My Life as a Hotfessional

Saturday, Shortman passed his road test - now, as soon as he turns 16, he’ll be able to drive. By himself. Legally (as opposed to this time). Heaven help me. His appointment was at 10:00 a.m.; we left the house at 9:30 to ensure plenty of time. After only passing the place once (!), we pulled in and a really nice man came over and said “Hotfessional and Shortman?”. We agreed that that was who we were, and he went over all the rules.

First, Shortman would have to pull forward into a parking space, then back into a parking space, and then (gulp), parallel park. He’d been practicing, and we had the Baby Car, so I wasn’t worried - too much. He just couldn’t knock over any cones. If he passed the parking section, then he’d drive around with Larry the Instructor for 15 miles - on the expressway, on surface roads, through neighborhoods. I was fine with all of this, until Larry told me this:

“And Mrs. Hot, you’ll ride in the back since you’re the licensed driver of the car. And you can’t say a word.”

Oh my holy hell. My brand new Baby Car, 1200 miles on it, and Shortman was going to drive with me in the back and I’m not.allowed.to.freakin’.talk. What the hella is wrong with this picture?

But, we set off, and other than missing a turn into a subdivision (in all fairness, the instructor did tell him a tad late that we were going to make a right turn…right there! as we went right past it), and merging into a left-hand turn lane early, he did just fine.

When we pulled back into the parking lot, the Instructor told Shortman to make sure he remembered to smile for the camera when he got his picture taken. Shortman liked to have bust his face apart he was smiling so broadly. I got out of the back seat and walked around to get into the front passenger seat. Look at Mr. Instructor and wiped my hands on my shorts. “Thanks Larry”, I said. “Just let me dry my palms off before I shake your hand.”

On the way home, Shortman asked me, “Mom, do Driver’s Ed instructors make a lot of money?” I told him that I didn’t know, but I didn’t think so. He responded, “Then why in the world would you subject yourself to that kind of torture?!?”.

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Thank you all for the lovely anniversary wishes. I got home to this bouquet of the most beautifully colored roses I’ve ever seen and a couple of really interesting books (about forensic psychology! There’s a joke waiting there; something about my husband wanting me to know that people have already tried that method of murder, so it won’t work….but it really is one of my favorite subjects…go figure).

Then we went to dinner and had ribs and catfish, and lots of merlot. Yummy. And cornbread. Real, honest to freakin’ goodness cornbread and greens. Here’s a picture of the merlot. And my, um, chest.

Oh, and you guys? It was my buddy Sue’s 11th anniversary. We’re anniversary-twins. So Happy, Happy to Mr. and Mrs. Sue - who I love, because we both enjoy a good cry and can weep over Dr. Seuss. Mine, I attribute to pre-menopause. Sue is not quite there, yet, so we’re wondering about that E.P.T. Because, you know, the way things are going out here in blogland, I’m sure that if my tubes weren’t tied, I’d be pregnant too. From the water. Yea, that’s it.

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Now, don’t y’all forget. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. For those of you who haven’t been by WhyMommy’s site, please take a look at the information regarding Inflammatory Breast Cancer. IBC is not like “normal” (if you can use that adjective for something that is so horrid) breast cancer. The symptoms of IBC are:

• Swelling, usually sudden, sometimes a cup size in a few days
• Itching
• Pink, red, or dark colored area (called erythema) sometimes with texture similar to the skin of an orange (called peau d’orange)
• Ridges and thickened areas of the skin
• What appears to be a bruise that does not go away
• Nipple retraction
• Nipple discharge, may or may not be bloody
• Breast is warm to the touch
• Breast pain (from a constant ache to stabbing pains)
• Change in color and texture of the areola

Also, if you’d like to use my button over there (—>) to link to my “Save the Boobies” drawing, please feel free. If you need the code, send me an email at reereep(at)gmail(dot)com.

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—-And now, it’s back down to the television with my vodka/cranberry and the Lions, who may actually beat the Bears. Sorry Kristabella. Just add another glass of wine to my tab. And, no, I’m not even going to mention the Spartans screw up yesterday. So there.—-

I mentioned yesterday that I had homework. What I didn’t mention was that when I was going into my bedroom to read said homework, I asked Shortman to turn down the speakers on the computer. Or put on his headphones. Or “shut that crap off.” (Because, I needed further proof that I am fuckin’ old. My kid’s music is ‘crap’.)

His response? “Well, why don’t I just play ‘Afternoon Delight’ instead?“

Now I’m wondering, as I flip on the reading light and get under the covers, “What???!??”.

But there are just some questions that you don’t ask, because, y’know, you may actually get an answer.

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Lela over at “Who Made This Mess” took me up on my challenge for anyone who wanted to play meme. Go see her 8 things. Note: Contrary to her #2, we are not married to the same man - although Mr. Hot? Does.the.same.thing.

Lys at Just Because sent me her link - right here. Lys, I watch Footballer’s Wives, too. My favorite character has just got to be Tanya. How can anyone be that much of a bitch and yet have others out-bitch her?

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WhyMommy awarded me another “You Make Me Smile” award, which is so very sweet of her.

She’s one of my inspirations for the “Save The Boobies” drawing that I’m having, and she’s looking for Walkers/Runners to raise money for Breast Cancer awareness as well. If you all can’t contribute (believe me, I understand that times are not easy) or walk, please link to my post (and get your entry!) or join Team WhyMommy and help us.

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For the hell of it:

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And, since Fall is coming in nicely and fall vegetables are hitting the stands, I thought this just looked yummy, courtesy of emeals:

Baked Acorn Squash

Complexity: Easy
Serves: 2
Category: Easy Recipes I Can Cook
Meal: Other (General)
1 whole acorn squash
2 Tb butter, salted
2 Tb sugar, brown
0.5 tsp salt, table
1 dash pepper, fresh ground
Cut acorn squash in half lengthwise; remove seeds and pulp. Place halves, cut side up, in square baking dish. In each half put 1Tablespoon butter, 1 Tablespoon brown sugar, .25 tsp. salt and sprinkle with pepper. Put water to an inch deep in baking dish and cover tightly with foil. Bake at 350 degrees for 35-40 minutes or until squash is tender.

—- It’s a beautiful early Fall day here in the north. This weekend’s activities will most likely include pulling out spent flowers and yard cleaning. I think maybe baked squash and pork chops, too. —-

Gorsh you guys. I couldn’t post yesterday because? I had freakin’ homework. Reading case studies on global organizations and how they’re structured, and why product alignment works for some, but country alignment works for others, and the problem with matrixed organizations is, and….and (stop snoring!)…..anyway - that’s where I was Monday, and yesterday and today.

But, today, after scarfing down lunch, I hurried back to the classroom to take advantage of the (shhhhhhhhh) University of Michigan’s [ugh, it sooooo pains me to admit that] wireless internet to say Hi! to you all. That’s pretty much it, because I haven’t had much of a chance to read anything (like…blogs) except case studies and I haven’t been at the office to find out what those lunatics are up to. (Although I’m very scared to go back tomorrow, because, y’know, three days away? Someone may have been funny and I wasn’t there to report it.)

The crowd in this course in kind of interesting though. There are 12 of us, from lots of different industries and lots of areas of the country. (There’s even a man from Wales and one from British Columbia.) But, y’all, can you believe that I am the most outspoken of the group? No, really! I understand you’re all sitting there going:

“Not our shy little Hotfessional - no way. How is she taking over the discussions when she’s soooooooo shy and retiring? ”

Well, my darlings, I just don’t know. [Snort! Hee hee. Okay, so even I lost it at that picture!]

Seriously though, there are three people in here that haven’t said a word over the past three days. Another couple only started speaking today. I am trying to come up with a theory here concerning their reticence.

1. Others (um, who would that be?) are so loud that it’s unnerving for them to speak up?
2. They have nothing to add even though their companies spent thousands of dollars for them to attend. - or -
3. They’re just using this as an excuse to get away from the office for 3 days.

I figure if I can get to the bottom of it, I can use my gentle ways to bring them out of their shell. (Shut up. I can!)

Humans are such interesting creatures. Sometimes I think that I went into the wrong field and sociology or psychology would have fit me better. Although, really, I guess that in a way, that’s exactly what I’m doing nowdays - trying to figure out how to keep people satisfied working in what is essentially an organization that has already told them that they’re going to be out of a job in a few months. Doesn’t that take understanding an individual’s motivation and psyche? Understanding the dynamics of a group of people whose morale is sinking more quickly than Venice?

Now you’re all like: “Okay Hotfessional, you’re getting a little too cerebral on us again!” So, how about a little factoid that you may not have known? In Germany, Proctor & Gamble sells Dawn dishwashing detergent, but it’s not Dawn. It’s “Fairy”. And when they tried to change the branding to match what they sold in the U.S. - uh, no. It wouldn’t fly! (snort. get it? it wouldn’t fly! - Fairy dish detergent! hee hee snort.)

Alright - more tomorrow!

—- Don’t forget! Save the Boobies. —-

If you link to this post you get a second entry PLUS (and here’s the good part) - I’ll donate $5 for each and every one of you that link here (send me the link) up to $150. That’s cash-on-the-barrelhead girlfriends.

Got it?

1. Send a donation to the Susan G. Komen foundation and send me a copy of your receipt and get an entry for the beautiful necklace.

2. Link to this post and get a second entry PLUS I’ll donate $5 for each person (one per person, but feel free to link multiple times, it’ll get you a special place in my heart forever) up to $150.

Now, where do you send me this 1. receipt and 2. link address? Well, it’s a heavily guarded state secret, but for my special peeps out there: reereep(at)gmail.com.

You can do one or both of these things - I’ll love you either way. And, depending on the number of entries, there may be runner-up prizes like this or this or this.

—- It’s my personal chant. Say it with me! Save the Boobies. Save the Boobies. Save the Boobies. And help us save lives.—-

So, the Lions got creamed 56-21, and poor Cupcake’s Redskins lost at the last minute on a really stupid, stupid play.

I won’t be posting until later tonight because I am at (ehem, University of Michigan, shhhhhhhhhh) school finishing my last certificate course. I will miss y’all today, and expect that I will need to spend many, many hours catching up on your posts all later one.

—- One last thing. I have a special Breast Cancer Awareness plan for the month of October that will be starting tomorrow. You have the opportunity to win prizes and offer support to some very special women. —-

Helen tagged me. For the 8 Random Facts meme. I think it’s only because she thinks I cheated on the 100 Things that I posted, but okay. I love a challenge. And, one of these days I’ll make it to her neck of the woods and hunt her cute little ass down.

1. The first day I lived in West by Gawd Virginia, my phone rang. I had gotten married two days before. The voice on the other end said “You don’t know me….but I work with your husband.” Of course, I immediately thought, “I’ve only been married 2 days and the fuck is having an affair?” He wasn’t. She wanted to take us to lunch to celebrate our wedding.

She became (and still is) a very good friend. We made wine together for years. We named it “Glory” - a combination of our two names. I drank the last bottle I had after Shortman was born (and a different husband). We lost touch for a very long time and recently reconnected.

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2. I never would have thought that I would love to blog this much. It’s healing. It’s heartening. I can share my drunken thoughts and my ranting raves. I believe I could be really good friends with many, many of you. I hope that if you’re ever passing through southeastern Michigan, you’ll let me know so that I can offer you a place to rest and a glass of wine. By the way, summer is much, much better than winter. Fall and/or Spring are iffy, at best. (Okay, Helen, that one probably was a cheat, but I wrote that from the Admiral’s club at O’Horror. After my third glass of Pinot Grigio. I was feeling sappy. But, y’all are still invited, really!)

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3. I can get drunk off of wine (see #1 above) much faster than beer or liquor. Except maybe Tequila. I drink tequila once/year. On my birthday. And as long as I don’t have to walk or talk afterwards. I have a scar down my back because of tequila and a fight with a wicker laundry hamper. I got up at 2 a.m. because I was so fucking dehydrated I couldn’t swallow my own spit. I got light headed and fell, ass first, into the hamper in the hallway. A piece of wicker went right into my back.

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4. I also have a scar from exploding lightbulbs in my bathroom. When we bought this house, the previous owners had just completed a renovation of the upstairs bath. I don’t think it had ever been used. I like hot showers. Unfortunately, during the renovation, they didn’t put in a vent. The light bulbs above the vanity? Were 60 watt lightbulbs. The steam and 60-watt bulbs? Not a good mix. Once morning, I bent over to wrap my head in a towel and one exploded. The hot glass landed on the back of my neck. I have a burn scar about the size of a large paperclip.

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5. When I was 42, and playing soccer, a woman from the opposing team asked me how old I was. When I told her, she said, “But you’re the buffest one on this field.” I had to laugh. Two years before I was heavier than I had been at 9-months pregnant and couldn’t run a lap around the high school track. I started training with weights, kickboxing and running - and for an entire two months I was in the best shape of my life. (Yes, for about two months I was happy with my body - it was heaven. Then I had to go on another round of travelling for work and got lazy.) Now, I’m starting back again.

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6. I was invited to attend the contract signing between my company and our offshoring partners in Amsterdam in August 2005. I stayed in a hotel that had been created from a row of canal houses. My room was in a house that was built in 1620. I flew by myself to Schipol airport on Sunday evening, arrived Monday morning, and walked for hours admiring this beautiful city. I saw the Anne Frank House, The Royal Palace, and the Rijksmuseum that day. I took a three hour nap and then walked some more. A year later, I was back in Holland, but on the North Sea for a Leadership conference. We were in a castle in the National Forest. These two trips will always hold very special memories for me.

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7. I was in 4th grade and we went on a field trip to one of the Metroparks in southeastern Michigan. I don’t remember which one, but I remember I was wearing a pair of red hip-hugger bell bottoms with a fake cuff and a red, white and blue checked body shirt. (Hey, it was 1972!) I was running along a path next to this boy (who I ran into many, many years later, after I had moved and had a hot makeout session in the roller rink…hee). He swerved a bit and I moved over so we didn’t bump into each other. My foot went down a slope, and next thing I knew, I was head over ass rolling down a hill into the river. Got that? Into.The.River. I had no other clothes, so one of the mothers had to drive me into town and find a laundromat. She went in and dried everything while I sat in her car wrapped in a blanket. One of the most embarrassing moments of my elementary school years.

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8. When I was at Michigan State, I worked in my dorm cafeteria during the breakfast shift. I started at 7:00 a.m. My first class was at 8:50 on the other side of campus. Five miles away. I would work for 90 minutes, then run back to my room, grab my stuff, jump on my bike and head to class. At MSU, the bike paths have yellow lines dividing them (like a 2-lane road), and when you come to a street crossing, there are rumble strips to slow you down before you go into the street. One day, I was going back to the dorm, and another bike came into my lane and hit me head on. I ended up in the Intramural Soccer field, glasses bent, books all over the place, and bike in desperate need of repair. I limped home, dragging the sad carcass of my bike behind me.

The next day, I had that class again. I begged my boyfriend to let me borrow his bike. He was hesitant. That bike was his pride and joy. I finished my shift in the cafeteria, headed off to class, and realized that Boyfriend must ride his bike in first gear. I was pedaling like mad, but getting nowhere. I changed gears. Something locked up and I flew right the freak up and over the handlebars. Landed on my back in the middle of the sidewalk. I saw the derailleur shoved into the spokes of Boyfriend’s pride and joy back tire. I hoisted the fuckin’ bike on my shoulder - walked back to the dorm - ran into his roommate who said to me, “He’s going to break up with you over this one” - and went to bed for the rest of the day. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that my nickname that year ended up being “Crash”.

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—- And so, in return, I’m tagging: Cupcake, Mad Mad Housewife, Jen on the Edge, Kristabella and whoever else wants to play. If you decide to participate, let me know in my comments. Over to you all now. Down to the basement for me to remedy #5 again. —-