. Combined with work being extremely hectic, and being tuckered out all the time, as well as limited internet access, I haven't been able to post as much as I would like. There have been quite a few changes at Casa de Chaos the past few months. First, Hun got a research fellowship in Washington DC. (Yeah!) So now we are in the process of moving and deviding all our worldly posessions. (Boo!)

I am currenlty a lady of leisure, and ended my position in the foster care agency a couple of weeks ago. I enjoyed my job, but it is a lot less stress to think about. The decrease in stress is a big plus--considering we have an extra package along for the ride. I am pregnant, and Hun's family is helping us move down--since I am a bit out of balance with my extra bundle.

Well, lots of news! I guess that would explain my current status. Hope I am able to be a better blogger when we are finally settled at our new campsite!

7 Fascinating Fun Facts about Cowgirl Betty

2008-12-06T11:08:00.000-08:00

“A gal can’t live by condiments alone.”—fracas

Season’s Greetings, Cowfolk. As most of you know, I haven’t had the same access to the wild world of InternetLand for the past six months or so. As a result, my posts have become less frequent. One of my New Year resolutions will be to post once a week. That way I can kick start my creative juices. So, thanks for bearing with me, y’all and not giving up on regularly checking on my site.

I have been reminded by the esteemed fracas about my lazy writing habits, and so I’ve been tagged on a meme as a result. Of course, I will tag others to pass on the Holiday joy. Like the game Othello (also a fabulous seasonal gift), rules take a minute to learn and a lifetime to master. (Well, perhaps writing takes a lifetime to master—something I still struggle with.) The rules are:

Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog - some random, some weird
Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

(1) I scored a perfect 5 on the English AP exam. A lot of U.S. colleges accept AP (or Advanced Placement) credits for taking higher-level classes in high school if they pass the nationally standardized AP exam for the subject at the end of the year. The first part is your standard multiple-choice reading selections and analogy sections. The second part is an essay answering a question, choosing a work out of a list of twenty or so authors. The question was examining “thoughtful laughter” in literature to demonstrate folly in the human condition. Of the authors to choose from were Jane Austin, Mark Twain, etc. I chose to write about William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. My English teacher thought I tanked the essay for sure.

(2) I drive around in a rolling trash can. I drive a 1997 Saturn, named Norma Jean, who has seen better days. Norma Jean is littered with McDonald’s and Dunkin Doughnuts bags, coffee mugs, pens, Mapquest directions, and other U.F.O.’s (Unidentifiable Floor Objects). A layer of dust and lint is plastered on my dash, and touching it is reminiscent of reading Pet the Bunny as a kid. One of my jokes to kids is that they can’t steal my trash, nor can they step on it. Sometimes a mysterious odor--I believe it is from some spilled sour milk on one of my back seats--emanates from the seats when it is overly hot, a back window is open during a rain storm, or a kid spills yet another drink on the seat. I have to dump in a quart of oil to my engine about once a week, as Norma Jean burns oil like it is going out of style. I’m hoping she can survive another year before I have to put her out to pasture.

(3) I am a horrible speller. Regular readers already know this. Daddypapersurfer also is more than happy to comment on any of my semantic gaffes. My mother also calls me “Ms. Malaprop”. Usually no one notices when I misuse big, fancy words--except my mother and Hun. (Perhaps other people notice it as well, but they are too polite to mention it.)

(4) Playing video games makes me nauseous. Hun makes fun of me about this. He also tries to encourage me by saying that my mind hasn’t played enough video games to disassociate the action of the game from reality. I’ll stick with Tetris.

(5) I really enjoy tawdry romance novels. This shocks most people who know me. I seem like a straight-shootin’ kinda gal. They then mock me liberally about it. If they only knew how much fun they were. One of my secret goals is to write a tawdry romance novel one day. You know, one with a spunky heroine named after a plant (Willow, Fern, Iris) and a hero named after an architectural feature or a bird of prey (Sir Hawksbuttress, Duke of Roman Arches).

(6) I hated Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows. The first couple of chapters were good, and the last couple of chapters were good. However, I’d rather not drag through 600 pages of Harry whining and arguing with Hermione and Ron. I also think it is truly stupid for J.K. Rowling to “out” Dumbledore. Making Dumbledore gay just added absolutely nothing to the series. I think Rowling did it to stimulate sales from the Religious Right to buy in bulk for their rollicking book-burning parties. Now making Dumbledore gay from the onset--like when the creators of The Wire introduced the bad-ass, Robin Hood, dealer-robbing Omar--that is a different story.

(7) I eat fear for breakfast. Actually, I don’t. I eat granola and yogurt, drink two small cups of coffee, and take multivitamins. I thought it was just a very cool, Jack Bower-esque way to end the meme.

As far as tagging folks goes . . . I will tag the following: (1) OnKnees, my lady in arms, fighting the good fight, (2) my mother, The Heiffer, who is also a big romance novel fan, (3) Kimchihead to find out what really makes him tick, (4) Stella, for her fun haiku, (5) Sugar Queen for making the world sweeter, (6) R. K. Texarado, who’s humor is dryer than the Dust Belt, and (7) Rybu, who truly understands cold weather. I can also now safely say, “Not-it!”

Condiment of the Month: Bacon--The World’s Most Perfect Food

2008-11-09T13:55:00.000-08:00

I think this post’s title says it all. The flavorful salted sweetness of pork mixed with the extra glutamate (or umami) satisfaction found only in deep-fried fat, bacon can only be described as scrumtrulescent.

Bacon is a wonderful compliment to a high-caloric breakfast of eggs and pancakes. Fast-food chains have wisely incorporated bacon in their breakfast wrap/bagel/biscuit menus. A BLT sandwich, with tomatoes picked fresh from the garden, is one of man’s finest culinary inventions.

Truly, though, as perfect as bacon is, bacon to me is best used as a garnish. A sprinkle of bacon changes a compulsively chopped chef salad in to the scrumtrulescent Cobb. A dash of bacon in a peppers and cheese omelet transforms it into a Denver. Sprinkle bacon on top of a plain baked potato, and presto—the side dish magically turns into a main dish.

Bacon gives potato soup a reason for being.

I am the black sheep of two long lines of Southern cooks. Tex Mex blood runs through my veins. I am pretty sure I will be disowned by unveiling my aunt’s recipe for baked potato soup (peppered with a lot of “some of this” and “a chunk of that”). But this recipe is too good to not spread the message:

Ingredients:

2-3 large potatoes peeled and coarsely chopped

1 large onion chopped

1 can of cream of chicken soup (I prefer Campbell’s Cream of Chicken with Herbs)

1 cup of sour cream

2 cups of milk

8 slices of bacon

(optional) pepper to taste

(optional) garlic to taste

(optional) grated cheddar cheese to garnish

Directions:

Take the chopped potatoes, and boil them. (Depending on your preference, you can boil the shit out of them to keep them mushy, or boil them until you can cut a piece with a fork.)

While boiling the potatoes, fry up the bacon, save the grease.

Sauté the chopped onion in the bacon grease on medium heat. (I use the time-saving—and dish-saving—measure of frying the bacon and sautéing the onions at the same time on one pot.) The onions will be done once the onions are translucent.

Mix in the milk, sour cream, and the condensed Cream of Chicken soup in the pot. (ALERT: DO NOT ADD WATER TO THE SOUP!!)

Add pepper and garlic to taste. Add grated cheese (and more bacon?) to garnish.

Eat and enjoy.

Call the paramedics as you wait for your arteries/veins to harden and/or clot.

A Fine Sunday in August

2008-08-17T14:48:00.000-07:00

It has been a fine day today. The weather has been just right--sunny and 70s. The grass and plants are a lush green from the recent rain. The clouds are fluffy in the distance, portending a possible light show later this evening.

I restarted a furniture refinishing project on our deck yesterday, and I am almost done sanding a little chest. Another couple of sunny days, and I will be done with staining and varnishing. My next project will be sanding and repainting a couple of cafe chairs I found abandoned on a corner, with a sign posted above declaring their "free"dom.

I have no comments on condiments lately. Perhaps I shall share a recipe for tweeking BBQ sauce, or perhaps sing the praises of sour cream. Or shall I blog on the world's most perfect food: bacon?

. . . no need to decide now. After all--it's a fine Sunday afternoon and fall is around the corner.

Fo' Shizzle

2008-08-12T17:28:00.000-07:00

Hun and I returned on Saturday from a week-long respite in the Mile High City. It was loverly. We got to visit with friends and family, enjoy a couple of hikes, and received broad hints about how to build a fun-filled and fiscally secure future together from the afore-mentioned friends and fam. (Say that meandering sentence five times fast.) We also were force fed homemade ice cream. (The flavors were maraschino cherries with pecans, and Bing cherries with dark chocolate chunks--yum.)

Ten added pounds around the waistline later, I returned to work yesterday to discover I have now a caseload of one. (Hopefully my caseload will turn to two or--gasp--three bouncing teenage boys!!) Let the adolescent ennui begin.

All kidding aside, teenagers can be quite fun. I really like teens--they just don't seem to like me much because (1) I'm not hip, cool, or withit AT ALL, (2) I often get stuck telling them things they don't want to hear, such as "No, you aren't going home yet because the judge is being an asshole." and (3) I ask them to stop acting like teens and start acting like mini-adults because the county will kick their tuckus out of the system without a dime if they impulsively (imagine that for a teen) decide to sign themselves out of care because they aren't allowed to visit their boyfriend who is stationed in Bumfuck or the county declined to buy them an XBox 360 for their 18th birthday. I usually get a James Dean pout or Billy Idol sneer in response, attempt to encourage them to strive for bigger and better things, and shoo myself out the door before being conned out of more McDonald's outing.

I also dusted off a Pilate's DVD I got on hot-bargain special from Border's and completed a couple of workouts. Meanwhile, Hun has been playing Bioshock on his new XBox 360, and hasn't let me take a turn even once. (Insert Cyndi Lauper sneer or Paris Hilton pout here.)

Could my life get moore exciting?!

Fo' Shizzle.

The Great Crumble . . .

2008-07-27T17:14:00.000-07:00

My life lately has been like a store-bought chocolate chip cookie. It's sweet at times and it peps me up and keeps me motivated. But sometimes, when I hold onto aspects of it too tightly, it crumbles in my hands.

The sweet things have been Hun and my friends and family. I am looking to traveling back to the homestead in a week. I even got lucky enough to see one of my best friend and her new cabbage a few weeks ago as well.

Hun performed well on a test for grad school. It opens a lot of doors for us, which helps all of us breathe a little easier. It is a bit stressful to consider what is next. But having too many doors to find out what is behind is a far better position than having doors slammed in our faces.

Work, however, has been better. I have discharged my whole caseload back to family. One set of kids were discharged home after a long stint in care. The family is getting extensive services after they returned home. I am keeping my fingers crossed that everyone does their bit and the kids aren't in a position to go back into care in a year. I advised a set of extended relatives to apply as kinship-care foster parents for the second set. The kids are flying out of state to live with them tomorrow. (We won't mention the circumstances surrounding how they got yanked out of their foster home. It was a sour deal, and I hate to say it--it was the right thing to do.)

It's strange, how tight I held onto those cases. I spent so much time holding those cases together, that I sometimes didn't allow myself to step back and see as much as I wanted to. On one case, I saw a lot of what was going on. On the other case, I saw what I wanted to see.

Now I have a caseload of zero. Summer is traditionally a slow month for kids being referred. We usually get more as the school year progresses and as the winter rolls in. I expect to have a new kid on my caseload tomorrow. Life changes, as do the seasons.

One of my coworkers said that we have these children for a season, and we do what we can to help them on their way to the next. I can safely say I did everything I could for one set of kids. I hope I did everything I could for the other.

Well, that's just how the cookie crumbles.

Condiment of the Month: Cholula Sauce

2008-07-07T12:28:00.000-07:00

Ahhh the spicy zest of it. Ahhh the flavor. My favorite haute sauce to lather my scrambled eggs and bacon on a Saturday is Cholula, hands down. As much as I enjoy Tobasco Sauce, especially with macaroni and cheese, Cholula hold my heart (not heartburn). What makes Cholula such a superior condiment? The answer: too many hot sauces out will only scorch your tongue-not revive it with a full array of palatable flavor. It has a touch of sweetness to it, and a creamy (yes, I said creamy) fullness to it. Cholula is the Grande Dame of hot sauces. From a tiny town outside of Guadalajara Mexico, the recipe has been in the same family for over a hundred years.

I first discovered Cholula in grad school. I just finished my third bottle of Tabasco in my adult life, and I needed to buy another. Unfortunately, no Tobasco was to be found, so I tried something different. I used it to garnish my famous omelets the next morning, and fell in love.

I was surprised. At the time, I was living in Boulder, which is well known for organic farmer's markets, professional mountain biking and climbing, tree huggers, and pot smokers. Although there was a plethora of sushi restaurants and microbrews--Boulder is a bit lacking in truly genius Mexican food.

I am a bit of a snob when it comes to the arena of Mexican food. Only excellent will do. Although Boulder has amazing margaritas at the Rio, and Chipotle and Illegal Pete's make killer burritos, it isn't in the same caliber as the local joints nestled along Federal Blvd in Denver.

Cholula helped me expand my mind about the realm of other hot sauces out there. Granted, Tabasco has it's place (try Tobasco Cheese Nips). But to compare Cholula with other Tex Mex hot sauces, is like comparing Crystale with Boone's Farms. It isn't as spicy as Tabasco. But it does have more flavor. I will probably be receiving tons of hate mail from this post, but a cowgirl has to take a stand sometime. If you want to reach for a hot sauce, go for Cholula

Condiment of the Month: Nutella

2008-06-21T19:12:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at the local coffee shop next to Hun, sipping on a icy and refreshing beverage, and writing about general malaise. I note to some chagrin that I have not posted in almost a month. So much for best-laid resolutions of blogging at least once per week. I miss writing--time to fire up my neurons again.

I am also hungry. Not hungry (or "hugry") as I was in my last post, as much as hungering for a little adventure. My feet are itching for some exploration and travel, as it is the season for me (although fall is the season of choice for Frodo and Bilbo).

I always enjoyed family vacations. But the best adventure I have ever undertaken (notwithstanding the ongoing adventure of married life), was my 3-month trip around Europe. I recognize it is a bit pale in adventure to some of my more worldly friends, but during that time I saw all the wonders I only read about, read the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and fell in love with myself again. My biggest stress each day was to find a roof over my head and figure out what sites I would first hit. I met some interesting people and made some friends along the way. All the while, my diet consisted mostly with fresh-baked bread, wine, and Nutella.

I fell in love with Nutella while I was PMSing in France. Although my unwelcome Aunt Flo followed me across the Atlantic, Nutella kept my aggravations at bay. Nutella comforted me on days I felt more than lonely, was a quick gnash in the morning before heading to a museum, a wonderful wind-down snack while lounging in a hostel and sharing the beloved jar with fellow travelers in the mood for the tasty morsel or just some conversation.

I also discovered how wonderful Nutella is with bananas in Switzerland, and traded Nutella for some Vegemite in Munich. I chatted about life, the universe, and everything with some Aussies, some Irish honeymooners, and some Harvard Law students--influenced by generous amounts of red wine, topped off with Nutella when the philosophical drunkenness drowned into hunger.

Some Nutella paved the way for some girls to ask me to tour Rome with them. I wouldn't have seen the city otherwise--I heard too many horror stories about it at the time to travel through Rome alone. Rome wound up being my favorite place in my European tour, and I owe the opportunity presenting itself to Nutella.

When I returned, I went on hiking trips and camping trips with a jar of Nutella in my backpack to keep my energy up. Before the airline restrictions on carryons, I would sneak Nutella on flights to munch on long rides.

I don't practice the "have Nutella, will travel" philosophy so much today. With my slowing matabolism and Hun to keep me company, I'm more likely to pack sun screen than the chocolate-hazelnut spread. I didn't bring Nutella with me to Thailand, nor to any of the cities I've seen along the East Coast. But to this day, when I see Nutella, I still think about how the age of Conan the Barbarian was described: these are the days of high adventure.

In a couple of weeks, Hun and I will have passed a couple of milestones. He will officially be finished with half of his grad program--and have completed a mojo-important test. We will also have completed our first year of married life. We will be celebrating by enjoying fireworks by the Brooklyn Bridge. Although no Nutella graces our cupboards, I still think our time here in Upstated New York has been (and will continue to be) filled with high adventure.

I am hungry!!

2008-05-24T13:49:00.000-07:00

Just thought I mentioned that. I skipped lunch today, although I ate a heart-attack inducing breakfast of a gianormouse bacon, green pepper, and onion omlette shared with Hun. Anywho, it's almost dinnertime now and I would seriously gnaw the corner of one of the bookcases in the library I'm sitting in just now--if I only had access to some salt and pepper.

Hun is perusing the internet after we enjoyed a rousing bit of frisbie action in a nearby park. I spent my valuable internet time looking up the phrase "I am hungry" and browsing dessert recipies on epicurious.com--sigh.

I also watched youtube videos on people making cakes in the shapes of dogs . . . my oh my . . .

Did I mention I was hugry?

Condiment of the Week: Peanut Butter

2008-05-17T15:51:00.000-07:00

Aussies have their Vegemite. The French have their Dijon mustard. Nothing is more iconic to the American diet than Peanut Butter. Occupying the selves of over 75 percent of American pantries, it's a part of our cultural heritage. Almost half of the peanut crops in the United States wind up in a jar of peanut butter.

Like many kids growing up, I ate my share of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunches (or as an alternative to salmon patties). Each parent has his/her own way of making PB&J--to be branded in childhood memory. On those lazy summer days in the old neighborhood, my friend and I took advantage of out parents' techniques to add variety to our lunchtime PB&J and popsicle.

Whenever we were in the mood for peanut butter and grape jelly on white bread with a dash of butter, we would hit my friend's house and run through the sprinkler in her backyard to beat the noontime heat.

We would eat my mother's peanut butter and peach preserves on whole wheat on other days. After, we would play on my backyard swing set--occasionally being summoned to help her nudge out a neighborhood English sheepdog from the living room. He fell violently in love with the cool hardwood floors and box fan one hot afternoon in July when he escaped the confines of his backyard two houses down. (No one in our neighborhood had air conditioning. Everyone left the front and back doors open--along with every window--to increase air circulation in the desert heat.) My mother would pull his paws from the front and we would push from behind as the pooch skidded across the floor, yowling his protests. One time, we failed to push him out the door and he rested like a big bear rug until his owner called out "Chewbacca" a few minutes later.

My family patriotically consumes peanut butter in other forms. My father makes a mean batch of peanut-butter fudge. (He also makes peanut brittle and peanut patties, thank you very much.) Some of my friends introduced me to peanut curry--with a dash of peanut butter. I also love Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. My mother makes a mean batch of peanut-butter cookies as well.

When I was a Girl Scout, I was the local supplier of peanut-butter Tagalong cookies in the spring. (Years after I left Girl Scouts for tap lessons, family friends would still call asking if oh, please dear God, you could join for a couple of months to sell us some Tagalogs, do you have any little friends still in Scouts who can sell us twenty or so cases?

My father introduced me to further peanut-butter experimentations, such as peanut butter and mustard sandwiches, and even--don't gag--peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches. Indeed, my dad passed along his wisdom gained in collegiate dorm life to his impressionable daughter regarding the multifaceted uses of the popular protein supplement.

Fallout (or "Betty, where aaare you?")

2008-05-08T12:55:00.000-07:00

Yes, folks. I am still in the land of the living--barely. My life has been filled with more than incidental events as of late--but I've still managed to find escapist time to play Fallout, a PC game involving saving my little community residing in a fallout shelter during post-apocalyptic tomorrow. During my tours in Never-Never Land, I came to two conclusions (1) there is no way to successfully complete an adventure without incidental carnage, (2) there is no way to save the world without loyal friends (a radioactive mutt in my case), and (3) the best-laid plans go radioactive when faced with Deathclaws . Strangely enough, life imitates avatar (minus the grizzly bits).

I can only thank the amazing resiliency of the human condition and blind fate that I am here writing to all ten of my readers today.

I returned to work after spending a week in Colorado. My 94-year-old grandmother's health was declining, and I went home to spend time with her and my father. I might call myself a cowgirl, but she was the real deal. She spent most of her life in the Texas Panhandle, and lived through the Great Dust Bowl, the Great Depression, and WWII. She saw the Soviet Empire rise and fall and heard Orison Welles's War of the Worlds. She was courted by a cad, only to find out he visited that "widow who lived by the train depot," whenever his manly urges required professional attention. She declined to marry my grandfather because he hadn't enough money to support them--until he said he would join up and fight the Nazis if they didn't get hitched. She vainly tried to control my adolescent father's occasional fits of dancing. She also went to the beauty shop to get her hair set every week for 70 years.

We visited for an hour for the first couple of days I was at the nursing home. (My grandmother's hip broke in March, and moved from her assisted-living home to a nursing home after her recovery. We initially hoped she would bounce back--as it was hard to imagine the old cowgirl would ever die.) The following days, when we walked the two blocks from my family home to the nursing home, grandma could barely stay awake. I would comb her hair, we would hold her hands and make some chit chat. Mostly, we exchanged smiles as my grandmother fought to keep her eyes open. She enjoyed company, getting her hair set, and having her hair brushed. But eating--even chocolate ice cream--held little pleasure. The ritual of "supper" was no longer a joy but a painful chore.

On the day before I flew back, I told my grandmother I was returning to Albany. Grandma frowned and sighed, and said she was glad she could see me and I said I was glad to visit with her too. She told me to come back to visit soon--I smiled and lied to her. I said I would see her as soon as I could. I knew it would be the last time. My grandmother died the next day as I was waiting for my connecting flight in Detroit. My parents were there as she passed. Her heart finally gave out.

I wish I could see her again. But life held no more enjoyment for her anymore. It wasn't worth the bother.

I returned to work today, only to be sent home by my boss. While I was gone, she arranged everything so I wouldn't need to return for the rest of the week. She asked me why I came in. I told her the jackhammers across the street of my apartment made cold comfort, and I wanted to get back to work. One of my coworkers suggested I go see a movie by myself, a cheesy chick flick or a ribald comedy. It sounded nice to me at the time. I made my check-ins with my foster parents, and all was as it was before--filled with the usual back and forth pull of heartstrings and mania. I headed out at noon and drove home . . .

. . . only to get into an accident with a car that cut in front of me to make a left turn. I'm fine, and my trusty mare Norma Jean will need some plastic surgery, but didn't seem to suffer any internal damage. The couple riding in the car were startled, sheepishly embarrassed, and no worse for ware.

When I got out of the car, I was shocked to see the driver and the passenger who cut me off. They reminded me of my grandparents. The wife looked like she had her hair set every week. The husband (and driver) had ears that hung to his shoulders. All my anger disappeared--still flustered--I asked "are you OK?"

I had to repeat it a couple of times--the driver wore a hearing aid the size of a lime. The passenger said "We are fine dear. Are you? My husband and I were returning from the V.A. in Albany. They were running some of the usual bloodtests, and he said he was tired and just wanted to go home."

Folks came by and asked if all was well and if we needed any further assistance. We repeatedly assured we were free of bodily injuries. The local police came by, information was exchanged, and a report was filed. The fallout, as I've discovered was that no adventure can take place with incidental heartache, loyal friends and family, and crumbling of best-laid plans. That's what makes life so wonderful and so painful at the same time.

So, that's how my day went. It's been the theme for the past couple of months. How's everything with you?

P.S. Fracas, 70s, TnB, DP, and all the other cowfolk out there--all is well. I really will have a Condiment of the Week by the end of the weekend! I really promise, and this time I mean it!!

She's Ba-aaack (Well--Somewhat)

2008-04-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

Well, all. This is my first post in a while. Things have been busy at Case De Chaos. First, we were marooned by the unknown captain of our pirated internet. We haven't invested yet in legitimate wireless access, so I have been--well--less prolific in my postings. (I am drinking a white mocha and accessing the wifi at a coffeehouse.) Most of my postings are based on "I have no internet. Life has been filled with busy nothings. I'm currently coughing up small, furry creatures calling themselves Hal. The weather sucks." as of late.

Of course, this posting is much of the same.

The weather has improved and Hun and I have rejoiced in the few sunny days sprinkled in between "wintry mix" days. This winter is hanging like a horny bitch. But I have faith, spring soon shall triumph.

I've spied a few groundhogs trundling across country roads, wild turkeys pecking in the fields, fancy free-range chickens dodging traffic, and a few bald eagles taking advantage of the seasonal roadkill. Spring is at the ready.

Hun and I met my mother in Washington D.C. We had a good time and wandered around the National Mall. We saw the Air and Space Museum--featuring the Spirit of St. Louis and Apollo 11. We also saw the National Gallery and a small exhibit of the collection from the American History Museum.

In one exhausting evening, we covered the Jefferson Memorial, the FDR Memorial, and the Lincoln Memorial. D.C.'s famous cherry trees were quivering with blossoms ready to burst forth. We hiked along each monument as sun burst through the clouds, dipped to the horizon--turning the sky a cool pink, and vanished as the Lincoln Memorial took over the night.

As wonderful as it was to visit with my mother and the seat of our nation, I missed my father. Although I am my mother's favorite daughter, I'm also my daddy's little girl. I've never lived so far away from home, and being a lonely only, I grew up heavily relying on my parents for emotional support. I hope to see my father soon, and Hun and I plan a trip to Colorado this summer--if I don't travel sooner.

My dad, who originally planned on joining us, had to cancel. My grandmother needed emergency surgery because she broke her hip. My grandmother--who is 94 and stubborn--is doing just fine, thank you. We were worried for her at the time. But like the hearty Texas gal we know and love, she made it through surgery like a trooper, and is eating her favorite KitKats.

My father had to make sure she was fine for the surgery and set up a place for her to stay while she is in recovery. It's been a hard road for her and for my father, but he is a good man and has received a lot of support from close friends.

On a happier note, one of my best friends is about to give birth. I am hoping for an April 11th birthday, and she will name the kid Betty (even if it's a boy--to put hair on his chest). I plan on visiting her in late June in sunny (more so than Albany) California. It's strange. I knew her from high school. She had a tough time in college and her share of not-so-right guys. But I've never seen her quite so happy as now.

I am still working in foster care. As per usual, work is work. Lately, I've been training a new family the art of picking battles with your 8-year-old ward, and mediating heated negotiations between foster parents and natural parents on the Geneva Balance of Sippy Cup Holdings. If I do my job right, everyone is pissed off at me by the end of the day--spank you very much.

Well, that's all folk. Until next time. I promise to post a Condiment of the Week. I'll give you a hint--it's all American.

Well yes, I haven't posted in a while . . .

2008-03-02T09:27:00.000-08:00

. . . and I might have some difficulty posting in the next couple of weeks. Hun and I are having trouble with our wireless connection. I also have been spending some interesting nights in the ER with emotionally unstable children. Once our internet is up and running I promise, promise to write the next Condiment of the Week and Sunday List, as well as a couple of usual moans and groans about Upstate New York. For the ten (0r two) friends who regularly read my blog, please don't give up on me yet . . . I shall prevail!

Right now I snagged a computer at Hun's school, and I thought I would write off a quick note before running back to our abode to make green chili and potato soup (oh, and vacuum the carpet).

I am also feeling 100 percent better. Thanks for all the medical advice and messages of concern. I felt the love--and it's nice to be reminded that a lot of folks out there care if I am coughing up a lung.

Adios, amigos (and amigas) and may the wind be at your back while riding the trail!

Condiment of the Week: Honey

2008-02-16T15:14:00.000-08:00

I'm a cantankerous sort. I've been sick for a week since braving an ice storm to make sure a foster kid didn't have serious intentions of burning down his house. Despite my downing hot Tang, eating green chili, and resting my voice (after losing it Friday morning), I still wasn't feeling any better.

Granted, I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. (When you're constantly exposed to kid germs like I am, you'd want to wear a bubble suit too.) I also secretly enjoy putting on campy horror movies to lull me to sleep. But I was sick of being sick. Comatose states bore me quickly, and all I wanted in the world was to finally feel better.

I even dragged into work on Tuesday in hopes that I would be distracted into wellness and to catch up on all my cases. (Time flies when you work in foster care. Cases can change directions quickly when you aren't aware of current ins and outs.) My coworkers didn't even tease me about sounding like Marge Simpson, instead they ran away when they heard me hacking around the corner. By the end of the day, I talked myself horse.

I succumbed Wednesday and scheduled a doctor's appointment. The doctor (who looked younger than me--ouch) said all I suffered from was a cold and recommended I continue to take massive amounts of cough suppresant and suggested a home remedy: honey.

Great, I though, I am now 25 dollars poorer, and I've been told about the medical benefits of honey. Then a second thought came to mind: my Honey (a.k.a. Hun). Hun was at my side all last weekend--listening to me gripe, forcing cough syrup on me, nagging me to get more sleep, and remaining patient and supportive--despite not getting a decent night's rest himself. I've been snotty, greasy, highly unattractive, and definitely less than charming. Hun was also smart enough to recommend getting more rest instead of going to the doctor, because there wasn't a miracle pill to fix what I had--despite my hopes to the contrary. I suppose, in my own way, I got the doctor's advice already.

I alternated peppermint tea with honey to my hot Tang regimen the rest of the afternoon and slept through more camp horror. By the next morning, I felt considerably better (although I still sound like Marge Simpson). I owe most of it to my daily dose of Hun.

So I'm designating this week's condiment of the week to honey. Take time to think of all the little things you daily dose of honey does each day--be he/she a parent, kiddo, lovemuffin, or life-supporting friend.

I've Been Memed by the Book Guy

2008-02-09T14:39:00.000-08:00

. . . I guess I deserve it for not finishing what I started . . . ; )

According to the esteemed Rotus of I'll Never Forget the Day I Read a Book!, I owe him one for tagging him on another meme. Not to forgo a comeuppance or a challenge, I took on the Book Meme. According to Rotus, the rules are simple:

1. Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

(1) Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages). The nearest book on hand wore a fine patina of dust while waiting patiently for me to lift it off my bookshelf. I blindly grappled for it and behold! I grabbed I, Claudius by Robert Graves. I, Claudius was smirking at me a bit. Like any good historic novel, it's scandalous, sensually descriptive, and lots of fun. (I cheated a touch. The first book I picked wasn't 123 pages long. What does that say about me? I like comic books and self-help workbooks, I guess.) I read the book only once, but kept a hold of it in great plans of cracking open the pages again.

(2) Open the book to page 123. Page 123? Done.

(3) Find the fifth sentence. One. . .two . . . (Hmm, three lines per sentence, this will be interesting) . . . three . . . four . . . aha! I have it! This made Livy really furious.

(4) Post the next three sentences. Alright, here goes:

This made Livy really furious. He said, "Polio, this talk is idle. Young Claudius here has always been considered dull-witted by his family and friends but I didn't agree with the general verdict until to-day. You're welcome to your disciple. . .

To add some context, the blurb is about a couple of philosophers discussing the best way to record history. Polio prefers writing the literal truth, without adding modern context. Livy prefers to add a modern slant, to persuade men to virtue. Claudius is underestimated by his August family as being dull-witted. When Claudius is asked for his preference, he diplomatically sees the strengths in both versions of history. Livy, in a huff, accuses Claudius of being dull--along with Polio. Hence the double entendre of dullness and dull-witted. Polio then advises Claudius to continue with appearing half-witted, exaggerating his stutter, and increasing his limp to be safely underestimated until it is his time for greatness.

(5) Tag five more people. Hmmm. . . I shall tag (1) Shinade of the Painted Veil for tagging me in Blogger's Amnesty Day-, (2) Rybu at File Under Misc. after de-tagging him on the Big Bang Meme, (3) my mother and fellow book-a-holic at Heifer's Hideaway, (4) 70's Teen to find out what nostalgia she can pull out of her bonnet, and (5) tNb at Atomic Dogma to find out what else is on her bookshelf . . . It's up to y'all if you chose to partake--no worries if you're disinclined.

Wew! I'm tuckered. I think I'm off to a nap!

Someone's been sneakin' around these parts . . .

2008-02-08T10:54:00.000-08:00

Howdy folk! I found out something interesting about the joys of the web. I found out that someone is linking back to my little ol' blog here in Upstate New York. It's a blog all about Colorado and the surrounding parts. Apparently, they've been linking back to a few of my blogs. According to the blog, Drew Epperly is the writer for my site. I beg to differ. I am not Drew, I am Betty.

Not only that, but I think Drew doesn't always read my posts before he uses them as his own, since my blog has very little content about Colorado, and is mostly about Upstate New York. Perhaps I'm a bit reactionary, and should be flattered--but my word, who is this hooligan?!

Drew also seems to write a lot about soccer--my question is how much did he actually write? Perhaps I am being a bit kneejerk, and dear old Drew is just posting snippets of his favorite blogs to share. But there's a sneaking suspicion a sneak and a thief is amongst us . . .

Update: It looks like Drew is another victim of this site that posts RSS feeds at www.colorado.thesourcesnowboards.com. It's rather bizarre, and somehow, they got my name mixed up with his. There is also a "Cowgirl Betty" who writes various collegiate sports articles--which I also didn't write. According to Drew (you can see in the comments section), he has tried to get the group to stop running his articles on their site, but to no avail.

Falling off the Wagon

2008-02-07T15:18:00.000-08:00

Howdy folks! Just wanted to let y'all know I've been a bit under the weather lately, explaining why I haven't been posting as often. I also have been fighting some flu-like symptoms, attempting to work at my job six days a week, and struggling with my internet being down at home. What can I say? It's been a rocky trail lately.

Well, after taking an oncall until about midnight--braving an ice storm to and from the foster home--my body told me enough is enough. I am now laid up, and I am writing this during one of my few moments of consciousness. Luckily the internet is back up!

I promise, promise to pick back up with Condiment of the Week and my various laments when I get back in the saddle (hopefully sometime next week).

Sunday List: Much ado about nothing, or the missing blog

2008-02-02T18:32:00.000-08:00

I got an interesting (and unnecessary) apology from my friend, for my last blog entry. She was very generous and memed me in a link-exchange, hoping to increase some of my readership. The meme she participated in, as well as I, sparked a debate at one of the FuelMyBlog forums. (Might I add--FuelMyBlog is a really great site if you want to find like-minded bloggers to exchange ideas, find interesting sites, and meet new friends.) The forum discussed the ethics of the meme, discussing if it was putting those on the top end of the list at a higher advantage regarding linking-- and linking to other sites unethically inflating some of their blog ratings.

The whole deal got me off my my lazy arse and started figuring out some of this high-tootin' fenangled goo-gaa stuff about ratings, technorati, and all that is tossed around the 'net like a sack of hot cow-pucky. The below is my humble unscientific analysis about the whole subject:

(1) Technorati's rating system are pretty controversial. I read an interesting analysis at Sacred Cow Dung. Those with low ratings to begin with, well--It's like using a sprat to catch a mackerel(A fellow blogger's assessment wasn't far off the mark). Whenever even one other site links up to a sprat like me, my ratings jump up. That's because I distinguished myself from all the other ghostly blogs out there abandoned by their creators.

(2) The higher you climb with technorati, the harder it is to maintain your status, and the more sites you need to have linked to yours--because it take a lot more links to have your rating rise by even one rank. As far as getting even to the top 100, or even top 10,000--you have to be a friggin' giant--like Google, or MSN, etc. to achieve such status. No matter how many sites link to yours, a search engine, or monster media service will always win out. (P.S. Google--I think you're swell for hosting blogger for hostile little upstart cowgirls like me . . . if I do offend.)

(3) This leads to an inverse curve--a big red flag in statistical analysis--in finding any significance in the data (or so I'm told). In other words, relative to the giants--whose rating might have some significance--we are all lumped in the same statistical pile. In other words, technorati's ratings don't mean a hill of beans. My "authority" jumped up with the meme, but I'm still in the same league as those who have a lower rating and less "authority" along with those who have higher "authority" than myself. It's a shame how people really get fired up (and market researchers, etc.) about technorati's ratings and authority distinguishing a "scientific" basis for the value of a site.

(4) In my humble opinion, It's all about content, content, and content! (But it's a bit too subjective and not easy to assess for market analysts.) There are a ton of folks out there who have damn good blogs with ratings next to nothing alongside with high-quality blogs with ratings that reflect their work.

My conclusion: I can see how both sides of the debate can justify their reaction--my response is the whole business really isn't reflective of anything. If participating in a link exchange is the worst thing I do in the world, well--I'm still golden. I also didn't take in a stray kitty, pissed off a shitload of kiddos, caseworkers, and foster parents, etc, etc.--all in a day's work. Will I participate in one again? Probably not. I don't want to feel like I should even participate in the technorati gravy train. For those who are serious bloggers who do, have at it. But from what I found out--technorati isn't able to rank the importance of a personal blog. It really doesn't matter. Unfortunately, a lot of advertisers look at technorati ratings.

I'm really glad other great bloggers helped me get off my arse and find out for myself about the whole hulabaloo. Statistically speaking, the whole schpeel about site ratings is much ado about nothing. Unfortunately, a lot of folks out there hang their hat on the value of a rating--and that's the scary part, because so many other blogs with lower ratings go unnoticed.

If anyone asks why I removed the Bang!! Bang!! You're memed!! blog below, I decided not to bother with it. It's fine for folks to participate in this blog in my book--heck, I did it too. But I really don't want to rock the boat for those who fight for their ratings, and I don't want others to think my blog has more "authority"than others without reading it for themselves. I also took myself off the master list to be fair to those who are participating.

Aw, shoot. I'm tuckered! To take care of myself, I will watch The Man With the Golden Gun, and eat something with a condiment. I imagine I'll get a field of comments regarding my little diatribe. That's all good. I'll cowgirl up and keep my ears open. I might learn some more about the vastness that is the internet and rating whatnot before it is all done ; )

Adios!

Betty

Condiment of the Week: Hershey's Chocolate Syrup

2008-01-21T06:23:00.000-08:00

This weeks condiment, brought to you from my fridge, is inspired by an old duffer who lurks around my pastures from time to time. A few of us were discussing the assets of a certain celebrity, and his wonderful performance in Chocolat. Therefore, I selected Hershey's Chocolate Syrup as Condiment of the Week.

Some people might think that chocolate really doesn't qualify as a condiment, but more of a food group in itself. (Whenever Aunt Flo makes her monthly visit to my ranch, chocolate-covered anything is a staple of my diet.) However, chocolate syrup is more of a condiment because it accents the main dish. Chocolate syrup doesn't make the meal--it simply makes the meal better.

Consider the humble glass of milk. It is creamy and delicious, and definitely nutritious. But adding a few teaspoons (or 17) of chocolate syrup, and it is more than a wholesome beverage, it is an experience worth savoring. Warm that milk a bit, add some of that syrup and a dash of cinnamon on top and it is an incredible taste sensation that should be repeated again and again. The essence of the drink (both hot and cold) is the milk. Chocolate syrup simply enhances milk's succulent creaminess.

I drown vanilla ice cream with syrup and peanuts. I dip strawberries and bananas in it. I add it to brownie mix for extra-gooey yumminess. I even squirt in a little syrup in my red chili--no kidding.

There are very few desserts that don't benefit with a little chocolate syrup drizzled on top. Strangely enough, I don't like chocolate syrup on apple crisp a-la-mode. I prefer caramel sauce instead.

Hershey's Chocolate Syrup also bring memories of childhood. I remember my mother made chocolate milk for me on hot summer days. I remember my father and I pigged out on sundaes, drowned in syrup and peanuts, while watching made-for-TV movies at night. I even remember when Hershey's Chocolate Syrup was sold in a can. (Of course, not 8 lb cans as pictured to the right. Just tiny little pint-size ones.)

Plus, who could forget Messy Marvin?

Some Overdue Resolutions

2008-01-20T14:19:00.001-08:00

Howdy y'all. As most of you know, I have been promising for the past couple of weeks to resolutely write a list of resolutions for 2008. Now that we are well within January, my list has ripened past fashionably late to procrastination purgatory. (In other words, I am turning the corner of "better late than never" and rapidly stampeding ahead to "why even bother".) So without further ado, I bring you the much anticipated (well . . . not really) list:

(1) I resolve to be more kind to myself. This means I also need to start taking better care of myself as well. For instance, I will be taking daily vitamins, not eat so much candy at work and eat lunch instead, attend regularly scheduled dental checkups and physicals. (I really can't say eat out less because, well, we rarely order pizza.) I will also *shudder* exercise for 10 minutes per day and work my way up. When the weather isn't unbearably cold and slippery, I will jog around the block. When it is too cold, or I am feeling too lazy, I will do simple things like pop in an exercise DVD for a few minutes and do some stomach crunches. I will also participate in an exercise activity at least once per week. If I skip a day of not working out, or eating too much candy, I will not beat myself up. I also will be able to learn the joys of the word "no".

(2) I resolve to explore more. This could mean more traveling up and down the East Coast while I'm here. It also means exploring Albany and Upstate New York more. Hun and I discovered a climbing gym. I hope to find some climbing buddies to help us explore the Gunks. I also want to be able to hike more in the Adirondacks to escape the heat in the summer. Hun and I already discovered the joys of apple picking, small towns, gardening, etc. I plan on trying my hand at snowboarding on the East Coast and definitely Hun and I will continue to cross-country ski. It's all out there, I just need to invest the time in finding stuff to do. Hun and I are planning a trip to Washington DC, and are totally stoked.

(3) I resolve to be a better housekeeper. This means I put things away after I am done with them, and keeping my surroundings other than my kitchen immaculate. (Hun is generally the more tidy of the two of us.) I will also go through my belongings every six months and purge anything we didn't use, view, or wear. I also resolve to be a better cyber-housekeeper to my blog, such as keeping my blogs tidy and regularly post. I also resolve to post on my other blog at least once per week and continue with Condiment of the Week. I will also post one personal list per week and start editing some of my video for youtube superstardom once per month.

Well, that is that. I didn't resolve this year to be more kind to others. I figure, if I take better care of myself and the time to spend with those who I care for, kindness will certainly follow suit. I'm used to usually placing my needs after others, and I should practice being selfish for a change. Overall, my life is pretty darn good--and I need to take more advantage of it. This might mean I might not be on Santa's Good Cowgirls list this year, but then again the old boy is a bit out of touch with the times. (I can't believe PETA hasn't gotten their claws in the jolly elf for reindeer cruelty, not to mention elf labor laws.)

I am such a groupy

2008-01-17T20:02:00.000-08:00

. . . Inspired by the amazing band of fracas, I created my own music album. Interestingly enough, following strictly to the rules of the meme, my album was created by a solo artist with political leanings. The photo is by fetching, entitled @ the sharks.

Not quite as fun as 70s, but it's pretty startling how everything fit!

Rules of the meme issued by the Honorable Fracas:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.
2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.
3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4. Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together and make your band’s album cover.

Don't tell Hun I fracced around.

Condiment of the Week: Huy Fong Chili Paste

2008-01-15T18:26:00.000-08:00

I spent New Year's Eve away from Hun, and I had a lot of time on my hands to wallow in singleton habits: namely watch really cheesy horror movies, eat junk food, and drink champagne. I noticed two startling aspects in my life in fuzzy, champagne-induced, relief: (1) I should figure out something to regularly blog about other than the crappy Upstate weather, (2) we had a shitload of condiments in our fridge.

I vowed that night to feature one condiment "chilling out" in our kitchen each week. Thus, Condiment of the Week was born.

This week I am choosing a PMS fave of mine: Huy Fong (or Rooster) Chili Paste. To say that I've used three jars of this since I've graduated college is saying something for a cowgirl like me. It's ground chilis marinated in oil, (sometimes garlic), and vinegar. It is finame without setting fire to your tongue (well, not if you add too much). From soup to salmon, I love to use it on almost anything.

I usually add it with soups and with dips. I love it in pho, a dirt-cheep and amazingly delicious Vietnamese noodle soup. I love to add it with soy sauce, along with a little sugar, to dip dumplings in. I use it on stir fry.

But my number one favorite use is with Ramen and sesame oil as a PMS-craving delight. I boil up some Ramen (I prefer the oriental flavor), and leave a little bit of water and all the noodles in a soup mug. I add the high-sodium packet of flavoring, toss in a couple of drops of sesame oil, and a few teaspoons of the chili paste. I got my roommates hooked on it while I was attending grad school.

I swear, if you are on the cusp of aunt Flo coming to town, the above combination could save your relationship with your significant other, hankies, and wasted bitchiness that could be set to more productive uses. At the minimum, it will help clear out your sinuses.

This week, I give a shout out to Huy Fong and his (her?) culinary contribution to condiment world.

Technical Difficulties

2008-01-13T15:30:00.000-08:00

I am experiencing some technical difficulties at the moment. I am trying to change around my new look, but am having some issues with customizing things. Hence, the haphazard disarray of my blog layout.

Blogs to come:

(1) My (overdue) 2008 resolutions

(2) Condiment of the Week

(3) Show and Tell (very innocent)

(4) Plenty of griping and complaining

If ya don't like it, then hitch yer horse somewheres else.

Enough, already! I will be folding laundry and painting my toes for the remainder of the evening.

YEA, BABY!!

2008-01-10T15:15:00.000-08:00

Just returned from a mandatory pep rally, featuring our fearless leader. He wanted to encourage the troops about all the great work we do in "touching children" (ewwwww!) He said he used to touch many children, but now, he rarely does. He has to rely on folks like me to touch as many children as we can. YEAH BABY!!

He talked about all the great work the agency has done, including the foster-care program growing in leaps and bounds. (Due to work of by our office. However, he forgot to mention that--spank you very much.) He didn't get around to naming my boss, or any of my coworkers . . . but he did single out some of them . . .

. . . for not paying proper attention to him. One of my coworkers received playful looks by others in my office because tomorrow is her last day (she accepted a position for a county agency--yeehaw for her). Our fearless leader was discussing employment retention at the time.

"Is there some kind of joke I'm not getting? Would someone like to share?" barked our fearless leader from the podium. All the sudden, MAs and clinicians were reduced to the age of 10-year-olds. Wide-eyed, silent questions of Did he just say that? flashed across the room.

He continued to talk about touching children, how our agency was a great place to work, and really, even though some of us from the audience were looking at him like he was fake and didn't care--he really did. (I vote for fake, myself.)

So, in case our fearless leader is worried that no one was paying enough attention to him, I want to assure him I was listening to every word . . . YEAH BABY!!

I agree on his view that our agency has done great work. I am proud of doing what I do--as much as I bitch about the system. I disagree with the whole touching children and families--that's just creepy.

Holy Cow!!

2008-01-06T14:30:00.000-08:00

Wow, I had quite a weekend! Hun and I postponed date night on Friday. (Hun has a big test tomorrow.) I perused various blogs listed on FuelMyBlog, an online blogging community filled with wit and support I joined in December.

As a reward for Hun's studying, we ate Chinese food and watched a couple of DVD episodes of Forever Night, a show about a sexy vampire cop. Unfortunately, the main character, Nicholas Knight, fails on all three counts. He is neither sexy, a powerful vampire, or a descent cop. However the show's cheese factor--something I greatly value--is so high it offsets the character's inadequacies as well as the overacting, horrid writing, and "special effects" and amplifies the entertainment factor tenfold. Think of the show as a late night version of Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Dr. Who. I also place Big Trouble in Little China and Kolchak: the Night Stalker in the same glorious (or--more precisely--horribly horrible) category.

On Saturday, I ran errands and Hun and I cooked some food, and fed Dog, the ball python that lives with us and shares our life. I also looked at other blogs, such as Fracas, Daddypapersurfer, Sylvie Dixie, and onknees. I posted my two cents in the comments section. I also noticed a fellow named Kimchihead who even posted an anecdote to my neglected second blog, What is the nature of true love? (Alright, enough name dropping.) I started messing around with my inadequate photo editor, and made up a new flag for my True Love blog as well.

I also neglected to post anything regarding New Year resolutions. (Yes, I am procrastinating that list as well . . . I suppose I need to get back on the wagon, as it were.) I guess you could say I got a bit distracted.

This afternoon, Hun and I went cross-country skiing. Along the drive up, I bitched and moaned about Hun inadvertently killing me by overestimating my abilities on the trail. Hun attempts to use empathy, bargaining, and even reason to coerce me out of my anxiety. I continue to berate him as we are putting on our skis.

Hun told me he was not a cold-blooded bastard and he would never place me in danger. He also said I could stop anytime I felt over my head and take off my skis--but no, I continued to berate him. He said he wanted us to enjoy the afternoon, not for me to be miserable--and making him miserable as a result. He scooted off and I was left on my own.

I put on my skis and shifted around. I was being overly dramatic about the situation. At the same time, I don't like losing any argument, and I could just pack up the car and leave him be--that would show him.

I huffed as he was winding his way up the steep trail.

I had no right to snap at him. This activity was supposed to be fun. Fine then, I would crawl up the slope and see how well I did--if I did break my neck and die, at least I could prove I wasn't being histrionic.

I inched my way up the slope as Hun was sliding back down, asking me if I was coming. We climbed the hill and I didn't fall, or even side-stepped up the slope. I mumbled I was sorry about snapping at him--it was just he sometimes overestimated what I could do.

No, Hun replied. Not really. You usually underestimate yourself.

We slid up the trail and slid back down. I fell a couple of time, and Hun gave me some pointers. I even smiled a few times--despite Hun telling me it wasn't allowed and having fun would ruin the dark cloud over my head I was strongly trying to maintain.

I concluded that I did underestimate myself--more often than not.

We returned home and I checked my computer. Sylvie sent me an e-mail and I opened the attachment. I was awarded blog of the day.

Who'd a thunk? Hun was right.

Thank you Sylvie, DP, Fracas, Kevin, and everyone else out there in the FuelMyBlog cybervillage. I am honored. I even added the widget to my sidebar.

Next stop--Hollywood?

To be continued . . .

2008-01-02T18:05:00.000-08:00

I have a great New Year Resolution list being created. On the list is to stop procrastinating. Therefore, I am shutting down my computer and starting up a DVD episode of 24, Heroes, or Forever Knight. I will post my list later . . .

What was that sound? Did I break something?

Hippo Gnu Deer to Ewe and Yarns!!

Back in the Saddle Again

2007-12-30T13:13:00.000-08:00

Howdy, y'all! I am back from XMas vacation in Colorado. It was a supreme delight visiting with relatives. I'm still spinning a bit from excess sugar consumption and the yummy goodness of decent Mexican food.

I also had to cram in some kiddo visits at work on Friday and setting up everything for a new set of kiddos on my caseload. It was also fun to chew the fat with my coworkers about their break and discuss Holiday cheer. I received multiple stockings filled with various cavity-inducing, high-caloric units (i.e. candy). They stood ready and waiting on my desk Friday morning.

I received some info from my boss regarding the kitty of the previous post and how to proceed. She said she believed the kitty probably belonged to someone and was a barn cat that had taken to me. Since the cat didn't look like it was hungry, and it had a collar with a bell on it, it probably belonged to someone. However, I will still be on the lookout for kitty this winter. If it looks longingly at me to provide some shelter, I received some helpful info from an anonymous commenter on a no-kill shelter in the area.

The commenter's comments were--well--colorful, the information was appreciated. (But not enough to actually publish them. Thank you, Blogger for comment moderation.) This leads me to a second point. It's rather interesting, I've been blogging for almost a year, and I sometimes write about work. I have yet to receive a comment about someone out there being outraged about human children being abused, neglected, you name it, on a daily basis. Granted, I don't write specifically about my kiddos. (I am not going to write anecdotes from work to spice up my blog. Other than violating the confidentiality taboo, I don't want to use my kiddos' life stories as ways to make the online community boo-hoo and whatnot.) But I sometimes discuss my frustrations with helping kids in the system. Do you know how many irate comments I've received about what kind of bitch I am for pulling kiddos out of foster homes and making teens take drug tests? Not one.

I write a post discussing an encounter with a cat, and I am the devil. I had to moderate a few comments off my blog, mentioning I should be very ashamed of myself for not subjecting Hun to allergic shock for bringing a cuddly car-riding cat home and an outright hostile "Merry Christmas, Bitch" when I didn't bring the cat to a no-kill shelter at 8:00 at night. (Well, I didn't mention that in my last post, I guess.)

This was a bit eye-opening to me as our value for humanity as a society. It kind of reminds me of Michael Moore receiving a lot of flack about including footage of an impoverished woman killing and skinning a rabbit for meat in Roger & Me. Moore mentioned he never received any comments about the footage of a kid getting shot while playing in the street in the next scene. Both scenes are acts of violence. Granted, I was horrified when I saw the rabbit got skinned. But other animals get slaughtered for our tables every day. Why was it that no one was concerned about the kid getting shot?

I'm sorry, kitty lovers, but I'm a bigger fan of people.

The story did tug at the heart strings a bit. The encounter definitely provided a great deal of internal conflict for me. I love animals. But one thing doesn't keep me awake at night: the kids on my caseload go to bed at night with a full stomach in a nurturing home. There is more money donated to PETA and other humane societies then there are to children's charities. You could argue that people can communicate for help and animals can't. Well, I would also argue that most kids can't either--they don't know how, or they don't know of other ways of living other than the chaotic environment they may face day in and day out.

So, kitty lovers out there, call me a bitch. That's what keeps my kiddos safe in a system that give more of a shit about paperwork than people. As far as the car-riding kitty, I'm still keeping an eye out there for him. And thanks for the heads up for the no-kill shelter Anonymous, even though you thought I did the wrong thing.

Everyone out there, have an awesome new year. I plan on working on being a bit more kinder to my neighbors, and to myself. Hugs and kisses to you all. As much as I rant, I am super lucky to have great family, loyal friends, strong women, and most of all Hun in my life.

Anyone want a cute, cuddly kitty?

2007-12-20T15:45:00.000-08:00

Most of my friends know how anti-glurge I am. You know those massive e-mails folks send out, discussing how a seemingly insignificant act of kindness saved some one's life. (I'm sure most of you got the one about the kid who picked up some books a nerdy student dropped. He walks the nerd home and they become friends. When the kids graduate high school, the nerd thanks the kid for picking up his books because the nerd planned to off himself that day and the kid helped him appreciate the joy of living. Whatever. It is an incredibly fake story. It didn't happen. But I digress.) I'm about to spread some glurge of my own.

I completed a visit tonight with one of my foster families, and I was outside, chatting with the foster parent. I spied a cat--quite a frequent visitor at this home--sitting just outside the door, cuddled by the house to absorb the heat.

The parent commented about how a neighborhood cat wouldn't leave the property since I made the mistake of petting it this fall. The foster parent then talked about how she believed it was a neighbor's cat, but the cat seemed to go through the trash and didn't really leave the property. She said she wondered if the owners abandoned the kitty, or if they were just negligent.

During the foster parent's monologue, I was scratching the kitty behind the ears, between the eyes, at the base of its tail. The cat responded in kind and purred and kneaded the fence he was laying on. The cat looked at me longingly. I picked it up, and the cat cuddled under my coat, purring even louder and rubbing its forehead under my chin.

"How sad," I sighed, "no one loves this kitty."

"Oh, I think someone does," the foster parent corrected and lifted her eyebrows.

"Hun would kill me." The cat snuggled closer and the purr grew louder. I am so dead.

I walked to my car, rationalizing that it would be only for a night or two. I could plaster the pic of the adorable creature and someone would snag it in a moment. Who cares if Hun is deathly allergic and I would have to take him in to the emergency room tonight because he stops breathing.

. . . That is, if I survived the car trip home. (Cats are notoriously bad for having major nervous freakdowns when confronted with a car ride. Most cat "owners" transport their feline companions in kennels if they need to take them anywhere.) I carried the cat to the car, and opened the door. I sat down with the cat in my lap and the door still open, to give the creature a chance to escape if it would be too much. The kitty stretched off my lap and explored the back seat. I turn the ignition. The cat looks at me, asking me with its eyes what the hell am I waiting for. I shrug my shoulders and assume it is fate. I close the door and head down the road.

The cat sits down and gets comfortable in the back seat. Doesn't make a sound, doesn't try to claw out my eyes. It just sits there, enjoying the ride. I can't believe it.

I drive along the road, and the cat pads over and takes its throne on the front passenger seat and snuggles next to my bag. I realize Hun and I are traveling on Saturday and won't be home for over a week. Who will take care of kitty, when the furry creature is moved to unfamiliar surroundings? We don't have any friends who can feed and love it while we're in Colorado for Decemberween. I scratch behind its ears as I ponder the moral dilemma.

Do I take a creature and bring it to a place it's unfamiliar to--knowing full well that I couldn't permanently keep it? A shelter wouldn't be open now. My boss might have a better idea of who could take the cat in. The cat didn't look like it was starving, and it seemed to be savvy enough to keep warm. It would be wrong to take it to our house with no one to care for it over the week. I really wanted it, though.

Shit.

I turned the car around and drove it back to its trolling grounds. I stopped the car and opened the door. The cat looked at me again, asking me what the hell I was doing. I paused, wondering if there were any loopholes I missed in this dilemma. Unable to think of any, I picked up the cat and brought it outside. The cat leisurely scampered away into the night.

If anyone knows of a good cat-loving home in the Albany area or the Upper Hudson Valley, I would greatly appreciate it. I know of a good cat that enjoys random car rides with strangers. (I would also love to know the names and numbers of any area shelters--but I can google that.) I'm sure I will see the creature again. I will be making a plan in my head in case I face the same moral dilemma.

If you are the owner of a car-loving cat in the Upper Hudson Valley, then shame on you for keeping it out in the cold! I almost catnapped you pet! What if I were someone with malicious intent, hmmm?!

I feel guilty and heartbroken for leaving that kitty. I feel like Scrooge by doing nothing. But next time . . . well, I don't know what I'll do yet. I just need to figure that one out. Would it be better to leave the cat there, or to take it to a shelter or give it to someone else?

All things being equal, I'd rather be in Philadelphia.

2007-12-17T15:37:00.000-08:00

We returned with all our limbs from our weekend getaway to Phili. Hun and I geeked out on touring Independence Hall and the Mutter Museum.

I halfway (well, maybe) clobbered a 12-year-old for stealing the perfect picture of Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were signed. (Is that where the name came from? Duh!) I had the perfect shot, and I even kneeled down really low, so as not to obstruct anyone behind me, when this little girl popped right in front of me and took like twelve minutes to take her picture. But no bother, a little assertiveness and a forceful--but calm--"excuse me" went a long way. Hun had to hold me back a bit with my paparazzi aggressiveness (for which I am now thankful) and told me everyone would take turns. Suffice to say, I got the perfect shot. HAHAHA!!!

We hit the Mutter Museum of medical curiosities when the doors opened the next day. (We decided to cut our trip short due to the oncoming storm blanketing New York and New England.) Hun pulled me aside during certain exhibits, such as the elephantine colon (Hun calls it congenital megacolon or Hirshprung's Disease), to provide more colorful context to the yuckiness of human pathology. It was wicked cool.

We also toured around different sections of town, like the Old City, Washington Square, etc. I really enjoyed it. Philadelphia really reminds me of a European city. It's very walkable. Many of the streets are narrow. The architectural styles are a hodgepodge of Dutch Colonial, Brownstone walk-ups, and even Georgian.

We also found a killer used furniture store. They had stuff from Moderne to Art Deco to Arts and Crafts (yes, you heard me) for amazingly amazing prices. You could get a waterfall-top high boy for $30, give it a nice sanding and a coat of varnish and it's an heirloom. We even saw a mahogany sideboard for $250. (In Denver and Hudson, you couldn't find it for less than a thousand.)

Hun went back to class today, and I dug out my car (for two hours) and did a few work things from home. I will have no excuse of being negligent in shoveling our my car, so I will be heading into work in the morning.

The Snow Cometh

2007-12-13T10:15:00.000-08:00

The snow is finally here! I did travel in it a bit today, and it was a bit skittish getting back home, but navigable. I have a compliment for NY State drivers finally: they do pretty well in the snow. The give you plenty of space, and they know when to speed up and when to slow down and when to get out of the way. That's pretty much the New York attitude in a crisis.

As for other driving traits when the weather is clear. . . well . . . I'm sure there are some good points I haven't noticed.

Hun and I plan to skid out of town on Saturday by train to Philadelphia to see all the historic sites. Wish us luck if we make it! No unique or interesting stories just yet. Will update with more later. Any good ideas?

Betty

Return of the Son of Wintry Mix

2007-12-10T08:38:00.000-08:00

Woke up this morning with about an 1/8th of an inch of ice glommed onto all outdoor surface areas. The main surface areas I was concerned about today were (1) my car and (2) the road. I had a packed day of a morning meeting with some bioparents and an out-of-state transport in the afternoon.

I slipped and slid, grabbing onto any less-slick objects to steady my balance as I heated my car and hacked off the ice from my windshield. I periodically checked the school closings, basically concluding that Upstate New York was closed due to the delightful weather outside, to warm up and to debate whether or not I should even attempt to leave the house. I thought about the 4-hour trek back and forth this afternoon. I (thankfully) was able to reschedule the appointment for later in the week.

I continued to hack away at the ice on my car, while some drizzly substance iced over onto my coat and hat, and liberally applied sidewalk salt to pave the way from our front door to my war-weary car. (Norma Jean has seen better days. As my mother would say, she looks road hard and put up wet.)

I call the social-service office once it opens to find out if my partners in crime plan on rescheduling the meeting. It's definitively decided that all are grounded, and folks should not risk coming in.

I am currently drinking a mug of joe and enjoying the free time available. Perhaps I will watch Die Hard, or some other Christmas movie while wrapping presents for Hun. Perhaps I will cyberstalk my friends, family, (and some strangers) as well. Bwahahahah!

Although this all sound comforting, I wish I could have gotten my appointments out of the way--but not enough to brave the icy shit splattered outside. The weather forecasts more icy shit this afternoon and evening, tapering off and clearing out for "ball sucking" cold tomorrow morning.

All I Want for XMas:

2007-12-09T08:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa,

I think I've been a very good girl this year. I only received one speeding ticket this year, and I have paid it off. (Not only that, but I was FRAMED, I tell ya!) I have made lots of apple crisp this year and bought countless of McDonald's Happy Meals to help increase cholesterol levels for displaced foster children in the Hudson Valley. I have a few things to ask for this year, Santa. The list is as follows:

(1) World Peace. This is always a good way to start off a Christmas list. It helps the list maker not appear as selfish as she really is. I also am quite fond of the idea of all the children of the world receiving proper nutrition and clean drinking water. That goes without saying.

(2) Jack Bauer's Fists of Determination. With a menacing glare and a raise of the pinkie finger, the world would bend to my will. This would decidedly help with my XMas wish #1, although 24's Jack Bauer is decidedly not a very peaceful person. This would also help me brave any bureaucratic red tape at work, as well as managing New York driving in general.

(3) A new car. I would dearly love a new car. However, I would not dearly love a new payment. Hence, I will need to have one of my loving friends or rich strangers to give one to me. An Audi TT would work nicely for transporting toddlers back and forth to medical appointments and I am certain the gas mileage is wonderful . . .

(4) The sour chocolate milk smell emanating from my backseat in my current car to disappear. If I have not been good enough this year to deserve an Audi TT, a super-heavy bottle of ultra Fabreeze will do. I suppose I will make do with my 10-year-old Saturn with crapped-out shocks if I need to . . . but I would be disappointed.

(5) My pirated video system to actually work. Although I can import media, such as music and pictures onto my non-linear editing system, I have issues capturing footage onto my system to edit. I tried to upgrade my system with some free downloads. Now the program won't even open up, saying there is now a systems error. So much for youtube superstardom for right now.

(6) A cease and desist order for "wintry mix" weather in Upstate New York. I friggin' hate the icy shit that falls from the sky. Upstaters are in some serious denial that "wintry mix" constitutes a "Winter Wonderland". There is nothing wonderful about it. It does prove, however, that Hell--indeed--does freeze over.

(7) Time with friends and family. I am very excited about heading back to Colorado for Christmas and seeing my friends and family. I really miss them. My coworkers are good company--they don't compare to my dear friends back in Colorado. As Dorthy said (or was it Nietze?), "There's no place like home."

(8) An indoor swimming pool. Although, I think our landlord might be upset. (Dog would be in snake heaven.) I guess I need to settle for finding an indoor swimming pool after Christmas. (See future blog entry regarding a list of New Year's resolutions.)

(9) Sunlight. We don't get much sunlight here. It is mostly gray and threatening icy shit. It usually--like typical New Yorkers--doesn't carry out the promise. It does cast an atmosphere of gloom and general malaise. I used to look forward to cloudy days in Colorado because it meant a change in weather, and some much-needed moisture. Here, the cloudy weather just sucks one's soul dry. No wonder Upstaters are cranky. At least NYC has Times Square.

(10) The perfect job. I would like a job closer to where I live, so I don't have to commute over two hours a day. I would also like a balance of using my brains to solve problems, some multi-tasking so I don't get bored, and nice people who don't yell at me about things I cannot control. Any ideas are greatly appreciated. (Again, see future New Year's resolutions blog.)

This is all I ask for Santa. It's not too much. Give me a Holla when you roll down our chimney!

Betty

I am very ashamed . . .

2007-12-06T18:06:00.000-08:00

. . . I forgot everyone's birthday this year. I royally suck as a friend and as a daughter. (Yes, this is true, I forgot the birthdays of BOTH MY PARENTS.) I also forgot my best friend's birthday on December 4. I have been remiss in keeping my phone charged as well.

I am such an asshole.

I wish I could even make an excuse that work has been crazy. But it always is crazy. There's no difference between past an present. Between crazy foster parents, crazy bio parents, crazy coworkers, it's all a big blob.

I suppose I can blame seasonal effective disorder--isn't that the one when you get more out of it when you are exposed to less light in the winter? We have very little light when it is technically considered "daytime", much less the stark blackness they call night in Upstate New York.

To any good friends and family out there, I've been trying to call--and bordering on stalking behavior--because I realize I've been a bit insensitive lately. Blame the bland uhgness that is my life.

I am really interested in how the kitchen is being remodeled, any baby firsts that I am missing, as well as buns currently in the oven . . . much more so than the problems Upstaters have no compunction but to unload on anyone in hopes of gaining some free ride or another . . . I have become more local, and I haven't realized it.

Someone shoot me now. But please call back so I know we are on speaking terms . . .

Betty

The Situation

2007-12-01T19:22:00.000-08:00

Hey, folks, here is a youtube clip of The Slingerland Situation. I know I've been talking about it for some time. This clip pretty much tells it all. The show's content is a bunch of ladies in black, transporting kiwis around Albany.

Enjoy!

Thank You Very Much

2007-11-26T17:47:00.000-08:00

Hun and I just returned from a short trip to visit the in-laws in the Land of Cleves, as my brother-in-law puts it, and we are now ten pounds heavier. We hit some weather on the way to Ohio and back. We enjoyed watching the last of the autumn leaves drop to the ground while driving to Ohio and the snow falling while eating out Thanksgiving dinner at Hun's aunt's and uncle's house. I visited with various in-laws and got to hold squiggly crawlers and discuss the fashion philosophies of Barbie to 4-year-olds. I also accepted that I am not nearly as cool as my sister-in-law when it comes to coloring, playing Barbies, or . . . well . . . anything and everything for that matter.

We are anxiously awaiting our trip to Denver to celebrate the Holidays and see actual mountains--rather than the hills they call mountains in New York. I don't know if I will get a chance to snowboard while in Colorado, considering the season hasn't started out well. At least they have snowboarding in New York. However, there is no comparison once you've ridden the champagne powder on the Colorado slopes. (Can I get more elitist?) But beggars can't be choosers. It's either snowboarding or starting smoking to catch some adrenaline rush. I hadn't hit the slopes once last year.

I also am remiss on updating my latest blogging project. I plan on making it more interactive, but have yet to figure out how to do it. People seem to be quite shy. I need to put it more out there. Perhaps I can film a vlog, capturing the opinions of Albany Christmas Shoppers about their first time being in love, or when they knew it was all over. Any suggestions are greatly appreciated. It's a work in progress. (Perhaps it's not as sexy as the mini-doc I did in grad school about the Vietnam War, but hey--I gotta start somewhere.)

I'm getting more random hits on this blog per day. I'm pretty sure all ten of them are my personal friends, and I'm upset they aren't more religious about checking my blog anytime I release my pearls of triviality to grace cyberspace. (I'm just kidding. You know who you all are, and you know I love you deeply. So quit frowning.)

It seems people have more of a penchant for personal tragedy--not too tragic, mind you. Something people can easily relate to an say, "Gee, that's a mega-heinous outfit/work story/cooking experiment. There but the grace of God go I, as I am intellectually superior/culturally savvy/street smart/really, really ridiculously good looking."

Another confession . . . I am super addicted to youtube superstar, William Sledd, of Ask a Gay Man. Some of his vlogs about his latest trip to NYC or drinking exploits on Halloween I could skip. But his hatred of painter pants and sweat pants is high-larious. You should check it out.

Hun and I finished watching Series 4 of 24, enjoying the Jack Bauer uber-manliness. I am very thankful of the series writers/producers for sequestering Jack's be-hated daughter, Kim, to Arizona to raise a family with the forgettable Chase. I'm a closet Chloe fan myself, personality disorder and all.

Wow. There is a whole lotta nothing going on with me. Umm . . . I'm done with Christmas shopping . . . I could talk about the mountain of work I need to do, but that isn't anything new or glamorous. I drove over 300 miles today for a work-related appointment. I have an adoption worker who is wanting me to make some serious custody decisions I know I have no authority making because she doesn't have the balls to make the tough call she knows she has to abide to for the betterment of the greater good and--oh ya--New York State child law.

Weehaw.

Betty

Strange, But True

2007-11-20T19:38:00.000-08:00

Well, I've had quite a good week. I went with Hun to a conference in NYC. Hun conferred and I bought cheap stuff in Chinatown, to come to a Christmas stocking near you . . . I will not post pictures of my spoils, lest I ruin XMasses everywhere.

But I will post my "before" shot of my latest furniture project. I haven't done any sanding or staining, yet. But I will start sometime soon. I'm also very excited about this project, almost as excited at my youtube superstardom.

Hun and I got it at the Salvation Army a few weeks ago, on our way to Woodstock. I am quite fond of it already.

I am also posting some photos of Huns new foray in interior decoration. We rearranged the furniture on the same weekend we went to Woodstock, and our living room is much more spacious now. Interestingly enough, we couldn't find a place for our mantle clock that would sit in a convenient viewing location. That is, until Hun thought outside the box.

I've also learned another valuable lesson when I ordered sushi at a Chinese take-out last Friday. That lesson is never order sushi at a Chinese take-out. This is their version of "spicey tuna roll". I think the picture says it all. I have no idea what the crystaline crumbles garnishing the top of my "roll" slices, but it's not good. I suspect they were bits of recycled fiberglass they also put in menthol cigarettes.

Hello World!

2007-11-16T08:10:00.000-08:00

Guess what, folks. I am now an official youtube superstar!

Goodies

2007-11-14T19:21:00.000-08:00

I am the proud owner of a new, super-charged computer. Yeehaw!

I also have a new refinishing project fresh from the thrift store! I will post some before and after pictures later.

I have hot apple cider fresh from Golden Harvest Farms, and I also bought some cider doughnuts today.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

The Joys of Modern Technology

2007-11-11T07:38:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the dearth of posts, but I have been curtailed at the prospect of youtube video stardom. Hun offered to download some nonlinear editing freeware off the internet. As a result, he also downloaded some kind of virus. I am fortunate to have such a great husband who is willing to waste hours of valuable study time so I can have my artistic dream. Unfortunately, the virus is quite, well, virulent and we can't seem to shake it off Hun's computer.

My campaign for a new computer continues, but it has been dampened a bit. Hun and I got trapped when his truck got towed by one the more virulent parasites haunting Albany. We parked in the McDonald's lot off of Pearl Street to go to dinner across the street. A tow company in town hire scouts to post at various locations to wait for people to park there, and then get their car towed a few minutes later. The scout gets a kickback from the tow and storage fees. We were in the restaurant for a half hour. I so fucking love this town.

That, combined with a speeding ticket I received about a month ago, and us registering our driving license to NY State, it set us back a pretty penny, and Christmas is around the corner. Therefore, we will be adults and delay some gratification for a couple of months.

Once Hun's computer is back on line, I will abscond with it when the weather turns crummy and I'm stuck at home working through a Nor'Easter.

More postings later . . .

Betty

Call me bored

2007-11-01T20:21:00.000-07:00

I just started another blog, titled "What is the nature of true love?"

I've pondered this question for some time, and even made a mini-documentary about it. I won't publish it on youtube any time soon, since . . . well . . . some of my friends might not appreciate it.

However, have a gander, and please contribute!

I even have a poll.

you can check it out at www.whatisthenatureoftruelove.blogspot.com

I hope the blog name is long enough . . .

Betty

Happy Hallow-versary

2007-10-31T08:41:00.000-07:00

I love Halloween. It's my favorite holiday. I could skip some of the more daggy holidays, like
Valentine's Day and St. Patrick's Day and celebrate Halloween a couple more times a year.

Hun and I started dating around Valentine's Day. We were at a party at a mutual friend's, and the party headed to the Mercury Cafe in LoDo to see a band perform. I was working it pretty hard to get Hun to moderately acknowledge my existence, as another guy--not nearly as cute and mysterious as Hun--kept on dropping liberal hints that he dug me. I was trying as hard as possible to avoid the not-as-cute guy for complex political reasons, hoping his attempts at flirtation were just in my head and halfway succeeding at my self-delusion.

At the end of the evening, Hun asked me if I had any plans for Valentine's Day. I told him I had none and went on a tirade about the suckiness of V-Day and the corporate exploitation of the masses. I told Hun I much rather celebrate Halloween. So much for putting the nail in that coffin--pun intended.

My friend who hosted the party then extorted me into hitting on Hun the next day (V-Day), saying he seemed to like me. I said I didn't think so, and he was too young for me anyway--like three years younger than me. She kept on picking at me to do something, for Christ's sake, for the rest of single humanity that didn't have an opportunity. I harumphed and acquiesced to her demands--but on my terms. I sent Hun a Halloween e-card, with two gross-out eyes rolling around a monster's hand, singing I Only Have Eyes for You.

Most guys would have freaked out about some strange chick sending a creepy card and petition for a restraining order. Hun didn't. He laughed, called me up, and asked me to watch Halloween with him for our date. I brought over a pizza and the movie and we sat and talked through the entire John Carpenter masterpiece.

When Hun and I were talking about getting hitched, our original plan was to get married today instead of July. (It's a good thing we changed our mind, since we got a nice vacation out of the deal and got to see friends and family with us instead of standing in front of a judge. It's also a good thing because I have some anal-Exorcist thing going on today.)

We celebrated our 1-year dating anniversary by going to the Stanley Hotel of Shining fame as well. We got the most out of our stay, Hun being the industrious sort he is. We ran around the hotel after dinner that night, taking pictures of anything looking remotely spooky. Hun got a shot of some guy in a white baseball cap with mojo camera equipment without a flash. It looked quite ghostly and he was prodigiously proud. We encountered a gaggle of young women who were also running around with their own cameras, freaking each other out as well. Hun was hungry to show his "ghost" photo to see how they would react. Another guy was nearby, attempting to attract some kind of positive attention from them. He was saying he was a ghost hunter--the ladies were not impressed, and were pleading for Hun to save the day.

"Don't show the picture," I whispered. "They'll flip a gasket."

He didn't, and the girls and the ghost hunter went their merry way.

The next morning, we went on a ghost tour the Stanley offered. We thought it would be free as a guest. We guessed wrong. It was a good tour, talking about all the history of the place, and the tour guide even mentioned that the Ghost Hunters from the TV show were running around with mojo camera equipment, tracking down the supernatural bumps and creaks. Hun and I looked at each other, thinking about that damn "ghost" picture of the guy with the mojo camera and the baseball cap and the "ghost hunter" hitting on the ladies the night before. They were the Ghost Hunters. We brushed against minor celebrity and didn't even shudder at the sudden chill in the air.

Hun also saw the opportunity for hauntingly glowing irony. "Don't show the picture," I warned him again. "Don't do it!" That image of the cameraman walking down the staircase in blurry and spectral spookiness was burning a hole in his camera. He had to show someone. I hid behind a plant while he was showing his handiwork to the tour guide.

Needless to say, the tour guide was impressed and we didn't pay a dime.

Local Hauntings

2007-10-23T16:47:00.000-07:00

Those who know me well know how much I dearly love the fall and Halloween. Last weekend, I went to a roadside cemetery near my home. I see these small cemeteries frequently on my travels through Upstate New York--on the way to work, apple picking, and Sam's Club.

It isn't kept up well. (The latest resident died in the 1980s.) All the same, the noble dilapidation of the thick grass and overgrown vines ads a sense of peace, as if the cemetery is being reclaimed by nature.

Some people do care for those buried here, even if they died over 100 years ago. I saw a few small flags adorning the graves of Civil War veterans and a few silk flowers near some of the newer graves. While walking through the stones, I didn't really considered death as much as the lives of the residents laying underneath. Who did they love? What were their passions? Who morned their passing?

I returned to our abode and looked up the cemetery online. I searched for about an hour, but came back with no mention. I'm sure there is information out there, but I wasn't searching in the right place.

Perhaps it's for the best. The place itself seems to enjoy its anonymity--remaining undisturbed for squirrels to secret their winter storage, vines to twine and leaves to fall to the ground.

Midnight Confessions

2007-10-20T21:05:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I spent all day reading fan fiction.

I just finished An Assembly Such as This, the first in a--believe it or not--trilogy based on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Talk about a marketing strategy.

All the while, I have Moby Dick, Katherine Graham's A Personal History, and A Passage to India gathering dust on my bookshelf. They sit patiently, waiting for me to crack open their pages. Some books on hold creased pages that mark their abandonment--my eyes never gracing their end matter.

I also have a collection of dogeared romance novels and sci fi next to my bed and Martha Stewart's Living magazines stashed in the bathroom.

You won't tell anyone . . . will you?

Ode to my Mother and Father

2007-10-16T20:00:00.000-07:00

I have a confession . . . I'm an introvert.

I know, it's shocking.

How can someone, who's idea of a good evening is drinking a good glass of Kentucky bourbon and watching bad horror and sci-fi flicks and blogging to all five readers, consider herself an introvert?

My mother definitely didn't raise me that way. My mother can connect with people as easily as breathing. All she has to do is sit on a park bench and random strangers sit next to her and sing their lives to her.

My folks visited me and Hun last week and New Yorkers fell in love with my mother. At the end of a dinner in an Italian restaurant in Albany, she made bosom friends with the waiter and finding out all the best eateries in The City. All she has to do is ask the score of the Rockies game. (My father giggled and pointed with me when we were abandoned at our table by my mother to find out the score. Hun joined her later, and bent the ear of the waiter as well.)

It was practically a repeat performance the following evening at Avenue A with neighboring diners looking over our dishes and vice-versa. My mother's attitude: it doesn't hurt to ask or comment, and you get to hear really interesting things that you wouldn't have heard about before.

The City couldn't be more friendly in the Fall. Two women approached us unsolicited about the hidden beauties of Brooklyn as we exited the subway station. They told us the local history. How a neighbor painted signs directing visitors to the footpath to the Brooklyn Bridge before The City replaced them out of embarrassment. How a couple of blocks down was a breathtaking view of Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty (we checked it out--it was). How Prizzi's Honor was shot in the neighborhood and we could see the house if we walked a little farther down the promenade, and a couple of great places to eat besides . . .

Our waitress at breakfast discussed the best in the City was the Polish section of town, where people were friendly and all the Polish immigrants lived. She practically hugged Hun (who's half Polish) and my mother on the way out the door.

Is it the Fall, or is it my mother? My money is on the latter. The woman is charming, she can tickle a conversation out of almost anyone. People trust her and tell her secrets, seek solace, and share jokes.

My dad comments on my mom's charisma, but Hun follows every word my father says and they talk heatedly about physics and research projects. My dad watches people and shares his observations: foreign tourist's awe at seeing The City and compares it to their trip to Europe, a grandmother teaching her granddaughter to rollerblade. He is more quiet, but just as much of the party as my boisterous mother.

When growing up, my friends seemed to gravitate to my mother and father as second parents, a home away from home. They felt safe and assured. Sometimes I got jealous I wasn't the main reason why my friends spent sleepovers at my house. I didn't have cool video games or toys--all I had to entice them over was the warmth of my parents. Now I realize--especially with my job--how blessed I was.

I know this post sounds a bit glurgey, but I can't help it. My parents were awesome--they still are.

I love you, Mom and Dad.

The Situation

2007-10-08T08:25:00.000-07:00

From a narrow twisted alley on a planet much like our own . . .

. . . comes the Glenn Slingerland Situation, a local television show that airs every Sunday

There's a local television show that airs every Sunday night at 11:00 pm. The show features women dressed in black, passing kiwis to each other in various unexotic locales. All the while, light jazz is playing in the background.

It's random, it's weird, it's a hoot.

Check it out.

h

The Zen of Jack Bauer

2007-10-06T08:09:00.000-07:00

I have a little confession . . .

Hun and I are addicted to 24. We buy all the DVDs of the past seasons. It's great escapism on the surface. But if you look closely enough, you can see a deeper philosophy we can all aspire to--the Zen of Jack Bauer . . .

Jack Bauer Teaching #1: Whenever asking a question, you are more likely to get honest answers by maintaining strong eye contact--through the scope of your your firearm.

Jack Bauer Teaching #2: In many societies, a task is assigned to a youth as a sacred right to adulthood. At CTU, it's getting tortured or killing a terrorist. That's how you get your balls to drop.

Jack Bauer Teaching #3: High-ranking members of the U.S. Presidential Cabinet have executive powers. For instance, Secretary of Defense James Heller need not aim his gun when he shoots. The bullets track the terrorists and pierce their cold, evil hearts.

Jack Bauer Teaching #4: Only allow yourself to be captured if there is no hope of escape, and if terrorists plan on torturing you until you die. That way, when you are resuscitated from the brink of death, you will have them right where you want them--crying like babies and spilling their guts (both literally and figuratively).

Jack Bauer Teaching #5: Like Buddhist monks being forbidden to touch women, Jack Bauer must not maintain eye contact while speaking to women. Bauer's masculinity is such a powerful force, he can impregnate them with a probing glance.

Jack Bauer Teaching #6: Throughout the ages, each epic hero has his sacred prayer he repeats to summon his strength from his Divine Mother. Jack Bauer's is "Damn it!" and "Son of a bitch!". Any time he repeats his sacred oath, y'all better clear out 'cause a big ol' can of whoop-ass is headed your way. As an aside: Jack Bauer has no mortal mother. He clawed his way out of the depths of the Earth.

Jack Bauer Teaching #7: Age teaches wisdom and a sense of duty. When Jack Bauer was a youth, he was the head of a vampiric motorcycle gang and feasted on the blood of his enemies. Now, he is the head of a gang of anti-terrorists and feasts on the blood of the enemies of the United States.

This is an incomplete list of teachings. Perhaps you can share some of the lessons learned through Zen Master Jack Bauer.

Cinamon Rolls and Black Coffee

2007-09-23T06:03:00.000-07:00

It's the first day of fall--my favorite season. I have all my sweaters thrown around the apartment, and I decide I am tired of them all. I found a decent thrift store yesterday and I bought two sweaters and some matching hand-painted teacups and saucers. I noticed a decent piece of furniture to refinish, and art-deco dresser and mirror, but the asking price is too steep for the bother of hauling it home and baptizing it in stripper, sand paper, and varnish.

I show off my finds to Hun. He looks unimpressed with them all. He asks me if I plan on washing the sweaters before I wear them. He reminds me we have plenty of teacups and mugs bursting forth from our cabinets. I explain I plan to decorate with them, not drink with them.

I make birthday lasagna for Hun in the kitchen. He comes to kiss me and investigate my progress.

While the lasagna is baking, I wallop Hun at backgammon. Thunder crashes and rain pours down from the sky.

We rush outside and test Hun's new rain gear. He is in awe of the GorTex contraption, playing with all the little gadgets. He is in heaven.

Although my jacket keeps my torso relatively dry, my jeans are soaked.

We return to our apartment. Hun still praises the virtues of his new raincoat. I peel off my soaked jeans. Hun points out the only dry spot on my jeans is the area around my butt. He snickers and I roll my eyes--but I smile anyway.

Hun takes out the lasagna to cool. He wallops me at backgammon.

We eat lasagna and watch Jack Bauer save the world yet again on 24.

I make cinnamon rolls and black coffee this morning . . . mmmm . . . I love fall.

The Joys of SOCMOB

2007-09-20T14:23:00.000-07:00

"I was just standin' on the corna, mindin' my own bizness, when I . . ."

. . . get knifed in the chest, accosted by two gentlemen who shove crack cocaine in my pockets, impregnate a woman just by looking at her, get struck by lightning. Take your pick. I have a kid on my caseload whose life is a Madlib set of excuses.

Yeehaw.

I also have two files to be audited tomorrow. I found out this morning.

Yeehaw.

I cringe at hearing about a former friend wishing her life were more glam and rich in a letter to herself.

Yeehaw.

I wish I had time to watch T.V.

Get over it.

Will write more later, while I'm working this weekend.

Betty

The Simple Life

2007-09-08T10:05:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up and made cinnamon rolls for breakfast.

I drove around town to find a "huge yard sale" by Santa Maria College. It was a huge disappointment instead--the yard sale was across the street.

I'm at Hun's school, pirating computer time because my ancient PC decided not to turn on yesterday morning. I guess I should donate her to the Met as an archaeological artifact.

Now we are debating about getting a new-ish computer to replace my old one. Hun looked up Palm Trios that have as much juice as my now-dead computer had in its prime.

I have yet to write one thank-you note for wedding gifts, etc. I will be doing that Sunday, since it is a day of thanks and rest, I guess.

Last weekend, Hun taped back on my side mirror. I need to desperately get an oil change, and have a mechanic peek under the hood to tell me how much I will need to invest in Norma Jean (my car) to pass a NY safety inspection.

A Touch of Fall

2007-08-25T20:00:00.000-07:00

It's 11 pm and it finally started to rain. The weather has been threatening all day.

This morning started with the humidity pressing against me as I woke up with my on-call cell blaring the cha-cha, alerting my ass to get out of bed. It was a foster parent, demanding to know why the office was locked up when a CPR class was scheduled this morning. I tell her the class doesn't start in an hour and her overzealous desire for the world conform to her schedule doesn't constitute an on-call emergency. Peachy crazy.

I brew a pot of coffee. Hun pours half the pot as he runs out the door to study in the air-conditioned school. He has a big test next week and wants to do well.

I stare at the television and sip my coffee. I ponder at the idea of straitening the living room, but my telekinesis skills are a little rusty. My skin is coated with a layer of sweat. My hair drips. I fondly recall wearing a sweater to work on Monday.

I gather enough motivation to walk three steps and turn on the television. I pop in Ghost Ship and work a couple of sudoku puzzles. I lie on the couch and concentrate on napping but it's too hot. Instead, I obsess about the great work what-ifs and related crapola.

To say I had a tough week is putting it mildly. It's been one of those times I'm sorely tempted to sell my soul to the Devil of Capitalism. Screw fighting the good fight--good things rarely come from it. But those rare, good things keep my job worthwhile. My boss and my coworkers have been very supportive.

Sweat drips off my nose and I've had enough. I throw my saline-crusted hair in a bun and head to the mall for some cool relief. When I open the door to Border's, I sigh. My pores close and my glasses fog. What a joy central air can be.

I roam from store to store, just enjoying the air, not looking at anything in particular. My hair is a frizzy knot on top of my head, and I can't stand it anymore. I look on the mall directory, and I find a hair salon. I give them a picture I've been carrying around for the occasion of a short, sassy hairstyle. A half hour later, I am wearing a bob. It's fine on me--but not what I wanted.

I pick up Hun from school on the way back. He looks surprised at my new look. I melt down. I look heinous, I am having my period, I am sweaty, and I had a shitty week at work. We have sandwiches. We watch an episode of 24. I cry some. He hugs me and says he still finds me attractive. I calm down and tell him he needs to study again.

He leaves. Lightning flashes. It rains.

Relief.

The Final Countdown

2007-06-27T04:35:00.000-07:00

Hey, Folks!

As most of y'all already know, Hun and I are getting hitched soon--like next week! Both of us are very excited, and we are in the process of getting ready for the trip to Jamaica and then back to the Centennial State (Colorado) for a couple of weeks. We look forward to seeing friends and family, eating decent Mexican food, and a pilgrimage to REI.

Both of us are busy as bees to tidy things up for work and research projects, and we are making some headway. Foster parents are in a state of spazz right now, due to the start of summer vacation. I'm a bit frustrated myself, since they have no idea what it's like to nurture truly high-needs children.

Well, three days and counting!

Betty

Oooff! I'm tuckered!

2007-06-01T15:19:00.001-07:00

Only 30 more days and counting until Hun and I are off to Jamaica to get hitched. Quite a few friends and family are coming to see the show and enjoy some well-earned R&R time. Hun and I just finished some spring cleaning today. I took the day off, since I came into work on Memorial Day.

Tomorrow we are off to the city. We will be spending a night in a student hotel in Midtown, famous for its tapas bar and the European would-be models who bunk there. Hun is excited at the prospect of seeing the Museum of Natural History and rubbing shoulders with models. I am looking forward browsing some of the neighborhoods and knowing I'll be the one with the biggest rack sleeping in our hotel (compared to all the flat-chested models--unless some Ambercrombie pectorals are under the same roof).

I plan on taking a shower, watching some bad horror movies, and painting my toes.

Toodles!

Betty

On Memorial Day Weekend, I . . .

2007-05-26T16:27:00.000-07:00

(1) ate good sushi with Hun. We also enjoyed the miracle innovation of air conditioning. The National Weather Service issued a "Stagnation Warning"--whatever that means. When I heard about it, I though it was a warning that people had to mill about, lest a cloud of CO2 accumulates around your head and suffocates you. Later, I realized it was a politically correct term to describe "muggier than Hell". (See my explanation of "wintry mix" vs. "icy shit".)

(2) surfed youtube while Hun took a post-gluttony nap. I decide I have found my new creative outlet. Although refinishing furniture is highly meditative and therapeutic, it takes a lot of noxious chemicals and a sheltered--yet well-ventilated--location. Something my Albany abode lacks. I also have an expensive video camera gathering dust in our bedroom. (While in grad school, I had visions of socially-provocative documentaries dancing in my head.)

(3) woke up early with great intentions of going to the laundromat. I have all our laundry sorted, and even intend to wash all my winter sweaters to put them into storage. The closest I get to the laundromat is placing all the bins and hampers by the door. I surf youtube instead.

(4) Hun has a mojo headache. He moans, takes a shower. I make him coffee and toast. Then I launch into him while he is vulnerable . . .

(4) I discuss with Hun the joys of buying a new computer and installing a hot-shot nonlinear editing system. He suggest getting something a little less pricey installed on our new computer. We go back and forth. I remind him of my strong need to get a new car and how I already compromised heavily to get it sent to the shop and have it revamped. I also mentioned to him he was willing for us to buy a new computer as a compromise. I was now cashing in. This debate turns into a State of the Union discussion. I tell him I want to quit my job after a year and become a secretary to invest more time in my new virtual career as a youtube superstar. He thinks it's fine to quite my job since I work with crazy people, and its worth the cut in pay and it would be nice knowing I wouldn't be driving so much and I would be happier overall. He then reminds me of the investment in potted plants sitting on our porch for the sheer purpose of putting a smile to my face. He also reminds me I am a bit flip in my decisions to devote my life/hobby/whatever in something. (Okay, so I'm flaky.) We talk about our future and how to best compromise with each other. We talk about how much we are glad to have each other in our lives. Hun still has a headache. I feel much better.

(5) Hun and I procrastinate. He procrastinates in his studies. I procrastinate in completing paperwork for my job. I continue to have youtube superstardom delusions. I decide we need to eat soon.

(6) I go to the supermarket and buy some veggies to grill kabobs. I come back and proceed to marinade and cut things while waiting for the coals to be ready. The end result: my kabobs aren't the greatest success. I believe I need to marinade the meat overnight.

(7) Hun studies. I still procrastinate. I notice someone has requested me as a friend in my facebook account. He lives in Brooklyn and is involved in a relationship. He wants to know what a NY newbie thinks of the place. He also mysteriously looks like a young George Clooney. I think to myself, "George wants to be my friend! Well, I'm pretty special!" Then I think, "Wait, he looks an awful lot like George Clooney--he is George Clooney!" I think about the desperate guy on the other end of the facebook account who puts and old picture of a celebrity to get points from the ladies. Perhaps he is a benign cyberfan who enjoys my notes, blogs, etc. I've attempted contact on other blogs before. (Please see "cyberstalking".) Perhaps he really looks a lot like George Clooney. I still change my privacy settings.

(9) I finally sit down and blog before launching into paperwork. Perhaps I need to learn how to be a blog-star before being a youtube guru. After all, story is everything.

Cheers,

Betty

A Beautimous Day

2007-04-24T16:28:00.000-07:00

Hey, Gang:

I had a good day today! Things are blooming and children are playing. I've sat outside a few times on the patio, drinking alcoholic beverages and eating dinner. I have three plants outside, struggling to survive, since they got a bit frosty over the freak Nor'Easter a few weeks ago.

This is all a bonus since the last month has been sheer Heck at work. It was like all my FPs held a conference and decided they would brake NY State mandates for foster care and see if I would notice . . . just to keep me on my toes. Then, when I find out, I hyperventilate, call my boss, squeal, hyperventilate, and figure out how to proceed with recovery efforts the next day. EEEK!!

Well, thinks seem on an even keel this week, but it's only Tuesday. Who knows what kind of bomb tomorrow may bring. At the same time, I am taking the time out to enjoy a glass of wine and bask in the calm before another storm brews on the horizon, or unexpectedly dumps from the heavens.

If the weather keeps up, I'll definitely buy a shitload of plants to throw onto our deck. Wish me luck. I LOOOVE this weather!

Hellish Things in the North Country

2007-04-15T20:30:00.000-07:00

I've discovered something more diabolical than New York drivers--New York State tax forms. I just spend an hour and a half filling out my state income tax (including the oh-so confusing "Clothing and Foot Apparel Tax Declaration" sub-form) to discover I get a whopping $12 return in state taxes. The only problem is, I need to file another income form because New York won't accept a W-2.

Fuck it.

Let the bureaucrats put me away in the joint.

There is something to be said about the Tabor Amendment.

Holy Cripes, I sound just like a Republican . . . shudder . . .

Since it is snowing "wintry mix" here, I thought I should mention that as well.

Betty

Not Much Green, Lots o' Blarney

2007-03-17T10:14:00.000-07:00

Hey, y'all, and Happy St. Patty's Day!! This year, the state of New York is celebrating the Green Season with lots of white. Yup, you guessed it, a Nor'easter blew (pun intended) into town last night. It took me three hours to drive home, thus validating my fortitude in finding another job located in the Capital Region to decrease my commute and mileage on my car, Norma Jean.

Norma has seen better days. Currently she is parked on the street, buried in about two feet of "wintry mix" (we all know what that means), littered inside with McD bags, kid dirt, and UFOs (Unidentified Floor Objects). I put at least 100 miles per day on her, not including kid transports, etc.

A clarification on the previous post. Hun mentioned to me I made him look like a buffoon on my story about the raiding of the kitchen. I didn't want him to be perceived as a clodding doof, uncaring about my kitchen accoutrement. I wanted to demonstrate, through the subtle use of voice, that I was the clodding buffoon who was overly protective and controlling of her kitchen domain and Hun was a sensitive guy trying to lighten my load a bit and give me some evening R&R time. Hun is a sooper swell fella. He has been great lately, considering I've been trying to be less behind on work. 'Nuff said?

I'm excited about the Parental Units coming down in a few days. We will be spending a few days hanging in Albany and scooting out to the City on Saturday. More than anything, it will be great to see my folks.

Anything new to report? Not really. Like I said, I've been working a lot, not much of a life. Hun has been swell, although I have been going a bit batty with working about 60 hours a week, juggling crises and keeping cases on course.

I am missing the mountains and people who can drive in the snow. Adiose, amigos. Until next time . . .

Betty

Kitchendom Under Siege

2007-02-24T19:44:00.000-08:00

Hun and I went on our monthly Sam's trek to stock up with all our food items of for the month. Hun recently became more invested in our diet, so pondered and calculated nutrition-information labels on the back of Cup o' Soups and instant macaroni boxes. He expressed great chagrin at the amount of sodium and sugar infused into precooked and over-processed products. I gently reminded him in order to have a low-sodium diet, it helped to process our own food--i.e. cook.

He also requested to buy more salmon, which I recently learned how to bake. This leads me to the second point. Every weekend or so, I like to cook mass quantities of food, such as green chili, red chili, spaghetti sauce, etc.--all easy to let simmer over the stove and to store in the freezer. That way, I don't get stuck cooking and chopping things at 8:30 at night after I come home from work. Luckily, the salmon is pretty easy to prepare. Other things, requested for the sake of more variety, are a bit more time intensive and not so convenient to cook and freeze on the weekends.

This leads me to my third point: yours truly not only the primary bacon provider in the household, she is the one usually frying it up in a pan. If I do not cook, we often will have a hearty meal of PB&J and cereal. I made mention of the fact that expanding our food repertoire and the drive to eat more healthy is good. However, the burden of cooking all these healthy meals often lands on me.

This leads me to my fourth point: be careful what you wish for. Hun acknowledged it was unfair to push for a more healthy diet without pitching in meal preps. As a result of being the Renaissance Alan Alda-type guy that he is, Hun rolled up his shirt sleeves this evening and started chopping and boiling. He wanted to make lasagna--in my Le Creuset pot. Hun went into all this thermodynamic stuff about why it would be a better dish to cook lasagna than the other five casserole dishes sitting in the cabinets. My thought was, Chip the porcelain coating on my Creuset, you won't live long enough to marry me in Jamaica this summer.

I used the big guns, I called my mom, asking her if he could actually cook a lasagna successfully in my pot. She said of course he could, but didn't we have a casserole dish? Hun went on about thermodynamics as I was on the phone with her and mom giggled in response. Not much help there.

He then proceeded to tell me how he would make the lasagna. I continued to squirm, that wouldn't be how I would do it. I asked him why he didn't do it my more superior way, and he asked for reasoning why my way was better. Although I did hammer a few points in, I didn't have any other reasons except that was just how things were done. He looked at me as if I were insane.

At that point, I made a tactical retreat to the living room to cover myself in my blanket, and pretend to watch Independence Day. All the while, I was obsessing about what the heck he was doing in my kitchen, with my pots and pans and my food.

CLANKATY-CLANKATY-CLANG . . .

. . . oops, he he, I guess you wonder if an elephant is cooking here. Don't worry, Betty, it might sound like I'm breaking all your dishes, but I'm not . . . he he!

I stew--no pun intended--in silence, trying to focus on alien invaders burning down New York City and D.C., rather than the domestic invader currently burning down my kitchen.

Hey Hun, (Yes, he calls me Hun, too.) I set the oven for about 350, right?

Damnit.

Yes, that's right.

Well, that was easy, the man has an M.S. in Chemistry for goodness sake. Any buffoon could have guessed 350. However, he did cook a damn fine lasagna in my dutch oven. Perhaps, one day, I'll forgive him for storming the kitchen. It will be nice to come home and stare at my toes a few nights a week instead of cooking dinner. He also can cook a mean spaghetti sauce. All I need for him to do now is learn how to cook brisket. But he better not dare attempt green chili--I get dibs.

It's a Blizzard at Procrastination Central

2007-02-14T06:56:00.000-08:00

Well, Folks:

Mother Nature helped me with a whoppin' excuse for not imputing my paperwork on the NYS CONNX system, a database tracking families involved with DSS. She finally blessed us with one of her famed Nor'easter' storms. The Capital Region has been upgraded to a "Blizzard Warning" from a "Winter Storm Warning". This means, we will simply have snow and wind, as opposed to the "Wintry Mix" dumping south of Albany.

To those of you who never encountered the euphemistic term "Wintry Mix", it is the politically correct phrase for "icy shit". I guess icy shit--I mean, wintry mix--has feelings too. This is an odd phrase to me because, as a general rule, Upstaters and NYC urbanites aren't a politically correct bunch. Their driving is evidence they don't give a rat's ass what others might think of them or anything else.

I had a couple of phone calls today from foster folks, and I spent a couple of hours checking in with families yesterday via phone. I have a few work-related things to do today, but not much.

After completing this blog, my plans are: sweeping off the deck before it gets too deep and/or collapses, completing some paperwork poodoo, fixin' a pot of green chili, folding lotsa laundry, and--last but not least--sweeping the off the deck again before it gets too deep and/or collapses.

I LOVE snow days! It makes me feel a little less homesick. All I need is a cat to curl up in my lap, but I guess Hun's ball python will have to do.

Betty

Blargh!

2007-01-25T19:13:00.000-08:00

I hate my job . . . well . . . I don't hate it. But I should be paid twice as much money for the work I do. Perhaps I can be a romance novelist . . . hmmm . . .

It's snowing . . .

2007-01-19T06:23:00.000-08:00

. . . thank friggin' God.

I was getting a bit weather crazy. It's been really cold and gray the past week, and I am so relieved the heavy clouds do something more than spit icy shit all over my car and the roads.

I'm working at home today, catching up on some paper crud. I found out I didn't have training today, and I crammed in a week's worth of work in two days. Now I have a day to catch up.

Also on my agenda for today:

(1) Schedule a dental/physical

(2) Gather some dates for Hun and my Island Exploitation WeddingMoon.

(3) Get another license since I lost my wallet last week--such a pain in the arse.

Well, enough procrastinating! Take care, y'all.

Betty

Ice Storm

2007-01-15T08:16:00.000-08:00

Yeehaw, Albany is being hit with an ice storm--not a rain storm, a thunder storm, or even the rare and ethereal snow storm--but sheets of cold wetness morphing into ice when hitting something solid like pavement or my nose.

All I can say is I'm glad I have the day off because, damn, I ain't goin' out there unless demons from heck decide to take a retreat to my abode.

Betty

The Joys of Cyberstalking

2007-01-13T23:09:00.000-08:00

Hmmm . . .

I've been researching all-inclusive resorts to exploit banana republics for our looming honeymoon/wedding, and I've also been piecing together a new facebook group and blog site to keep wedding info up to date.

In between all this research and composition, I've gone on a cybersurfing expedition, slumming around other profiles of facebook friends, clicking onto "view next blog" to see what comes up. I got very excited when the other Nugget Handler joined facebook and commented on his profile picture, I viewed a blog of an ex-friend to keep informed of her comings and goings at a safe distance, I 'poked' various friends and family, and I even wrote a fanspam to a random blogpage I encountered.

It's odd how we all can keep up with friends and strangers so far away, but have little--if any--knowledge about the next-door neighbor.

I got a frantic, "who is this?" reply to my fanspam. I then realized, "Oh, dear, I'm officially a cyberstalker!" I can't say as I blame any leery questioning. Writing random replies to blogs is the equivalent on knocking on a strange door at 2am. It's unsure whether the intentions are benign.

A couple of months ago, I kept on getting 'poked' on my facebook account by some Vietnam veteran with a penchant for mobiles. I finally blocked the guy from my profile, reporting to the site he seemed harmless enough, but I didn't know him and he kept bugging me.

I also have kept photos on the site to a minimum, and try to have minimal identifiers for myself and other friends I write about in my blog. I don't want anyone to figure out where I live and steal Hun and/or my collections of tea mugs away.

Anywho, I guess I should figure out what is cybercourtesy, how to write fanspam in a nonthreatening manner, or perhaps--horror of horrors--get out in the real world and actually interact with my fellow human beings . . .

. . . naaah

Betty

Cooking

2007-01-13T12:45:00.000-08:00

It's raining outside and Hun and I worked out this morning. Once properly motivated, I'll head to the kitchen and start cooking a brisket, marinating a chicken for some pesto-pasta stuff, and putting away clothes--all agenda items I've been procrastinating for the past week.

Date night was last night with Hun and me. He's currently studying in his . . . well . . . study. Dog, our friendly ball python who shares our home and heater, is resting from a recent gorging of white mice.

This week, I conversed with a foster parent while he was butchering a deer he killed earlier that morning. He got me to hold out a plastic bag while he dropped a skinned haunch in. (His hands were covered with blood and would mess up the cardboard box holding the remaining bags.) The deer's tongue was dangling out to the side, and the face showed an expression of surprise. A bucket of blood and guts sloshed around the concrete floor as he quickly worked.

Once I left the home, I realized I was a bit peckish, so I sauntered over the McDonald's drive-in and grabbed a Grade E cheeseburger of unknown protein origins. I scarfed it down on the drive back home without regard of the disembowelment I just witnessed.

Good times.

I told Hun all about it and he couldn't have been prouder.

The Year of the Psycho-Toddler

2007-01-11T18:21:00.000-08:00

Well folks, another year has flown by and another has begun. I am still having adventures at my current job, more details to come . . .

My year has already been filled with ups and downs. Hun introduced him to some friends and sig others at a New Years party. We played Cranium and it was a decent amount of fun. Although, most folks talked about TV and video games, instead of places to hike. Oh well, but here's to networking!

As far as this week went, I had a runaway, a pending runaway, and a past-threatening runaway now-come community-college enrollee. (Lots of ups and downs to say the least.) I also am stuck with taking a TCI course (aka How To Wrestle Children Safely and Successfully) for the next few weeks, cutting the time I actually can get work done to about half. Oh well, t'is life.

I signed up for some meetup groups in Albany, mostly wanna-be writers' groups for myself and even some outdoors enthusiasts' groups. Wish me luck!

Well, my friends in Colorado are missed. But Hun and I are doing fine and have gotten a chance to enjoy the cooler weather this week. We were wondering if everyone around here was full of bullshit when talking about "you haven't experienced a real winter until you've experienced a Northeast winter." We even got our first cumulative snowfall for the season a couple of days ago. I'm glad it's been a bit more chilly.

Anywho, as they say here, We'll tawlk aboutit lata.

Betty

Christmas Cold

2006-12-24T06:58:00.000-08:00

Well, I guess I am given a cold for the the Holidays this year. Not that's any surprise, considering I've climbed over a stress-hump at work and have a chance to breath and ponder my surroundings.

Hopefully I'll be mostly recovered next weekend. Hun and I plan on touring the City (note, the ONLY city for New Yorkers). We've been quite active lately as far as social plans are concerned. We were blessed with a housewarming by a couple of friends of mine from Colorado. They stopped by for a night or so, and brought their little nugget of joy. She is one of the most mellow baby I've ever met, well, like anyone, she got a bit cranky when she was hungry. It was also quite amazing how such a small package could create such thunderous farts. If the Department of Energy could harness that energy, we wouldn't need foreign oil. We thought Nugget was fabulous and we loved the company, as stressed out as Hun and I were.

We're missing all the White Christmas in Colorado this year. The state shut down for a few days. QT wasn't able to get a flight in time, as well as Nugget and her handlers, so will be spending the Holidays on the East Coast, all be they different respective places.

Well, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Betty

Recovering

2006-12-19T19:17:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to recover a bit from my work vomit. All in all, a much better week. I actually had a mild thought of how to improve the coming year. I only have two resolutions for 2007 (well, maybe more, but I'm trying to keep it simple):

(1) Take care of myself. That means dying my gray hair and plucking my eyebrows on a regular basis. I might even venture out and add lip gloss to my regime. In general, I will be making more of an effort to keep up my appearance. That way, I might feel better about myself in general and spurn productivity. (This also means exercising more than once a week and eating lunch on a regular basis.) The difficulty is to be religious about this, even when the chips are down.

(2) Make friends. Perhaps joining a book club, yoga class, etc. will spur me to be social vs. working overtime and spurning others. This is kind of part II of "Take care of myself," but if I can't take care of me, how am I expected to take care of others.

Why this sudden change of heart? If I want to keep my job, I need all the stress outlets I can get, and I'm not getting the kind of camaraderie I was hoping for at work (read my facebook note for more insight). I am drowning a bit in East Coast culture shock (a.k.a. second-hand smoke malaise and enmeshment-centered corporate culture) and I gotta start swimming. Dammit all! I will find an evergreen in Albany!

Holidays Schmolidays

2006-12-16T21:32:00.000-08:00

The Holidays, when all your external stressors and internal neuroses get to slam-dance the days away until you: (a) collapse in an emotional stupor resembling the psychosis of the unreached potential similar to non-coagulating Jello, (b) deeply disappoint/offend those around you by buying them the ipod Nano in the wrong shade of cream and/or not responding to impersonal X-mas tides of joy and world peace, (c) all of the above and embarrass yourself and loved onces by numbing the pain of childhood's dashed dreams by imbibing too much Jim Beam eggnog.

Being in human services, the Most Wonderful Time of the Year is a time when kids and foster folks alike go a bit off the deep end. Combined with the fact this will be my first Christmas away from home--and not having enough time to develop superficial friendships to assuage the absence of close, longtime friends almost 2000 miles away, makes December a bit of a shitter month.

Of course, this is nothing in compared to the challenges my kiddos on my caseload face every day and all the heartache in the world. Nor is it any excuse to complain, compared with those who have lost loved ones--I imagine Christmas hits them especially hard.

At least my job keeps me on my toes. If anything, I don't feel lonely when I get home. More or less, I feel the opposite. Usually, it's, "If one more person comes to me and bitches/whines/emotionally vomits/even says 'have a nice day,' I'm gonna friggin' scream." I realize there are points when it's really active, and I'm putting out a lot of fires, I hit my don't-give-a-shit mode. At the end of the day, I'm so tired of "fighting the good fight," hearing about folks' turmoils, and dealing with the general lunacy of the human race that I want to sit down, stare at a blank television set, and eat Ramen.

I also have a tendency to blog in run-on sentences.

Hun has been very understanding, and I've been trying to put in more effort towards us. I've been baking cookies tonight while he's studying and he's been supporting me and my trials. I supposed it would be even more rocky a Christmas if he wasn't around. All in all, living with Hun has been easier than expected. Granted, we had a few arguments here and there, and both of us had to give up some of our urges and singledom habits, but I enjoy coming home to Hun every night. With Hun, I know everything will be alright.

Oh well, I still wish peace on earth and good will towards men. If anything, it might stop all those liberal media types boo-hooing about that whole Middle East Crisis and third-world starvation thing. Anywho, happy Holidays. I might even return to a state of a content human being after New Year's.

Cheers,

Betty

New York, New York!

2006-11-29T15:28:00.000-08:00

Well, y'all I've had a heck of a couple of weeks.

Suffice to say, I've had little time to take my boots off between training, supervising visits, and getting my new foster homes used to my hard-assed ways. As a result, I'm a bad 'blogger', whatever that means. I'm slowly getting set into a routine with my homes and I have gained the confidence of some of my foster parents to wig-out once and a while.

Although Hun and I can't make it to Colorado for the Holidays, we've been thinking of y'all in spirit. I got to see my newlywed friends in New York City a couple of weeks ago (hence known as QT and HUN2). It was a blast. We ran around Ellis Island, Battery Park, Midtown, Central Park, you name it.

Hun and I also braved the 'Black Friday' crazies along 5th Avenue and saw some amazing stuff at the Met. We also got to check out Rockerfeller Center and Times Square. The weather has been very mild, so far. I'm halfway losing faith in the horrors of Northeast winters I've been told about by locals.

However, Colorado folks are getting hit. Three feet of snow and systems lining up to hit the Western Slope---AAARG!! I'm so envious I can't stand it!

I have some photos posted on my facebook profile as well. Check it out

Betty

Life and Times of the BoogieMan

2006-11-04T16:11:00.000-08:00

This was a post I wrote on Halloween, and just got a chance to post it onto my little cybersaloon:

“Everyone in the audience, do not panic, but scream . . . SCREAM FOR YOUR LIVES!!”

Those were the infamous lines of Vincent Price staring in The Tingler, a classic William Castle production. Price played a mad scientist—imagine that—and urged horny teenagers across Eisenhower’s America to shriek for the heck of shrieking. Young ladies clutched at their young gentlemen for safety, and young gentlemen—glimpsing at heaving bosoms under tight angora sweaters—yielded. No thoughts of chivalry guided their actions, but thoughts more sinister than Vincent Price’s wormed into their very ungentlemanly minds. Ahh . . . those were the days.

Or were they? Let’s face it, childhood is—and always was—a dangerous thing. Even in the fifties, parents had to worry more than just their teenagers going bump-bump in the night. The draft was still active, and young men fought ghosts and shadows across the globe in Korea after they graduated high school. Kids drove drunk in automobiles when seatbelts were mere fashion statements. We don’t have to mention the eternal skeletons of sexual abuse, addiction, mental illness, and domestic violence lurking in closets. (Those subjects weren’t addressed on Leave it to Beaver.)

At the same time, there is some nostalgia about looking into the past. Halloween is my favorite holiday. It’s the only day of the year when kids dress in masks, extort candy from strangers, and get away with it. It is one of the few times adults still unplug from their televisions and computers and visit with their neighbors, even if most of those neighbors are under three feet and dressed as Japanese anime characters.

Halloween is a time when I can carve a Jack-o-Lantern and curl up on the couch and watch a scary movie. I can hide my toes under a blanket so the monster on the other side of the television won’t bite off my feet, and I can forget about all the real-world ghouls and goblins and shriek for the sake of shrieking.

Back in the Saddle Again

2006-10-25T11:40:00.000-07:00

Well, Folks, just wanted to let y'all know I got a job offer as a Family Specialist for a foster-care agency in Albany! Right now, I'll be enjoying my time off before I start to work. I have plans to visit a fellow cowgirl riding into New Hampshire. She assures me there is no sales tax there.

Hun will be spending the weekend preparing for yet another exam.

At the Homestead

2006-10-19T16:58:00.000-07:00

Well, Folks, I'm off the trail and Norma Jean (my car) is safely parked in my new corral.

I've unpacked the remained of my stuff and attempted to acclimate to New England life. Although I'm still slow on the time change and I have no concept of where my physical being is located at any point in space, I am beginning to somewhat settle in.

The week's activities consisted of: making coffee, attempting to pirate internet access from the public library, successfully pilfering internet access at Hun's school, making more coffee, managing to navigate Norma Jean to Sam's Club, spending way too much money at Sam's Club, finding a thrift store and sighing in disappointment at the lack of cool furniture and so forth, making more coffee, playing with my new flash drive I bought at Sam's Club, sending out my resume and applying for jobs, and getting a call for an interview--in a town an hour away.

Anywho, that's all that's new with me. Although I am excited about the interview tomorrow, I am a bit disappointment there are no entry-level tightrope walker positions to be found in Albany. I am also disappointment there is no chorizo nor corn tortillas found in this city. Let me tell y'all, this is roughing it.

Hitting the Trail

2006-10-11T17:43:00.000-07:00

Well, Folks, I'm on the trail to Albany. My folks and I have circled up in Pensylvania tonight, and plan on seeing Frank Lloyd Write's Falling Water in the morning.

I wish I could say I've made profound discoveries while on the road. Traveling often helps me in that regard. The only relevation I've made is that six hours of Soduko is a bit too much.

I had a whirlwind week of packing, tossing out worldly possessions, pre-wedding madness, wedding madness, and post-wedding madness. (I'll say this much, I'm glad I got my dress for 60 bucks on e-bay, 'cause--damn--I will not wear that thing again. Over half of my professionally applied make-up slid onto it before the cake was cut. Can we say, The Shroud of Tammy Fae?)

Anywho, as crazy as last week was, I had a blast (and a bit of a hangover). I also got to see some folks before riding out of town, such as the beaming bride (no blushing for her), my other close friends and their freshly hatched cutie. I cried off the last drizzle of make-up when I was holding Baby Mia in my arms at the wedding. I realized one of my best friends was now a mommy, one of my other closest friends was dancing with her new husband, and I was about to start a new chapter of my life with Hun.

As Morton's salt said, or was it Mahatma Gandhi, "When it rains, it pours."

If anyone has any job leads for starving social workers, please give me a heads up. So far, there have been few leads in the past couple of weeks. I guess I'll be writing a lot next week.

One Small Leap . . .

2006-10-03T22:13:00.000-07:00

The countdown is getting lower. Only ten more days (estimated) before hitting my new homestead in Albany to reunite with Hun. Only five more days before hitting the road for the east coast with my remaining material possessions, my car with a malfunctioning driver-side seat belt, and my parental units in tow. Only three more days until one of my best friends gets married and becomes an official California Girl.

EEEEEK!!

I have been eagerly anticipating all these activities for the past couple of months. I've missed Hun something awful, and this phone relationship just isn't working. It's the natural next step, and I believe this move will be good for the both of us. We will learn to communicate and rely on each other on a deeper level. It will be a great opportunity for us to explore a part of the country we've had daydreams about moving to.

Although I enjoyed my job, I even knew it was time for me to move on. This move is another opportunity for me to stretch my feathers, perhaps give it a shot at a "regular" office job, whatever that means. Perhaps I can even humor my delusions of grandeur and try my hand at a writing group or do some minor freelance pieces. Perhaps I can get an apprenticeship at furniture refinishing, or a circus is looking for some entry-level tightrope work--where the wire is very, very close to the ground.

All of it is an opportunity for a fresh start, a chance to stretch myself, or repaint myself as someone more . . . well . . . interesting and glamorous, rather than the crazy-haired bitch my teenage kiddos on my caseload have grown to know and find somewhat OK from time to time. (If any of you know teenagers, especially teenagers who have been disappointed and betrayed by adults their whole life, this is heady praise indeed.) Not only that, but I've got Hun solidly by my side to boot.

Still, it's like when you jump off a diving board for the first time as a kid. You shiver in line and bounce back and forth on each foot to avoid getting your soles burned on the hot cement. Your buddies cheer you on, half of them have jumped a gazillion times before and the other half aren't allowed by their parents--but would be doing back flips if they could (ya, right). The diving board even urges you to jump--swinging up and down as your toes dangle from the edge and you hands are balled up into tight little wads at your side. Although the water beacons you, your buddies assure you chances of death are slim, and deep inside you know jumping off that board will be the coolest thing ever--the board looks higher standing on the edge of it than as a poolside spectator, and the deep end looks . . . well . . . deep.

Only the puss-faced and pushy thirteen-year-old, who happens to be next in line, starts pounding on the board with his humongoid feet, creating a veritable tidal wave of motion at the end. You call him an asshole (hoping your mom isn't around to hear) and tell him to stop. He, in turn, calls you a pussy and tells you to shit or get off the pot. Well, you're definitely not a pussy and you've been potty trained for years, and not no one if nobody is gonna tell you you can't do nuthin'. You turn around and tell him to shut up, little 'splode-o-face diaper boy, and slip off the board.

Your friends cheer, you're grinning so hard you can barely see. It was the coolest thing in the world. You swim to the middle of the pool, knowing the only thing the teenager can do is frenetically splash water around and barely make it to the nearest ladder, much less chase you down to throttle you. Hee, hee!

Well I have no acne-prone teenager egging me on. All I have are my friends who back me, the promise of a new beginning, and--most importantly--Hun by my side. As scared as I may be facing the abyss, I need to bolster my faith that my future will be the coolest thing ever.

Clarifications and Corrections

2006-09-17T16:42:00.000-07:00

For the clarification and the edification of all four folks who read this blog on a regular basis, Hun pointed out some items in previous posts that might be misconstrued.

First, Hun--as I call him--is short for Honey, and should not be mistaken for a fellow tribesman of the Asia Minor conqueror, Attila. His personality resembles that of honey, rather than a ruthless warlord. Hun is very sweet and he doesn't ride bareback to class, brandishing a blood-stained sword and clad in animal skins. I also have faith that Hun showers regularly--however, I have no first-nose knowledge since our temporary separation.

Second, I chose Hun over Hon for phonetic reasons. Hun sounds more like hun-ee, and Hon sounds more like Han Solo. Although, I don't think I would be writing such a lengthy clarification if people mistook the nickname as a reference to the space cowboy in the original Star Wars trilogy. He would think it was cool.

Also, Hun decided not to attend the stoplight party. First, he thought the whole red-yellow-green dress code was creating a meat-market tone to the whole affair (no pun intended). Second, he would go crazy, too, if he knew I was at some petting party, slightly veiled as a school-sanctioned gathering.

Hun thought my jealous ravings were sweet. However, he envisioned himself exchanging body shots with Neve Campbell, rather than Naomi Campbell.

Whatever.

It's all the same soup to me.

Yellow Light

2006-09-15T19:45:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting alone tonight. My parents are out of town, I cancelled on some friends to see Little Miss Sunshine and eat dinner, and I even turned down one of my closest friends for the company of myself. Of course, now that I'm keeping my own blessed company, I'm driving myself nuts.

"Why?" you may ask.

Hun is going to a stoplight party, sponsored by his graduate school's social committee. The gimmick is to wear green for "single and desperate" or "Mr. Right for right now"; yellow for "single and picky" or "dating and commitment phobic"; and red for "my girlfriend has a knife and knows how to use it" or "my girlfriend is committed, but is very understanding". The whole thing is very frat mixer.

Hun assures me he will wear red. I have been encouraging him to go to this party all week so he can make some friends and network. But my primitive brain is currently shouting to knock out Hun with a club and drag him back to the cave. My mind is flashing on images of Hun enthralling a sea of super models clad in green. A couple of screwdrivers later, he's exchanging body shots with Naomi Campbell.

Why am I so psycho?

Not that this spit-exchange--wait, stoplight--party is any reason to worry on my end. He has to contend with a weekend wedding filled with several cocktail hours and single, horny guys hitting on the bridesmaids. (I'm the only one over 13 in the wedding party without a date. Hun has a test the Monday after the wedding.)

Unfortunately, Hun doesn't have a jealous bone in his body. He's only had to contend with a lone waiter eyeing me for a bigger tip, while I've had to fight off legions of athletic-artist teachers groping his knee after too many drinks. ("How did you get so lucky?" and "Where do you find the good ones?" they ask me.)

One of my friends had to suffer her husband being deployed to Iraq. She had to deal with taking care of their place, mailing care packages, and not talking to him months on end. She was less concerned about him fooling around and more concerned with getting him back alive.

I am such a pansy.

Any advice to help keep my sanity?

Winding Down of Slurpee Season

2006-09-13T09:39:00.000-07:00

Leaves hint gold along the edges, sweaters slowly creep out of storage, and cats snuggle more on their human heaters. As much as I enjoy the crisp air and hot cocoa of fall and eagerly anticipate kids running around in Halloween costumes, extorting candy from strangers, I feel a slight melancholy as mid-afternoon Slurpee runs dwindling down to a trickle.

A 7-11 is a quick jaunt away from my office. On the rare days I'm sitting at my desk, returning phone calls and catching up on paperwork, I get an urge to be anywhere other than where I am around 3 pm. I notice smudges on my computer screen, my feet start dancing on their own volition under my desk, and I even consider--horrors of horrors--shifting my heaps of paper into orderly skyscrapers to avoid writing one more word. Then, a flash of hope crosses my mind: this is a great time to walk down and get a Slurpee.

Inspired by the Hope of the Slurpee, I trudge on through even a couple of reports or a few more notes, poll the office for any cohorts and take orders to bring back. My therapist friend and I grab our refill cups and we scoot out the door, feeling a little more free. We hold a quick bitch session, and we swelter in the summer heat walking through nondescript parking lots, under a highway overpass, and across the street. No matter the heat, we always walk. . .

As we enter the air-conditioned oasis that is the 7-11, we glance over the flavor options and test the spouts for consistency. (There's pina colada, but it spits mostly water. The cherry seems to have the best icy smoothness. The "diet" is always out of order.) We then spend another five minute pounding the air out of our cups and filling them again to the top. The Slurpee keeps me going the rest of the day until I go on a late home visit, or just go home.

Now fall is in creeping around the corner and summer is slipping away, folks are more inclined to coffee and driving than Slurpees and walking. I'm also the third staff member to leave in a couple of months. My replacement has already headed for the hills before she even walked in the corral.

Most importantly, I don't think any of them could ever truly understand and appreciate the art of the Slurpee. But my time is limited, and I am ready to hit the trail.

New Toys and Old Songs

2006-09-05T23:18:00.000-07:00

Like all spoiled children the day after Christmas, I love playing with new toys. The idea of pumping out my home-spun wisdom (mostly snap judgements, but it's my blog, I can lie if I want to) out to the cyberverse makes my narcissistic toes tingle.

All in all, a typical day. I got to work early this morning to to turn out some much overdue paperwork--discussing the life, times, sexual proclivities, and the latest parental disappointments of the kiddos on my caseload--before being confronted by my new supervisor about my files being out of date. I smile sheepishly during supervision, yes, I know, getting my files in order is top priority, especially since I have only three weeks to complete them and to train my successor about the intricacies of being a professional hard-ass. (I received a sincere compliment of a group-home foster parent, known throughout the state for taking girls everyone else has given up on, that I was the biggest bitch she had the pleasure of working with.)

I catch up with my therapist friend about a heart-pouring meeting between a set of foster parents at their wits end, a director, and myself. We discuss, analyze, and gossip about office politics--human services aren't immune for the cruciality of successful employees being "in the know." My family-centered agency also has its dysfunctions bordering on incestuous and flat-out unprofessional. But hey, who's more neurotic than a room full of therapists and social workers? The desire to know thyself has to come from somewhere . . .

I talk with a veteran case manager about supervision with my new boss. We talk about her new position she accepted at a county agency as a caseworker. (Like many human service agencies--both county and government--turnover is rampant. It's a field expectation for 50 percent of new hires to quit after six months.) She talks about how she will miss all her families and her worries of starting over. I reassure her she will be fantabulous, and berate her for ruining my exit gusto by leaving a week before I do.

Lunch is over in a flash, I throw down more case notes before hitting the trail. I hit my group home and hold two staffings, when caseworkers contact the kids and are debriefed and debrief, plans are set and I race to my uninvited meeting with my wits-end foster family. Stuff is said, everyone cries, everyone hugs, and I stop back at work to complete some more notes. The optimist in me gets teary-eyed thinking about my latest meeting, and the cynic in me believes all the love and communion will be forgotten by the weekend. By the by, the whole situation is like an old Hank Williams song.

I return the Call of the Hun (my fiance) and whine about my day and he bolsters my spirit. He discusses the joys of class and the benefits of publication. He, in turn, whines about the final edits of his master's thesis. I tell him I look forward to getting a new job, where the possibilities are endless, and he tells me he looks forward to me arriving in New York. My toes curl and I yurn. Over the past couple of years, Hun is where my heart is, no matter how fancy Paris seems. The whole situation is like an old Patsy Cline song.

So, three weeks and counting until I end my job. Four weeks and counting until I start my new life with Hun.

All in all, a typical day.

Earl Grey and Camp Horror

2006-09-02T20:18:00.000-07:00

I'm sipping Earl Grey tea, watching the original House on Haunted Hill, and looking up every obscure name from my past. I Google cameo, walk-on, and supporting roles from my past--from my best friend in second grade, to a loathed ex-boyfriend who acted like a second grader--to discover glimpsed of their present. Being the narcissistic sort, I Google myself, and discover a university basketball star, a biology student, and a 12-year-old girl with a penchant for bunny poetry share my name.

A couple of my friends suggested I start a blog to keep up on my doings when I move away from my Colorado comforts to move in with my fiancé in Sleepy Hollow country, Albany, New York. I didn't like the idea of my aforementioned ex checking on the progress of my life, but I was mortified at the thought of my friends thinking I resorted to rabbit ramblings to pass the lonely hours. Thus, Cowgirl Betty is born. (Was it Miranda Richardson, or was it Miss Piggy, who said, "Anonymity is like a warm blanket"?)

If you've read this posting through an e-mail link I sent you, I consider you a dear friend and this is the best way I can think of keeping touch. As most of you know, my correspondence consists of one-line e-mails and good-luck spam. I figure I could spend as much time updating my blog with more care and detail that tossing out Tibetan life-affirming glurge to let my friends know I still think of them.

To those of you who've wandered onto my little blog, welcome. I've got a kettle of tea over the fire and Castle movie on the tube. Kick off your boots and rest for a spell.