The packing up of the office is complete. After tomorrow, I have 5 more days of getting up in the morning, leaving the house, and driving my teensy tiny little commute (2.1 miles each way…yes, I know exactly how lucky I am - I bought my house based on that commute). After that, I’ll be getting up and stumbling across the hall. I think it takes me 8 steps. Yes, I’ve counted.

You’ll be hearing my tales of learning how to be a full-time work from home Mom during the craziness that will be Spring Break (which coincides, Oh Mah Holy Hell, with my first week at home) and then during Summer Vacation. Oh, and let’s not forget my retired husband being around all day long and my stepson, 24, moving in with us in six-freakin-weeks.

Sigh.

So, tomorrow, being Good Friday, the schools are out. I have boxes of shit here that need to be carted home. Shortman has, in his young life, helped me pack and move offices four times. When I asked him if he’d come pick up these boxes (they’re already packed at least!) and take them home in his truck, he asked, “Do I get paid”?

Geez.

I wish I would have thought of the line that I read someplace (and I’m so sorry, I’d love to give credit where credit is due, but I just can’t remember). It went something like this: “Paid? No one paid me to push you out of my hoo-ha.” Because I love to completely embarrass my son.

Instead I offered to buy him lunch. In our cafeteria here. Because he loves their chicken Caesar salad wrap. He drives a damn hard bargain.

I share with you now some pictures (taken with my cell phone, sorry) of the havoc I’ve managed to wreak this week. (If you click the picture, the Bossy-inspired text is more readable.)

The credenza. My Ben Wallace bobblehead really does have a face - although after he left the Pistons for Chicago, I would have gladly rubbed it off.

Yes, I have a coffee maker in my office. What of it? So it’s against all regulations…I need mah coffee.

All of my books are in this pile. And bags of stuff.

—- Another reason to be glad school is closed tomorrow? No chemistry homework tonight. Y’all? High school chemistry is going to be the death of me. Ionic compounds and their molecular binding properties is NOT something my brain cells retained from (sob) 28 years ago. —-

When I signed up to participate in Neil’s Interview Experiment, I wasn’t so much worried about who was going to interview me because, y’know, I pretty much tell anyone anything here, as long as I don’t have to show my face. But I was worried that the person I interviewed was going to say, “Geez. What a dorkwad bunch of assinine questions.” Or “Does this person even know what an interviewer is supposed to do?”. Or, “I’d rather shut down my blog than respond to this drivel.” Or some such stuff.

But when I got Whitney’s link and started reading through her archives and her 101 things, I calmed down somewhat. Because she’s really quite down to earth for being so young (Shush. Yes, I know that I’m 23 years older than her. Yes, I do know that she’s barely of legal drinking age. That doesn’t mean that I couldn’t tell her to drink vodka while answering the questions.)

So, here’s the results of our email interview. Enjoy - and then go visit Whitney so you can see why I asked the questions I asked. (By the way, I added more stuff after she answered. My little sidebar comments look like this.)

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What is your favorite Middle-eastern food?
Arab baklava. But you have to say it the right way: BAWK-law-wah.
Oh, absolutely. We need to get people to stop saying “Back-lav-uh”

How many Kate Spade items do you have?
Not nearly enough, seeing as I break something new every week. On Super Bowl Sunday, a ceiling fan took my new sunglasses right off my head when I jumped a bit too high at the local bar.

How do you explain your auto-immune deficiency to others?
If it’s a new doctor, I smuggle in some tequila and say, “Oh, you are going to NEED this when I’m through.” Otherwise, I don’t really talk about it much. To be honest, I have some of the weirdest medical issues, so I feel strangely guilty bringing up another one to anyone other than family.
As a fellow auto-immune disease sufferer, I can understand this.

Are Kyle and Sona going to get back together?
I don’t know, Kyle’s off doing his own thing (read as: continuing on his mission to impregnate as many fifteen year olds as possible).

If you told me what Sona does in Quantico, would you have to kill me?
No, but Sona might. She is in the Marine Corps, training to be a translator. After that, she’s in the Middle East for a couple years. She’s originally from Iraq, you see, and she’s looking forward to kicking some insurgent ass.
My brother-in-law worked for a year as a translator….I remember hearing the phone clicks when we would talk to him as he was going through the ’security clearance’ phase of getting the job. We used to tell the people listening in that they were welcome to come over for dinner. hee!

Which arm did you break?
I basically shattered my carpals in my wrist. My school nurse told the ER doctor I broke my arm (elbow) so when I arrived with just a broken wrist, the doctor went ape-shit and bitched and moaned and shook my arm with annoyance/impatience. I remember, being nine years old and thinking, “You dickhead.” Thankfully, my mom said it for me.

How does anyone name their kid Brady Bunches?
His parents were bizarre (who sends their nine year old to school with Kahlua-filled chocolates for lunch?).The one time I met them, his dad started licking the school walls. Not gonna lie, it was a little awkward.
Um, I would think so.

Can you tell me where your piercings are?
Both ears are double-pierced and my belly button is too.

What was the best word you ever made playing Scrabble?
I flubbed a lot of words, but the best one I ever played was quaxi. It’s not even a word, but everyone bought it because when I was a loner, I read the dictionary. I think I gave a definition as some arithmetic term. Anyway, I won like 8 bazillion points.

Who was your date for Prom?
Sona. I’m not obsessed with her, I promise. Or maybe I am. Just a little, though.

Where do you buy candles that smell like cleaning products?
At the Bump N’ Dent. One of those food warehouses that sell expired food or products that didn’t really hit it on the market. For some crazy reason, people don’t like Clorox or Pine-Sol scented candles.
If you find Murphy’s Oil Soap or Orange Glo, grab one for me, eh?

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Thanks Whitney - for being such a great interview subject.

—- Now, the rest of you, if you haven’t done it already, go sign up! —-

I slept the sleep of the dead last night. Between the time I crawled between the covers (10:17 or so - my flight actually landed early!) and the time Mr. Hot started shaking me awake this morning (he hears my alarm way before I do), I don’t think I moved. That’s what day trips do to me. (I’m sure the Chardonnay and carbohydrates I inhaled had nothing to do with it.)

So, how about a quick update so I can meet my 341DaysLeft obligations in case I don’t get the opportunity to write anything later tonight.

In bullet form, of course.

• Mr. Hot spoke with 24 on Monday. Real, live, and in person. He definitely wants to come stay with us. He’ll probably come up at least once before May to talk to the people at the store here, and figure out what he’s going to need. Am I still worried? Duh. I have 18 years of experience dealing with this father/son relationship - but there are baby steps happening - and that, in and of itself, is pretty darn miraculous.
• Shortman finished up this semester of classes. Oh Mah Holy Hell thank you. Another reason this was a suck-ass week. (Helen….that was for you) This kid is Procrastination Central - and since it bothers me far more than ::cough:: anyone else in the family ::cough:: - I’m the one who ends up begging and pleading and helping. I swear y’all, when Finals are over, I feel like I’m the one that was taking them. He starts his new classes on Monday, so this is like a teensy tiny little mini summer vacation. Next semester? I relive High School Chemistry. Shit.
• Sears? Not happening. Duct tape will suffice.
• I worked out 5 times! My goal is 5 times/week. I do “The Firm” videos. I hate treadmill work. I don’t have an elliptical machine, so I get cardio through aerobics and weight lifting at the same time.
• Dell is sending a technician to our house(!) to replace the motherboard and the video card. To our house, y’all. On Monday. Woo hoo. (Well, we’ll see - or maybe I’ll have pictures of the Dell Tech making me get my boots dirty?)
• The Contest? Is up. The link is on the sidebar. I’m not copying it again.
• You have your assignments. You also need to go check out the only woman I know who uses the eff-word more often creatively than me. And throw her some votes for the Blogger’s Choice Awards.
• Bloglines says I have 657 unread posts in my reader. Got that? Six-hundred-and-fifty-freakin’-seven. And I joined Goodreads. I am reviewing the craft sites so I can do the first Hotlight next week. And I’m going to be updating my blogroll. Good thing I died last night, because I’m going to have to stay awake the whole weekend to take care of my to-do list.

—- And Susan is home. And blogging. That, if nothing else, is reason to cheer. —-

Macaroni Grill! 

You’re thinking to yourselves, “So?!? You’re at a really bad chain Italian restaurant.  Hot, we expect so much more from you!”

At O’Horror!!!!  Drinking Chardonnay!

I had one of those hellaciously fun day trips today.  Left Detroit at 6:50 a.m. Eastern time.  Returning at 9:20 p.m. 

Up at 4 a.m., I’ll probably get to sleep tonight around 10:30 after two plane rides, a train ride, a cab ride, bad food, crowds, crappe and shitte, to go to a meeting in Chicago.  Oh, and walking 10 blocks in my stiletto boots from the train station to the office in -2 degree farenheit weather. 

Yes!  You read that right. Negative-two.  Two-below-zero. 

When I was growing up, we called it, “freeze-your-friggin-nostrils-together-at-the-first-breath” weather.  (Okay, maybe we didn’t way friggin’, but the sentiment was there.)

By the time I got to the office, the bottoms of my feet were frostbitten.  

So, while I’m waiting for my flight, and catching up on reading and email, you guys have some assignments, remember?

1. Send me your URL and blogname if you’re a reader and you’re not on my blogroll.  I will add you.  I want to add you.  I want to spread the love around and make sure that people know you are there.  Um, if you want to.
2. Start thinking about next month’s Hotlight.  Remember, this month’s Hotlight is “crafting sites”.  Next month’s is “Photography Sites”.  If you want to spotlight a site that you think is the find of the century….in terms of photography….send me the URL so I can go check them out and Hotlight them at the end of February.
3. Post your worst travel story (or funniest!) and get yourself entered for a fabulous prize.  Click on the pretty badge (I’m not modest) for more info.





4. Go vote for SarcasticMom and Mrs. Fussypants for the Bloggies “Best New Blog in 2007″ award.  Since, y’know, “My Life as a Hotfessional” wasn’t nominated. 
5. Since I wasn’t nominated for a Bloggie, but I was nominated for “Best Blog of All Time” (Shut.Up.Will.You.  I have delusions of grandeur.  And an evening gown fetish.  I’m practicing my speech.  I want to tongue kiss Madonna - since she’s from up near Marie Millard’s way.) - please please please, I’ll show you MY rack if I have to go vote for me.   I know, it’s shameful to beg for votes.  Dooce doesn’t beg for votes.  She doesn’t promise rack shots.  So I’ll calm down.  See that nomination picture up there under Bossy’s Road Trip?  Vote!

Alright.  I’ve paid my bill, given the tip.  Now I’m going to head on down to my gate, find a seat and wait for my boarding call.  And catch up on my blog reading. 

—-Take care y’all.  Love and Kisses, The Hotfessional. —-

Wow y’all. That was fun. Thirty-eight comments for my little plot on earth here. Thanks! .. it was nice to meet all of you hidey-hiders. And now I have more blogs to read, and include on my Blogolution update at the end of the month.

I only wish I had something enlightening and cerebral to say today. Maybe I could keep some of you around. I was going to try an old favorite trick from NaBloPoMoHowLowCanUGo, but random.org kept giving me numbers that pointed to “I don’t eat red meat.” or “Fireballs and Smarties are my favorite candy.” And seriously y’all, how much can I write about that?

Lucky for you, random.org does have a little button on it that says “Again!” (Really with the exclamation point and everything. And why does that make me think of this little guy in Dinosaurs?)





There was an episode where he screams “Again!” to be thrown against the wall. That’s what I hear when I click that button.

Annnnywayyyyy. Focus Hot. Geez. Thank you once again for coming by to visit.

I kept clicking. And it gave me 99. And so I clicked again. And I got 99. Again! I clicked and got 6. And then, one more time (because, while “I sold her to buy my first car.” has some possibilities…meh. It was sad. I hated selling my horse.). Again! 99.

I took it as a sign. And so, you get: “I lost my virginity when I was 16.”

I walked into my Spanish 3 class the first day of my Jr. year in High School. (Does it worry me that Shortman is a Junior? Why yes! it does, thankyouverymuch.)

Behind me sat this gorgeous guy that I’d never seen before. Tall. Dark. Handsome. With the best dimples in the entire world. And a cute nose. And dimples. Did I mention?

I mean, how in all that is holy in this world did I go through two years in this school and never see this guy? Sure, there was over 700 people in my graduating class, but believe me……if he had been roaming the halls? I’d have been on his tail (oh, and what a tail it was!).

I nearly wet my pants when I felt a tap on the shoulder a few minutes later.

“Hey”, says TallDarkHandsome. “What is this woman like? I just moved here from St. Louis - so I don’t know any of the foreign language teachers.”

I’d had her for two years of Spanish already, but at that point, I didn’t remember her name. What I wanted to say was something like “Let’s go down to the vocational education hallway and make out between the Auto Shop and the Metalworking class.” (Not, you understand, that I’d ever been there before.)

I must have mumbled something halfway intelligent because we started talking every day. We talked about the crappy football team; his baby brother (6 months old - his Dad had just remarried); classes. Whatever. Then, he asked me out. To the football game. Friday night. It ended up being Homecoming, but neither one of us even knew that at the time. When we found out, he apologized and said if he didn’t have to work, we could go to the dance, but the game was the best he could do.

Sigh. An entire evening with TDH? No parents having to drive us? Sigh. I guess.

I can’t remember what I wore. (Jeans and a sweater probably, it was October.) I remember he was driving a white Chevette (he later tried to teach me how to drive a manual transmission in it, but that wasn’t the stick shift I was focusing on). He came up to the house, met my parents, and we walked out to the car.

There was someone else sitting in the car. His neighbor. Who I knew from school. He brought another guy on our date????

“Sorry”, he says, flashing me those dimples. Hell, he could have brought his mom if he flashed those dimples. “He needed a ride, and knew we were going to the game. But he’s not riding home with us.”

My knees buckled. (And no, that wasn’t the night I lost my virginity……we’re getting to that. Patience please.)

So, we dated regularly after that. About 3 months later, he came over to “help me babysit.” Um, after the kids had been put to bed. I obviously needed help raiding the refrigerator and sneaking the parents’ cigarettes, because the kids went to bed at 9. He was there at 9:45. Snirk.

And it happened to this song. Clumsy. Fumbling. But oh so memorable.

He dumped me 3 months later. While working on the stage set for the Spring Musical, he met this little chorus harpy. I was only grateful that he graduated that year, and I didn’t have to see them walking through the halls together. I fantasized about sticking a pen into her eye, running her down in the parking lot, seeing her fall off the stage. I cried more then than when Practice and I split.

That was 1981. In 1992, I moved back to Michigan with Mr. Hot and Shortman. (Shortman and TDH have the same first name, but so does my brother, and my dad, and Mr. Hot’s brother….it’s a popular name.) I was walking through the grocery store with my mother. Suddenly, over the loudspeaker came a voice:

“Will TallDark andHandsome please come to the service desk? Mr. andHandsome? Please come to the service desk.”

I looked at my mother. Did I hear what I thought I just heard? She nodded. Yep, she’d heard it before. He was managing the store. He was in town.

We tore over to the service desk. He was there. Grayer, certainly, but he smiled at the clerk and I fell into those damned dimples again. I walked up to him, looked up and said “TallDark?” He started laughing, and we hugged and I introduced him to my son. (I may have mumbled the dork comment, “No, he’s not named after you, really.”) He told me about his four kids and his wife and where they lived. How the baby brother grew up, and that his Mom was still in Colorado. And then we had to go.

I never saw him again. We shopped that store every week, but I never heard him paged. I never ran into him in the meat department or the bakery.

One day, I was sitting at the kitchen table telling my new sister-in-law how Mom and I had run into an old boyfriend at the store and that he had 4 kids. Mom had no clue that TDH was THE ONE. I leaned over to SIL and whispered, “I’m glad he wasn’t that fertile when we were dating.” Suddenly the light clicked on and I heard Mom gasp.

—- Oops. —-