Chicken Fried Vogue

For 15 years and most of her adult life, Bubblez lived in the suburbs of a major metropolitan city. She enjoyed taking her children to museums, parks, and dates at Starbucks. Then Bubblez moved to the country and her En Vogue attitude got chicken fried. Her yard is a park where the neighbor's rooster won't stop crowing, Starbucks is almost an hour away, and her large collection of fancy shoes is worthless. But, living in the acres of green has presented more opportunities for living "green" as Bubblez travels the path toward self-sufficiency (and bitches ((and prays)) along the way).

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Leaning Green And Still Pimpin'

I have had the hardest time pinning down a blog "theme" and figuring out my niche in the writing world. Like everything else that is a part of me, writing is something I am skilled at but it still manages to lack the kind of oomph that makes it something special. I was an art major in college. That went absolutely nowhere. After I grew up a little bit, I realized that I was afraid to be an artist, and that is why I failed. Skills, yes. Oomph, no. I'm not afraid to be a writer. With writing, I have a different problem. Subject matter. Theme. Consistency.

I am like many personalities in one person, except not in a clinically disconcerting way because my personalities all know each other and get along, although sometimes "church" personality does like to guilt trip "boozer" personality and they argue about whether or not Jesus minded that I... wait, what did I do last night?

The point is, I am a person of many varying interests, and how do you sum that up in one interesting little tagline? And are any of those interests very interesting, anyway? Sure, anything can be, I guess, but if your readers come to you looking for advice on how to prevent end rot on their tomatoes (add calcium to the soil in the form of crushed Tums), and what you give them is, oh... that's what I did last night... no wonder Church was mad, those readers are going to leave and possibly never come back.

So, I feel like I need to focus in on some kind of catagory, ya dig? I homeschool. I love educating, and I'm good at it, but I don't really want to write about it all the time. (Grammatically, it is incorrect to write "homeschool" as one word, by the way. I do it, anyway, because I'm a rebel, not because I'm dumb. Back off, ok.) I cook. I parent. I craft. I garden. I do none of this consistently and obsessively enough to make a blog out of it. No, not even parenting. *hangs head*

So, I made a decision. Like the majority of other no-name bloggers out there, I will simply write about life. If Jerry Seinfeld can make a show about nothing, I can do the same with a blog, right? Of course, that would require making up a bunch of stuff that isn't really true and seriously, like I've got the energy (booze) for that. Did I just negate myself? I think I did.

Whatever. All of this babbling is just my way of announcing,  unnecessarily, that I reserve the right to change my tagline regularly and without warning, as it suits me, with little or no regard to you. So, stick that in your juice box and suck it.

Today's new tagline is: Leaning Green And Still Pimpin' because that pretty much sums up what's been going on in my life as of late. I dyed my hair and started wearing warpaint when I leave the house, and, most of my thoughts seem to be consumed by the idea of becoming environmentally self sufficient. They only seem unrelated. Ok, they are.

Not bad, eh? Except for the bit of liner that looks like an eye-booger.

I've been thinking a lot about gardening and farming and how to avoid going to the grocery store because I hate taking the time to do it and because the grocer takes all of my money leaving me with nothing to spend at the bar.. erm, put in the offering plate. I've also been really focussed on eliminating our garbage bill by digging my own landfill in the back yard. No, that's not true. We recycle so much that we only crank out about two 13 gallon garbage bags a week. I'm thinking we need to get on the burning and composting thing, and then we'll be golden.

I guess that's all I've got for today. I'm keeping the line for a while although my next blog might be a tutorial on how to sew a bathrobe.

In the words of Red Green, "Keep your stick on the ice." It should be cold enough.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Late Winter To-Do: The Birthday Party

There really aren't very many activities on the late winter to-do list. I'm planning to tap maple trees this spring, so I've been acquiring supplies for that, now. Otherwise, January has been spent preparing for Moo's birthday. Not one of my favorite things. I've never been much of a birthday person, and I'm especially not fond of supplying entertainment for a bunch of snot nosed kids. But, I'm doing it because I want to make the boy happy.

The theme is "fire" because "fire's cool." Thank you. It's going to be held on a Saturday evening over the dinner hour and just past dusk so that we can have fireworks. Yes. As a matter of fact, I do rock. We'll also have a bonfire in the back yard for roasting hot dogs and s'mores if the kids don't mind doing it in the cold temperature. I figure, I can always light the grill if needed. And for dessert (with 2 esses because you always want more), flaming Baked Alaska! Boom!

Here's where things get tricky. $$$

I really want to have a pinata. I'll make one that looks like a fireball out of a balloon, paper mache, and tissue, but what of the fillers? Moo will be 10 so junkie plastic rings and the like are out. I have a nice list of ideas, but the stuff really adds up quickly, so I'll have to handle that prudently. I also wanted to have a scavenger hunt, but for real, I don't know that I can afford both.

Whose stupid idea was it that birthday guests get presents, anyway?

Otherwise, I'm planning some kind of Pin-The-Tail On The Donkey game. Not sure how to make that fire related without freaking out the kiddos. Same goes for Musical Chairs... well, I guess fire related music, huh? Oh snap! We should play Hot Potato.

Ok, well, I'll let you know how it goes... maybe. Hopefully, I'll remember to take pictures.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

I'm Sorry About The Barrel Up Your Ass

I've been really quiet, lately. I don't know why. I just haven't had anything to say. There was a point in time when I always had something to say, but it seems that over the past couple of years, I've been slowly becoming quieter.

I was all stressed out after the kids had a vacation day from school on Monday, so I decided I'd go visit one of my friends to do some clucking. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: The kids have been driving me crazy. Boots was up my ass all damned day. "Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mom, hey Mom"
Her: Yeah, I get that. Mine used to be the same way.
I bet that soon, I won't speak at all.

So, we watched the last part of Hangover II since it was already playing, and then I said goodbye and came home. On the way out, her fella reminded me to take some cats home.

I'm starting to develop this routine. Sheldon comes home just in time for supper or a little after. We deal with the table chaos. Whoever said that families who eat together have better relationships because of it, made a mistake. After reminding the kids a gazillion times to sit in their chairs and not talk with their mouths full, to not interrupt or talk over each other, to keep their hands to themselves, not sing, whistle, or scream, to clear their dishes and put them in the dishwasher, and reminding Teenie that she is not yet an adult and therefore does not require our consultation on decision making and furthermore, has no authority to correct or discipline her siblings.... where was I? Oh, yeah. Once, the chaos of dinner and bedtime are over, I usually spend roughly half an hour brain dumping on Sheldon and then I go sit by myself somewhere until I'm ready for bed.

Tonight's brain dump will probably include my idea to build a sauna back by the river and heat it with a barrel stove. I will tell him about the website I came across which has great directions on how to do that, and how we could even incorporate the sauna into another building, barn, or workshop that would use the same heat source if we left the sauna door open which would make it like getting a twofer. I will also tell him about how I want to build a barrel stove outside with a cooktop and a smoker so that I can use it to boil down maple sap and smoke meats. How freaking awesome would that be? I've got the plans all worked out. Of course we're going to need more barrels, but I checked Ebay and Craigslist, and there is a lady in the next state over who has several for sale, so if he wants to, we could make a day of it and go get some.

Shel will express his concerns with my plans and then say something about how it would be fun to drive out of state for a day and then make all of these cool things. At this point, I will realize that it's never going to happen, because nothing like this ever does, and will wander off to finish chores and then go run a hot bath or curl up in the recliner with my Twitter account.

That recliner, by the way, is in the former "armpit" of the house which now, having been painted and decorated to be sort of masculine and den-like for Shel, is one of our most attractive rooms. I will sit there, and Shel will go back to his Kindle in the front living room, where I left him. I'm going to paint that room pink. Then maybe we'll trade. I don't know.

Two recliners and a TV (far right). Perfect guy space. 
The only other thing that I've given much though to so far today, are apologies, and I'm not going to bring this up to Sheldon because he might think it's a dig, and I don't wanna start that. But, here's the deal. I read this today. To give you the gist, one blogger posted something that some people found offensive and then he decided to apologize. His friend, another blogger, responded to the apology letter and commended her friend for being big enough to respect the feelings of his readers and offer the apology.

So, here's what gets me. Why is it such a big deal to offer an apology? I mean, why do people find it so hard? I'm one of the cockiest, most conceited bastards alive, and I can admit when I'm wrong and easily apologize, so why do other people have such a hard time? It truly floors me. I don't have a single theory as to why this is. All I do know, is that I did learn how to do it (from imitating my Dad, who hated having us girls mad at him), but I really think that's only half the problem because most people I encounter aren't even willing to admit that an apology might be necessary. So, any insight you have on this, I'd love to hear. Help a sista out.

There. Two weeks since my last blog, and that's all I've got. 

'Til next time, peace out.

(There is an error in this post. I saw it on my phone, and now I can't find it. I accidentally typed the wrong word, somewhere. If you notice, please point it out to me. Thank you.)

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

On Desire And Getting Blown

Sometimes being a mom really blows. I'm not talking about sleep deprivation or being run ragged or any other mom stereotype you can think of. I'm talking about the total loss of sex appeal. After spending a day working her tail off with no appreciation whatsoever, the last thing a lady feels is sexy. You have no idea how much I crave feeling sexy.

It's dangerous, this desire to be desirable. We waste time on Facebook or buried inside romance novels, our heads swimming in oceans of make believe lustiness. I wouldn't say that most moms are really out looking for trouble, although I'm pretty sure a lot of them would say avoiding it is a delicate dance.

See, we don't want to rock the boat too hard. We want to feel appreciated and we want to feel beautiful. Our confidence is wrapped up in these things. They are integral to a woman's psyche. She works harder, functions better, has more drive, more energy, more verve if she feels sexy, but, obviously, anyway I hope it's obvious, we love our families and the warm and comfortable life fabric we've woven around it. We don't want to mess it up. So, most of us spend time daydreaming and toying with a real but distant romantic fantasy land. 

It's agonizing, not being recognized as a woman. And by woman, I mean WOMAN, like with curves and stuff. It can make the best of us frumpy and bitter.

Oh I hear you over there blah blah blahing about how it's her husband's job to blah blah yawn. Look here, Mr. or Ms. Delusional, you're not going to tell me I'm wrong about these women, are you? How many copies did that damned 50 Shades book sell, anyway? Why? Because Mr. Husband is either busy with his own thing, has run out of ideas for keeping his missus interested, is bored with her, or has become boring to her simply by being old news. So, whatever it is, you're blabbering on about, just stop. I'm not interested in how things are supposed to be. I'm interested, at the moment, in how they are

I took an opportunity on New Year's Eve to get all dolled up and go out to hit the scene. I looked hot. I'd been secretly planning it for weeks. It would be a great exodus away from Momdom and into the world of womanhood. I wore sequins and glitter. I looked amazing. I felt amazing. I smelled, amazing.

Sheldon came along with me, but once I was about 3 drinks in, I ditched him in pursuit of more amusing company.  Social butterfly that I am, he's pretty used to that. I saw a couple of girlfriends, but they weren't winning my attention, either. I was on a conquest. I was searching for something in the eyes and smiles of drunken men. Recognition. Spark. Sexiness. I needed to find my sex appeal. I needed to feel alluring.

Shel frowned at the men who laughed at my witty charm and left shots in front of my bar stool, but I didn't care. I wasn't hurting anything by being sexy. In fact, it was grand. It was healthy. It was so good for me to be fluttering about outside of my miserable mom cocoon. Those feelings carried me all the way through New Year's Day and into the coming year. It propelled me into a re-dedication to health and beauty. I evaluated my dietary habits and thought of ways to firm up my buns before summer comes.

It was a great start to a new year, exactly what the doctor ordered.. until about 4:30pm on January 2nd, when the momness started to kick in, again. I am so sick of being over-looked. I do not want to get pulled back under the laundry pile for my fire to be snuffed out. I want to keep that feeling of being sexy and alive, a vibrant, shining flame of a woman.

What to do? What to do? Yep, being a mom really blows, sometimes.