Hey, y’all. I missed you! Really, I did, but I needed some time away from the keyboard - because the time I spend every day on the computer is not good for my ancient eyes OR my right hand. I need that right hand (and Mr. Hot needs that right hand) since I’m butt-useless with my left. I know that it’s not good when your wrist at the base of your thumb starts tingling and and your shoulders start burning when you spend eleventy-kazillion hours surfing working. And no one is offering to pay me big bucks for my life story yet I still have to earn a living doing my real job.

****lalalalalala****

Aaaaaanyway, Saturday we spent the day out at Milan Dragway watching “Night of Thunder” - which was actually “all freakin’ day and into the night” of Thunder. Broken up by loooooong stretches of watching this guy:

go up and down the track very, very slowly. Because, y’know, when those suckers crash - or blow up (as in “he done blowed up”) - it takes a very,very, looooooooong ass time to get all of that oil and all of those little pieces up off the track. Oh, and obviously, I forgot to take my camera - so you get a cell-picture. Shush. It’s not nice to make fun.

****lalalalalala****

On Sunday, Mr. Hot and I loaded up the bikes into the back of the truck, drove a little ways into town, and then unloaded the bikes and took off. Will someone please remind me next time that hills? Suck. And when you haven’t been on a proper bike ride in 2 years? Your hips scream and your knees threaten to break through the skin and run away to live life in the flatlands. Your, um, lady-bits say “Enough! We’re shutting down here. This is NOT our idea of fun. In fact, we can make sure you never feel that kind of fun again!” But, we made it about 10 miles.

Then we came home and I laid on the peninsula and died of pain took a nap.

****lalalalalala****

Yesterday, we were invited to the neighbor’s house for a cookout. No, NOT the neighbors that I spy on every day between 7:30 and 5. Those are the “across the street” neighbors. These are the “on the right” neighbors. It was a nice, sedate crowd (y’all? if, at 45, you’re the youngest one of the bunch AND the only one who actually drank a glass of wine - it’s a nearly comatose level of sedate) - but it was nice to be included, and we did learn a thing or two.

First, the main drag (Michigan Avenue) is NOT referred to as Michigan Avenue around here. It’s “12″. As in “U.S. 12″. Now, I grew up in the area - only about 10 miles east of here - just a mile north of Michigan Avenue. It’s always been Michigan Avenue. Apparently, though, there’s some invisible dividing line where Michigan Avenue is no longer called that. It’s called 12. I thought maybe it was only a quirk of these neighbors and their friends, except that today, a complete stranger called Mr. Hot about a mower we’re selling. “Oh, yea, you’re out there off of 12, ain’tcha?”. Luckily we knew what the hell he was talking about. Two days ago, we would have had no fuckin’ clue.

Second, the “on the right” neighbors actually know the “across the street” neighbors. “The Husband” and “The Wife” have lived here a long time, apparently. Before their kids were born anyway, and they’re in Middle School now. I know I got sidetracked with the Hot Affair and all, but y’all? too freakin’ weird is what the whole thing is.

According to “On the Right” neighbors, The Husband lives in the house with the kids. But when I sit my butt down in my chair in the mornings, it’s her car that’s there. So, they must have some sort of arrangement where she comes over and takes the kids to school and then picks them up at least 1/2 the week. (Dudes, sound familiar? Oh Mah Holy Hell! It’s the reverse Mr. Hot and Ex-Mrs. Hot!) I haven’t figured out the whole Not The Husband thing, but I haven’t seen him since the 12th, so either they aren’t using this house as a getaway anymore or it really was a plumber fixing a broken toilet.

Sigh. I guess I shouldn’t quit my day job to become a private investigator, eh?

****lalalalalala****

Here’s what happens, though, when you spend an entire weekend away from the computer and actually outside, though. Even when you’re 1/2 Lebanese. Even when you remember occasionally to put on sunscreen:

Mr. Lady and I weren’t even on the same side of the Mississippi and we are both paying the price for being outside for three straight days.

—- And we have a freeze warning for tonight. It was 84 yesterday, and tonight I’ll be covering the tomatoes. Whoever is pissing off Mother Nature, please stop? —-

I’ll be here today.  All.day.long.

I have a couple of things for y’all though.

1. Y’know those “who’s stalking me” plugins?  Is it backwards stalking?  Because even if the reader doesn’t comment, it still shows that they’ve been there?  If you don’t comment here, would you want your identity showing up there?  (No, that’s not entrapment - ha!)
2. Don’t forget - if you have a favorite gardening website, leave me a comment here or send me an email at ‘reereep[at]gmail[dot]com’.
3. Garage Sale hints.  Mr. Hot and I are embarking on our very first garage sale ever.  Leave me your best hints and warnings!  Because, y’know, oh mah holy hell.  We’ve got lots of junk crappe priceless extras that we need to get rid of.

—- And now I must go break up the argument that is happening - over someone’s inability to put a sandwich into a baggie…. Sigh —-

I think I’m getting the plague. Or something.

Which is strange considering that a) I hardly ever get sick AND b) I haven’t hardly been out of the house. Can breathing your own air make you sick?

My ears are all stopped up - I may as well have my head under water. Which is going over real well with Mr. Hot. “Huh?” “Wha?” “Sorry, huh?” He already claims that I don’t listen to him. (But at least normally, when I choose not to listen to him I can hear him! He shouldn’t feel bad now, right? Because I really can’t hear what the fuck he’s saying! So the listening? Not a choice.)

Of course, I’m going to get my head shots on Friday, so let’s just be really miserable by then!  Let’s make sure death sounds like a less-shitty option.   Yay!

***lalalalalala***

MomandDad came over to my house yesterday because Dad fixed my birdhouse and made me some drawer-rails for my dresser so the drawers would stop falling out on my toes. It rained all day long. The plan was to head over to the bakery to pick up some goodies and grab Mom a present before they got to our house.  (Mother’s Day….Mom needs presents….even though I didn’t get any.  I’m not bitter.  Ha.)

Mr. Hot didn’t want to go out in the rain. (Snirk. Yea, right, he’ll melt. uh. huh.) So, even though MomandDad were supposed to be over at 1, I procrastinated until 12:40. Shush - the bakery is only 7 miles away. And a stop at the garden center to pick up a bunch of flowers or something wouldn’t take long. After all, when MomandDad say “One o’clock”, they really mean two-ish. Or thereabouts. Or “sometime that same day…y’know - the same day as the one o’clock day”.

I got to the bakery - picked up the goodies (hummus, bread, baklava and mahmool) - and left and it was only 12:53! (I rock. I also drive fast when necessary.) I ran into the nursery, grabbed a bouquet of purple roses and lilies and this:

for her garden - because he was so damned cute. (I think she should name him Steve. Do you think he looks like a Steve?)

Aaaaannnnnyyywayyyy, I turned onto our road (1.1 miles from home) at 12:59 pm - figuring I was golden! I had plenty of time. I could run upstairs, grab a card…write something sentimental and tear-jerky in it, and still have time to handcraft some wrapping paper ala Martha Stewart before they arrived.

Because on-time? And The Hotfessional’s MomandDad? Are not on speaking terms.

Except, apparently, yesterday. Because they were already there. At 1:0-freakin-4.

Oh well. No card, no handcrafted paper. Just a bag (paper, though! It wasn’t plastic!) and a Happy Mother’s Day!

Still, isn’t that one cute toad?

***lalalalalala***

And because I’ve subjected you to too much whining and moaning lately, here are some search term gems:

• business casual walking shorts 2008 - y’all? my business casual wardrobe is now cut-off sweats, a t-shirt, and slippers. (Kelley - look away, you’ll disown me)

• city shorts business casual - No. Just no. If you’re one of the women who worked in my office setting, do NOT wear city shorts. Please.
• all-green dry penis - Um. I’m sorry. I bet you can find a prosthetic one that is realistic though after yours falls off.  Veronica or Cookiebitch may know where.  And maybe next time you won’t do whatever it was you were doing.
• what would you do if you knew you could - Good question! Unfortunately, I’m 45 and don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
• quotes from superbad lemonade - “Ewwwwww, this stuff sucks.” “Tastes like piss!’ “Just give me straight vodka next time!”
• natasha richards revealing dress - I can tell you with 100% certainty that I have never written about natasha richards. I don’t have a clue who she is…but I think she’s the one that Mr. Hot was ogling the other day.
• hotfessional - Yes? that would be me.  As opposed to witchypoo - who is not me.
• stats how many people feel bluetooth is - better than green tooth?   Let’s vote shall we?
• another birthday got it right- yea, got it right in the gut. Oh mah holy hell, let’s not think about it, okay?
• have you sunbathed topless - Well, yes, I have. Y’all, here’s a hint. Use sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen. SPF-783 is probably about right.

—- And for those of you wondering. - Mr. Not-the-husband drove up at 12:20 p.m. today and didn’t leave until 3:18. Guess they had the weekend to make up for. —-

A Day and a Post
Both filled with nothing at all
Except randomness.

Quiet has reigned here.
I would have slept on my desk
Except it is wood.

A special email
And a haiku that she wrote
did brighten my day.

But other than that
there is nothing happening
in the Hot household.

As much as I bitch about stupidity and the craziness that surrounds me on a daily basis, today was bor-ing.

(I have just completely jinxed it by typing that, you realize? Okay, so long as we’re on the same page here!)

So randomness - I haz it.

• The other day, some asshat decided to steal money out of our checking account using Mr. Hot’s debit card. We have two suspects. We have filed a police report. We have canceled the card and the bank has started its investigation. We should have our money back in 7-10 business days…because I can say, with 100% certainty, that I did not get a first-class ticket on Malaysian Airlines for my birthday….although that’s what Mr. Hot’s debit card paid for. I cannot even begin to express how many different ways I’ve thought about dismembering this prick. Believe me, his prick would be one of the first, um, removals.
• The past few days, around lunchtime, the woman who lives in the house across the street comes home. A few minutes later, a van pulls up and parks on the road in front of her house. A man gets out and goes into the house with her. He stays for about an hour, and then leaves. Sometimes, afterwards, she leaves, too. Sometimes she doesn’t. As far as I can tell, her husband (who is not the man who comes over at lunchtime) is there on a regular basis - walking the dog, taking the boys for bike rides, cutting the grass - although not when the mysterious van is there. I can’t figure out whether the husband is still living in the house. I’m guessing if he is, he won’t be for long. (Yes, this is what happens when you sit at a desk looking out over your street for 8 or 9 hours every day.)

The view:

Hey, you’d wonder too if you sat in front of this window 9 hours/day.

• The cable that connects my camera to my laptop is the same kind of cable that connects my Blackberry to my laptop. Since I’ve discovered that, my life has been much easier because I’m not staring at two cables trying to figure out which one is which. It also saves me walking downstairs and back up when I decide to take a random picture of the house across the street… the one I sit and look at all day long.
• The plan for this evening involves driving several miles down the road to watch cars go straight, really fast, for a quarter-mile. The things I do for the testosterone laden members of this house will never cease to amaze me. Therefore, on Sunday, NO ONE better wake me up before Noon unless it’s to open a present, drink champagne, or feed me peeled grapes. And chocolate. The good stuff, not the cheap kind. Take note all penis-bearing members of this house. You have been warned.
• I’ve been watching three rabbits chase each other around the yard. They play leapfrog; they play hide-and-seek. There are finches that fly by, their bright yellow bodies zipping through the air and past my window. I can hear Poopy the Puppy downstairs, whining to try and get out into the yard, because, “Mom. Mom. Mom. Want to play wit teh bunnehs. Mom. Mom. Come let me out.” Were it not for that, I could almost make believe that I’m Snow White or Pocahontas surrounded by little forest creatures in a Disney animated film. (Ahahahahahahahahah. snort. Yea, right.)

—- When is it going to be warm enough to open the windows? I think I’m going a bit stir-crazy around here, breathing my own air all the time. —-

…y’all have warmed my heart and soul with your comments and your ability to make me feel like I’ve known you my whole life. How the hell do you do it? So, thank you, my friends. Kisses to you all….

I’m back in Chicago - yes, again! - and last night, Kristabella and I hit the road out to the ‘burbs. I KNOW! I didn’t even know that you could get to the ‘burbs of Chicago without a passport. We saw Bossy at Suburban Kamikaze’s house. Kristabella picked me up at my home hotel and we didn’t hit a single pedestrian trying to get out of the city at rush hour. (I did have to mention the missing mirror on the passenger side, but she swears she didn’t take out a bike messenger or a street light with it.)

Then, we stopped and picked up wine (surprise!) so we could drink more pretend we were polite. We even refrained from sitting at the bar in the wine shop so as to not actually arrive tipsy. (Snort.)

We admired Bossy’s new Saturn (pretty! red! shiny!) and were ushered through an absolutely gorgeous house to a deck. We got to sit outside in Chicago in April.  Will miracles never cease?  We drank wine and ate and drank more wine and ate more. And drank more wine. And when the wine ran out someone mentioned that it was 10:30 (oh mah holy hell, where did the night go?), we hugged Bossy and the SK, and made our way back. And never got lost! Since I’d only been awake 20 hours, I’m grateful for her ability to navigate with a snoring passenger.

Today, I went to visit my new staff in another suburb. (I’m now a connoisseur of Illinois suburbs. Two - in two days.) They’re a nice bunch - and they managed to nicely hide the look of fear on their faces that had nothing to do, I’m sure, with my reputation of, oh, laying off approximately 90% of the last two departments I managed. (Sigh.)

My cab ride back to the city was late - and the guy was lucky to make it a mile down the road after his, “Well, you’re in a good mood.” comment when he finally got there. By the end of the trip, though, we had made a grudging peace. Probably because he was one of the only people I’ve ever met in Chicago that were willing to discuss Detroit Pistons basketball and Lions football.

24 moved in today. So tonight, there are three of them in my house. Did I mention that I hope it’s still standing when I get home? Mr. Hot didn’t sound thrilled when I reminded him that I’m staying an extra night to go to the retirement party tomorrow….but y’know? These are the guys that gave me my first executive position. I want to be able to get drunk with them one more time help send them off in style.

I took Goose the Mint Thin addict to the Reagle Beagle tonight. I actually had a drink called, (are you ready?) “Tootie and Blair’s … damn I can’t remember. I know I have the Tootie and Blair part right though. How could you possibly forget something like that? Absolute Pear Vodka, Cranberry Juice, and a splash of 7-up. By my first sip of the second one, I knew the 3 carrot sticks and 2 pieces of cantaloupe that I had with my new team (hey, I was in the freakin’ cab discussing the merits of Bill Laimbeer and Joe Dumars and didn’t have time to eat lunch) was not enough. (Obviously, since I can’t remember the drink’s name.)

I also have to thank Robert at Scorp Web Solutions for saving “The Hotfessional” today - before I even knew she was going to break. If you’re looking for an inexpensive self-hosting solution with the best customer service in the entire world, go check out Robert.

—- Now since tomorrow is going to be another long night, I’m off to beddy bye land. Sweet dreams y’all. —-

Hell y’all.

• I have a post to write that is the most serious writing you’ll ever get from me about me (once I get my pictures edited).

• I have a book review to write for my friend Goddess (I want to re-read the book first, so I can really do it justice).

• I have to pack for yet another trip to Chicago tomorrow - a trip where I get to meet her and go to his retirement party (I also have to go shopping first, and I’m not thrilled about that because it’s not for anything fun - it’s tied to the first bullet in this list.).

• 24 delayed moving in until tomorrow. I hope, with the three of them here alone all week, that I have a house to come back to on Friday.

But first, I want to show you something:

January 1, 2008:

April 21, 2008:

Isn’t that beautiful?

And how about this?

and this:

and

So, so pretty. And it’s nice and warm!

And then, I wanted to tell you that even moms of teenagers have poop stories (and I’m so apologizing in advance).

I listened, as Shortman (who ‘fessed up on Friday that he has never, ever, ‘went number 2′ at school - he’s in 11th.freakin’.grade!) plunged the toilet AGAIN today after he got home from school.

I asked, when he walked by, “Hey, why do you have to plunge the toilet every day?”

He came into my office and sat down next to me. “Mom, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to pretend I’m a doctor and say it.”

I DREADED what was coming next.

“When I poop…”

And that was as far as we got without laughing hysterically.

—- Neither one of us has matured past third grade poop jokes. —-

This is out in the front yard.  It’s 60 degrees and sunny.  Mr.  Hot and I have been grocery shopping this morning - and then we went back to the grocery store to get the things we forgot.  We did manage to get 3 great re-usable grocery bags for $0.99 each!  (Of course, I’m sure we cancelled that out by using the fuel to go back to the store, but eventually, I hope we’ll be on the positive side of the green line.)

We took Poopy the Puppy for a nice long walk around the wetlands pond, and yelled at him for rolling in the freshly laid goose shit.  After we came home and finished cleaning the rest of the goose shit out off, I clipped his nails.  He hates getting his nails clipped.   I hate clipping his nails.

The Tigers lost to the White Sox yesterday.   We’re not talking about that.

I have to go get my racing stripe covered today.

I’m reading “Veil of Roses” by Laura Fitzgerald.

I’m so far behind in answering emails, I’m sorry y’all.  I love you for commenting, and I want to respond to each of you - it just takes me a day or three sometimes.  You will hear from me, I promise!

And now I’m going to help Mr. Hot fix the headlight on the truck from Shortman’s little mishap.

—- I’m sure you’re yawning and wishing for a pillow and a nap after today’s post - but if other “Mr. and Mrs. Hot” projects are any indication, I’ll have a story to recount after this endeavor! —-