tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40288512011-04-21T13:45:51.569-07:00taking the passive out of passive-aggressiveClairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.comBlogger2381100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1124918180594315542005-08-24T14:05:00.000-07:002006-08-18T18:18:45.596-07:00

I'm just now recovering from the Summer Flu from Hell. It was a lovely little bug, lasting over two weeks (and not yet completely done with me, I suspect). I managed to miss only a total of about 8 or 9 hours from work, but in today's office culture, I'm sure I'm regarded as a complete slacker.I think it used to be expected that people would get sick and need to stay home periodically, but these

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com109tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1123452402741569912005-08-07T14:55:00.000-07:002006-04-08T15:58:09.686-07:00

Accomplished this past weekend:1. Conquered the mall! I hate the f*in' mall, but I made it through okay, despite shaking and foaming at the mouth. The children now own unbelievably expensive Stride-Rite shoes--the expense is justified by the little labels inside which say "Toddler Tech!" If it's TECHNOLOGY then hell, it's worth $50, right? I think the Stride-Rite woman just got to me at a moment

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1123192970461372512005-08-04T14:50:00.000-07:002005-08-04T15:02:50.466-07:00

The children were restless this morning. The Bee spent most of her time trying to get into the fridge, hunting for Danimals and juicy boxes, while the Panda moaned miserably on the couch ("I'm too TIRED for camp!") I finally had to throw them both into the tub to quell the whining. The Bee figured out she could tickle her sister by squeezing her knee, but didn't know when to stop.And I discovered

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1123094561423503532005-08-03T11:40:00.000-07:002005-08-03T11:42:41.426-07:00

Overheard in Hampden:Two women are fighting, screaming loudly, on the street. Woman #1 (visibly pregnant, attended by hapless fat friend): If I wasn't pregnant I'd rock your world!Woman #2 (skinny and wearing winter clothes in 100 degree heat): You're just a fucking whore!Woman #1: I'm twice the whore that you are! I made more money being a whore than you ever will!

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1123027335480045752005-08-02T16:44:00.000-07:002005-08-02T17:02:15.486-07:00

I'm going to admit this right now and just get it out of the way, okay?I like TGI Friday's. I really, honestly do. I know I'm not supposed to like chain restaurants, but it's just one of those things--like the fact that I hate Don DeLillo, eat white bread, and enjoy, without irony, the demolition derby. I think it's clear I've got some redneck blood in me, because one side of me wants to read

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1122748866874653292005-07-30T11:18:00.000-07:002006-12-18T03:23:42.233-08:00

There ought to be separate highways for people who have all the time in the world, 'cause the rest of us have places to be and we want to get there soon. I'm serious--there seems to be a whole contingent of people out there who are in no fucking hurry to go anywhere at all, be it work or home or on vacation or wherever. I've been driving on major highways a lot lately, and there are these these

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1122682658119616262005-07-29T14:50:00.000-07:002006-11-02T02:22:26.780-08:00

Some years ago my husband bought an ant farm for our daughter, who was a toddler. It was an odd choice of gift, I thought--at the time, we'd sold our house, thinking we'd be able to find something right away, and we couldn't. So we ended up in this apartment over by Wyman Park, living in a quarter of the space we'd had before. My father died right around this time, and I was working this

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1122599883391134482005-07-28T18:04:00.000-07:002005-07-28T18:18:03.396-07:00

The Bee has developed this little beauty queen wave (side to side, you know?) and this little mellifluous way of saying "Hi!" that's somehow breathy and baby-like at the same time. She marches around everywhere saying "Hi!" to strangers, who are ALL charmed, for obvious reasons--I mean, who can resist a little blue-eyed smiling baby grinning at you, giving the beauty-queen wave, and saying "Hi!"

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1122467370544244662005-07-27T05:25:00.000-07:002005-07-27T05:29:30.550-07:00

Get your Scrapple apparel today!And yeah, what xlt said... why is sausage any less gross than scrapple? Hell, they even have gourmet sausage now. It's the same old ground-up scraps, after all!

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1122421751668202452005-07-26T16:41:00.000-07:002005-07-26T16:49:11.676-07:00

Just returned from the ocean for a couple of days, which of course always requires a trip through Bridgeville, Delaware, home of Rapa Scrapple.Now, let's be clear here. I love Scrapple. I love RAPA brand Scrapple, actually. My dream job is to be marketing director for RAPA Scrapple. If possible, I would eat Scrapple every day--but Scrapple is a rare treat, a delicacy. It requires patience to cook

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1121989797354490752005-07-21T16:06:00.000-07:002005-07-21T18:02:17.306-07:00

I smoke on the fire escape of my building, forty feet above the beautiful vista of downtown Hampden. It's fascinating to watch the homely 'hos talking to their pimps and the cops lackadaisically driving along the Avenue, never busting anyone. The other day I was standing out there, watching the corner in front of the convenience store where one particular pimp runs his stable of beauties (mostly

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1121878495829339742005-07-20T09:54:00.000-07:002005-07-20T09:54:55.836-07:00

I'm going to turn comments back on and post later on today if anyone's still reading this. I think the worst of the bullshit is pretty much over... let's hope... and if it's not, I have some ass to kick and some lawyers to cal...

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1121465419498017672005-07-15T15:08:00.000-07:002005-07-15T15:10:19.503-07:00

Comments off for now.I really don't have time for low-rent redneck name calling, so I'm taking a break til I feel all this has all died down. Til then, send me an email if you want to talk to me.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1121366141030433872005-07-14T11:30:00.000-07:002005-07-14T11:35:41.036-07:00

I wanted to promote this comment from my ex, because I want to make sure that anyone who's reading this blog simply to pass judgement will see that actually, things have been done quite nicely here at the Home of Dismay. Thank you, Mr. Valve, you are a true friend."Hi--Special Guest Poster, here... Yes, it's the STOBEX (soon to be ex) hubby!While that (now deleted) comment was stupid and

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1121343036124332372005-07-14T04:58:00.000-07:002005-07-14T05:10:36.130-07:00

I just did something I've never done before: removed a comment. My theory was always that if I was going to allow people to comment, I should leave them all there whether I disagreed with them or not, because it was part of the beauty of this whole exercise: creating a sort of dialogue or open connection with the world. But this (anonymous) comment was so wrong-headed and stupid and unfair and

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1121181573486973522005-07-12T07:58:00.000-07:002005-07-12T08:19:33.493-07:00

It's entirely possible all my posts from now on will start out "My therapist says...." Which will be annoying, but seriously.... my therapist says that when you go through a divorce you find out who's really your friend. I've been thinking a lot about my friendships lately because it's surprising who's been supportive and who hasn't. I haven't been acting in the most considerate manner to all my

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1120909035842194362005-07-09T04:22:00.000-07:002005-07-09T04:37:15.846-07:00

It's already shaping up to be a great weekend, and well-deserved. Spent the week working super-hard at work and fielding all manner of phone calls, since both my bosses are out of town. I appear to be third in the line of succession, like the Speaker of the House, so I get to answer any and all questions about everything. Mostly I don't have answers, but I fake it pretty well. Our house goes on

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1120651701667632082005-07-06T05:02:00.000-07:002005-07-06T05:08:21.673-07:00

Haunting update:Last night after I finished posting about the haunting, the Panda came down on the patio for a chat. I hadn't mentioned anything about my suspicions to her, or discussed them when she might overhear. Anyway, so she says to me, "A weird thing happened last night. I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and the toilet paper was all clawed up, like a cat had clawed it. I

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1120603477034354262005-07-05T15:36:00.000-07:002005-07-05T15:44:37.036-07:00

The Townhome of Dismay is HAUNTED! Yes, it's true. Tell me this isn't weird:1. I usually do all my laundry in a single night. I put the laundry in, go about my business, and when I go down to change it.... the washer lid is open. Not every single time, but enough times to make me doubt my sanity. I won't have even been in the laundry room, and so why would it be open?2. I keep a statue of St.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1120602894225396862005-07-05T15:21:00.000-07:002005-07-05T15:36:11.446-07:00

20,000 Shriners were in town this weekend for their annual convention, so of course I had to go down and see them parade across Pratt Street. There's something compelling about Shriners, and it's not just the multitude of vehicles they drive: at the parade we saw mini tractor-trailers, flying carpets, ATVs, customized motorcycles (including a recumbent motorcycle!), miniature antique cars, the "

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1120486929874338992005-07-04T07:05:00.000-07:002006-12-18T03:59:39.016-08:00

Independence Day! How fitting. I am now independent! Hooray!Spent the weekend going to barbecues--seems like everyone was having grilled meat and beer, which suits me just fine. Played some pool and lost, went over to the ex's house and attempted to powerwash the deck (quite fun, you should try it sometime), and lit off some Target firecrackers in the parking lot.I think my neighbors officially

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1120234203361261072005-07-01T09:06:00.000-07:002005-07-01T09:10:03.366-07:00

Long discussion with Sweetney last night over beers about the public/private problem of blogging. She and I feel similarly uncomfortable, due to a variety of weird/unpleasant experiences with our blogs and the attitude of some of the people now reading them. Her manifesto is a good thing and I hope it solves her problem. For me, I just want people who either a) don't like me, or b) are here to

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1120001288717141872005-06-28T16:14:00.000-07:002005-06-28T16:28:08.723-07:00

Moving is a pain in the ass. Comcast tells me that I can't have my cable Tee-Vee for two weeks because a supervisor needs to do a survey. I don't know what that means, and at ny rate I had to pull the information out of the customer service rep over the course of twenty minutes because she had some undientifiable accent and I couldn't understand what she was saying. I suspect Comcast is

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1119831694088729162005-06-26T16:32:00.000-07:002005-06-26T17:22:32.096-07:00

So, I hit the Rock n Romp yesterday, towing the Bee, the Panda, and the Panda's BFF from school. The Panda and her friend wanted nothing to do with me, being as it was a ROCK SHOW and clearly I do not ROCK at all. On the way over, Amanda kept telling me that Nick Drake SO does not ROCK and neither does that one Shins song, and that its lack of rockin'ness was bothering the baby, who does,

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1119642064806643422005-06-24T12:31:00.000-07:002005-06-24T12:41:04.813-07:00

Odd things about my new home:1. I had the mistaken impression that my back patio was "private space." Not so! Hillary, my neighbor to the left, drops by unannounced to chat about babies and the use of the communal hose. The landlord shouts to me from his deck: "Hey babe!" (Which seems awfully familiar.) Maybe this is the difference between townhouses and actual houses--no one really expects any

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1119368891002564512005-06-21T08:33:00.000-07:002005-06-21T08:48:11.006-07:00

The Townhome of Dismay is now up and running!I have to blog from work now, because I don't have an internet connection at home yet, so this will have to be short because, well, I have actual work to do and shit. But I'm so very excited about my little house!I moved my stuff in on Saturday. I was weepy, watching the moving truck drive away from the old house. I sat in my car and cried for a while.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1118496505079761962005-06-11T06:15:00.000-07:002005-06-11T06:28:25.083-07:00

Since the separation began, about four or five months ago, I have lost around 15 pounds. It was actually shocking to stand on the scale at my mother's house--I knew my clothes were a little loose, but I'd no idea how much weight I'd actually lost. And since I wasn't hefty to begin with, the 15 pounds actually show. And then I sensed an opportunity. Americans love new diets! I should write down

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1118010993753759732005-06-05T09:28:00.000-07:002005-06-05T15:36:33.810-07:00

Everyone in the house is depressed except the Queen. She might be, too, because everything I ask her, she shakes her head back and forth and says "noo!" "Did you have a good time at the pool?" "Noo!" "Did you like Zoe?" "Noo!" I suspect she thinks that's simply the appropriate response to any question. See, this is what happens growing up in a broken home.The good news is that the husband and I

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1117591594660214812005-05-31T18:42:00.000-07:002005-06-01T16:54:34.546-07:00

When I first started this blog, I really never imagined that it might end up as some kind of referendum on my character, or that the intersection of my public and private lives might become complex. I never imagined, actually, that it would be anything but a kind of extended letter to my friends--friends that I talked to a lot, and friends that I didn't. I thought of it as a way to publish all

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1117371920767979172005-05-29T05:05:00.000-07:002005-05-29T06:05:20.773-07:00

I've spent the weekend trying to make the house look as though no one really lives here, which is, I've been told, what Prospective Buyers want. While I think my taste is wonderful, it's entirely possible that less sophisticated people might not agree. Also, I seem to have somehow acquired many pieces of art and knicknacks involving naked ladies. There are the amusing vintage "boobie" salt and

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1117158613495545582005-05-26T18:32:00.000-07:002005-05-26T18:50:13.500-07:00

The division of the Marital Property, with the mediator, took about an hour and a half. We didn't argue because there's not that much to argue about--the house, a few bank accounts, some furniture. But now I've come to the Division Of The Books.Okay, in some instances it's pretty clear. The James M. Cain, the Raymond Chandler, the Anne Tyler, Margaret Atwood, Haruki Murakami, Lawrence Block, A.S.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1117149543790775102005-05-26T15:29:00.000-07:002005-05-26T16:19:03.796-07:00

My daughter is working on a school report about the state of Utah, which means I've been asked to spell "polygamist" at least five times in the last three days. Their assignment is to write about interesting facts about each state, and she's decided that polygamy is pretty damn interesting. Weirdly repulsive but interesting. Her take on it, and the last sentence of her report: "I don't know why

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1116937596071439382005-05-24T05:14:00.000-07:002005-05-24T05:26:36.076-07:00

The outpouring of support from friends and loved ones has been truly amazing, and almost counters the sick feeling I carry around with me in the pit of my stomach these days. I am the victim of my own choices, some tiny and some big, an accretion of little choices. I'll go this way, I'll do this, I'll go here, and then one day I woke up and I was at the edge of a giant cliff, one foot in the air

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1116804498408361792005-05-22T16:25:00.000-07:002005-05-22T16:28:18.413-07:00

My latest search engine referrers have me laughing out loud. Ahem:x-rays of objects stuck in assholesalef golemfind money to teach senitivity to teachershow come my internet connection on and offmomomomomomom

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1116774663645983972005-05-22T08:01:00.000-07:002005-05-22T15:44:57.786-07:00

It's time for me to own up to what's been going on here at the Home of Dismay. I thought about this for a long time, whether to write about this, and finally decided that I have to, because otherwise I can't write about anything here with even a semblance of honesty. My husband and I are about to separate. I have discovered that when I tell people this, they have a lot of questions. So for you,

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1116636811097423392005-05-20T17:22:00.000-07:002005-05-20T17:53:31.103-07:00

Star Wars and Me: A Chronology1978: Heard on the nursery school playground that Star Wars was cool. (Even then, overly influenced by the ill-considered opinions of boys.) Drag parents to the Church Lane Theater, in Timonium, where we sat through an interminable hour(during which I whined) until my parents decided they'd had enough, too. I knew that the movie was gonna be bad as soon as those

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1116554018068993252005-05-19T18:14:00.000-07:002005-05-19T18:53:38.100-07:00

After I got married and had the Panda, I thought married people without children were hopelessly self-involved. Here I was, twenty-three, working full time and going to school, with a kiddo and a house. And I found myself in a neighborhood absolutely full of childless married people. Rich, self-involved, with too much time to think about wine and home decor and their jobs and their

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1116106693806201732005-05-14T14:29:00.000-07:002005-05-14T14:39:17.640-07:00

It's only a month til my birthday! Because I'm childish, I spend a lot of time thinking about my own birthday. What I want to do that day, what I want for presents. Now it's countdown time. I'm gonna be 32! It's momentous. That's how old my mom was when she had me. When I was little that sounded so OLD. Anyway, I thought that I might try and help those of you who were spending all your time

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1115687473969178552005-05-09T17:41:00.000-07:002005-05-09T18:15:22.683-07:00

Tales from Smalltimore Part 503954059:Today I'm at work and this guy walks in who looks incredibly familiar. Turns out he's the one who has been on Papa Leave for the two weeks since I started. Anyway he comes up to my desk and introduces himself and says "You look really familiar!" Let's just be clear here--besides the fact that this is my OLD new job (in that I worked there seven years ago) and

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1115592378610367242005-05-08T15:15:00.000-07:002005-05-08T15:46:18.816-07:00

Mother's Day 2005 began with the familiar wailing-from-the-crib. The Queen doesn't mind sitting in there alone in the morning squeezing her duck and chewing on board books--but when she's done she's done. And she lets us know. I was a little rough around the edges at first. I went out last night with the mother of one of Panda's best friends and I think I drank two beers for every one she downed.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1115500035806566992005-05-07T13:54:00.000-07:002005-05-07T14:15:01.090-07:00

I'm beginning to think the lack of commas has been good for my writing. At first it felt awkward--but with the help of parentheses and em dashes I adapted rather quickly. No more long discursive sentences. No more strings of useless adjectives. No more asides. I am now forced to think through exactly what I mean to say in advance. It requires far more discipline.I always felt that the comma lent

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1115490141496794532005-05-07T10:45:00.000-07:002005-05-07T11:22:21.670-07:00

Today was Spring Fair at the Panda's shool and all I can say is..... oh the other mothers.The other mothers have been a problem for me since Amanda was born. Back then I was too young and poor to participate in any of their discussions about clothing and activities. The baby and I pretty much entertained ourselves by going on long walks to the grocery store with carefully clipped coupons.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1115431640226294492005-05-06T19:05:00.000-07:002005-05-06T19:07:20.230-07:00

Just heard this term--it's the white guy equivalent of the D.L.--"dutch girlfriend". So if you say a married guy has a Dutch girlfriend it really means he has a boyfriend. Or twelve of them. Pass it on.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1115430073603905392005-05-06T18:30:00.000-07:002005-05-06T18:41:13.713-07:00

My daughter's teacher Ms. M. is blonde and wears miniskirts and platform shoes. This means I relate to her--even though she's 25 and more authoritative with children than I am. Children see me and "sucka" is writ large across my forehead. They know I'll give them cupcakes and let them use my makeup. Not so Ms. M. One day she told the class "There's a reason I don't teach daycare and that's

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1114898817122471472005-04-30T15:03:00.000-07:002005-04-30T15:06:57.123-07:00

The always-entertaining Keyword Game again. Recent searches include:passive aggressive mencutting off all her hairglans removalmy bffsteps to ending a marriagelet the wenches waddlefish tank game- drop flakesWhat does this SAY about me? Glans removal? Good god. (Although I do admit that now the phrase "let the wenches waddle" will rattle around in my brain forever. Maybe it needs to be a poem.)

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1114879810895440752005-04-30T09:32:00.000-07:002005-04-30T09:50:10.900-07:00

It's raining hard so I spent the morning drinking coffee and reading poetry. Adrienne Rich no less--a book I bought in high school. Funny how different these poems seem now. I thought I understood them when I was sixteen. I thought I understood everything. The phone had been left out in the rain overnight--another piece of technology broken. It's as though this house has simply decided to fall

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1114740206768399652005-04-28T20:33:00.000-07:002005-04-28T19:58:26.606-07:00

Dear lord forgive me for I have no commas. I am writing this on my husband's debauched Mac. Full of cigarette ashes and enormous .wav files. And with a keyboard with no comma. The comma simply does not work at all. I sound breathless when I write on this thing. I've been avoiding posting because of this comma. I've realized that without commas I cannot write.On Monday my computer blew up. Again.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1114049626859896412005-04-20T18:52:00.000-07:002005-04-20T19:13:46.860-07:00

Ways in which I horrify the neighbors:1. Sitting outside at all hours of the night and morning in my frilly nightgown, smoking cigarettes.The bright red hair does not help my reputation.2. Driving down the curvy street while talking on my cell phone. I hate myself for this and yet can't help it.3. Not having curtains almost anywhere. I'm waiting for "window treatments" but I've been waiting for

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1113868444829330332005-04-18T16:26:00.000-07:002005-04-19T01:34:05.510-07:00

Sometimes I like to think of my household as a corporation. You know, with a board of directors (Nick and I get the deciding votes), employees and subcontractors, a beautiful quarter acre campus (including a "rock wall" and private offices!) and a complex accounting system. We've trademarked our name, since no one else wanted it, and I think we even have a brand identity--something to do with

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1113516178021995952005-04-14T14:45:00.000-07:002005-04-14T19:17:53.720-07:00

And so it begins... the dreaded Germs of Daycare.The Queen Bee came home early yesterday with a 102 fever and a nose like a faucet. She tries to remain chipper--stomping around, holding various objects to her ear as though they are telephones and screaming "ALLO" like a drunken Frenchwoman--but I can tell she's not quite herself. She falls over a lot and makes this little resigned crying noise

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1113490044480814082005-04-14T07:41:00.000-07:002005-04-14T07:47:24.480-07:00

I'm about to go out and buy my daughter's birthday present. Shhh--don't tell--it's an XBox! I'm forced to admit here that I want an XBox too. It's been years since I had a console game system. In fact, I think it was 1992, when I lived in Bolton Hill and played endless games of Super Mario Brothers 3 on my Super Nintendo. I actually got to the last level and got the princess, but it took me a

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1113352071881909652005-04-12T17:03:00.000-07:002005-04-12T17:27:51.883-07:00

One night when I was newly pregnant with my youngest daughter, my husband and I headed over to the neigbhbors for some dinner. We brought the baby name book with us, because it's always entertaining to figure out what to name a baby. Reading through the A's, I got stuck on "Ava." "What about Ava?" I asked Joanne. "Oh, that's nice!" she said. The husbands agreed. I'd never heard of anyone named

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1113223259022887502005-04-11T05:18:00.000-07:002005-04-11T05:42:15.973-07:00

Our topic today is the word "love." A meaningless word, threadbare from overuse, much like "interesting" or "nice." The kind of word that good writing teachers will tell you not to use because its very ubiquity ensures its meaninglessness. And yet we use it all the time: I love you. I just love ice cream. Hello, love. I'm in love. He loves bacon. Or, in the immortal words of Johnny Cash, "Love is

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1113011267649754272005-04-08T18:47:00.000-07:002005-04-08T18:48:21.076-07:00

My internet connection alternated between nail-bitingly slow and nonexistent last night. When I don't have the internet, I go a little bit crazy. It feels like being locked in a room with no windows. (And yes, I'm aware that I have a problem.) I tried all my usual tricks--resetting the modem, checking the connections, and so on. As my anxiety mounted, I realized I would have to call The Evil Ones

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1112737179466754132005-04-05T14:20:00.000-07:002005-04-05T14:40:44.116-07:00

Down where I work, you see only two kinds of people: Office People and Tourist People. The Office People blend together--the men in their tan pants and blue shirts and sunglasses, and the women in their skirts and black heels. We Office People emerge from buildings at lunch and try and weave our way as quickly as possible through the mobs of slow-moving Tourist People in order to get lunch, or go

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1112659862543610682005-04-04T16:40:00.000-07:002005-04-04T17:11:02.543-07:00

Choco turned me onto BlogPulse today, a tool that lets you see what people are talking about in the blogosphere. They have a very cool analytics tool which allows you to search for specific terms and see how much those terms have been mentioned over time. Needless to say, my status report didn't get done, because I was too busy checking to see which of my friends is most noteworthy in the

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1112412320176597992005-04-01T19:00:00.000-08:002005-04-01T19:34:28.390-08:00

This was a week for dying. Terri Schiavo, Frank Perdue, Johnny Cochran, Mitch Hedburg, and now the Pope. Coming so soon after the ressurection of Jesus (yes, commenters, I GET IT, he was RISEN on EASTER and I failed Sunday school, whatever) the whole famous-people-dying thing seems a trifle sinister.Although of course people die every week. And Paul Wolfowitz was just named head of the World Bank

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1112322885009315102005-03-31T17:55:00.000-08:002005-03-31T19:09:21.283-08:00

In high school, my BFF and I communicated constantly--by notes passed in class, long letters written from family vacations, on the telephone. We often wonder now what we might have done back then if we'd had email and IM, texting and cell phones. Our ability to connect with each other, all the time, talking usually about not much at all, would have increased exponentially. We'd have been able to

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1112096484070305452005-03-29T03:40:00.000-08:002005-03-29T03:41:24.070-08:00

Check out my latest project: a completely fictional history of Baltimore.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1112031999680312182005-03-28T09:35:00.000-08:002005-03-28T09:46:39.683-08:00

I've just hit the wall of exhaustion.I am tired in a way that sleep can't cure. I am deeply, bone-tired, completely spent, perhaps even hallucinating and not realizing it. I'm swilling pot after pot of coffee and getting the shakes but little else. I'm cold to the bone, shivery, and my neck hurts. And still life goes on. There's things to be done and people to be seen and meals to be prepared and

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111973057897747252005-03-27T17:00:00.000-08:002005-03-27T17:40:32.716-08:00

They need to put a warning on Peeps. "CAUTION: May cause violent mood swings. Do not feed to individuals under 15 years of age. Pure sugar causes temper tantrums and crying at bedtime." Yes, the Easter basket was grazed upon all day. Even the baby figured it out: "These things are marshmallow! Whoopee!" She spent the entire day pacing frantically around the living room looking for more Peeps, and

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111889776222568492005-03-26T17:19:00.000-08:002005-03-26T18:16:16.223-08:00

What's the liturgical name for the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday? I know there's got to be a name for it. Sad Saturday? I know Palm Sunday and Ash Wednesday and Maundy Thursday, but I can't recall if I ever heard a name for today.It was gray and cold today, the day before a too-early Easter. We walked the girls up to the grocery store and splurged on steaks. "Where do you want to go

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111796075353632792005-03-25T15:00:00.000-08:002005-03-25T19:34:11.556-08:00

I used to think I liked cats, but I know now that they're nothing but trouble. My first cat, Pasha, was a smoke persian given to me on my 16th birthday in an attempt by my parents to make up for all the pets who ended up "living on a farm in the country." Pasha was constantly irritated--maybe by his flat nose, or maybe he was just born that way--and he used to poop in my Doc Martens when he was

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111713977701375202005-03-24T17:00:00.000-08:002005-03-24T17:26:17.703-08:00

I feel vaguely guilty all the time. There's always something I'm not doing. Either I'm focusing on work and ignoring the children, or I'm focusing on the children and ignoring the husband, or focusing on my husband and children and work and neglecting the household. And forget about extra stuf like exercise, or my extended family, or the cats, or writing absolutely anything but this blog.The

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111712358904512842005-03-24T16:52:00.000-08:002005-03-24T17:00:09.916-08:00

Doggy is more eloquent on the Schiavo case than almost any of the articles I've read in the national media. I wish I could've said something like this instead of being glib and angry.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111537906071066072005-03-22T15:55:00.000-08:002005-03-22T16:31:46.076-08:00

What is with this Terry Schiavo feeding tube thing? Am I a moron who just doesn't get why this should be such a BFD? Don't these kinds of decisions get made all the time? Why did she become such a magnet for the religious kooks of the world?More than anything, the whole situation reminds me of the (underrated) movie Citizen Ruth. Laura Dern plays a hapless huffer who gets roped into being a

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111331154165514792005-03-20T06:46:00.000-08:002005-03-20T07:05:54.166-08:00

Last night we headed over to Jess and George's. They're the parents of Ava's boyfriend Jack, so we have a lot of wedding planning to do together for the next 25 years or so.George made an excellent Spanish tortilla, which is kind of like a fluffy crustless quiche with potatoes and onions, and we settled in for a hot night of pictionary. Jessica and I have known each other since we were 12, and

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111265775386088012005-03-19T12:42:00.000-08:002005-03-19T12:56:15.386-08:00

It's SPRING! So we did what anyone in their right mind would do and headed out for a day of mudpies, bicycles, scooters, running, swinging, and gardening.Queen Bee plopped down on her bottom in the middle of the playground today and proceeded to try and eat woodchips. I kept saying "No no, Bee, no no" until eventually she'd bring a woodchip up to her mouth and hold it there and shake her head

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1111190479489677062005-03-18T15:44:00.000-08:002005-03-18T16:07:51.486-08:00

So, I hit the Blogger Happy Hour last Wednesday and felt like a complete loser. I wasn't in a very sociable mood to begin with, having just started my job, which is constant socializing-with-strangers and very draining. And once I was in there, I realized I really didn't have anything to say to a bunch of strangers.When I got there, Sweetney was lingering by the front door in a very cute hat with

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110937194740683642005-03-15T17:27:00.000-08:002005-03-15T17:39:54.746-08:00

I'm going to the balti-bloggy-happy-hour tomorrow night and if you're local, you need to go too. Yeah, yeah, the kids, the house, the job... whatever. Go have a drink or five for once in your life. Bet me 25 cents against me on a game of pool, which I will lose.I'm not sure how the whole thing works--will I need a little nametag that says "HELLO! My name is homeofdismay"? Will I take a gander at

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110858560029219802005-03-14T19:21:00.000-08:002005-03-14T19:49:20.033-08:00

A day in the life of the Home of Dismay:6amQueen Bee is learning how to talk. Loudly, in the crib. No sense postponing the inevitable--it's gonna be bottle time soon. Poke husband in the ribs (same poke as when he's snoring--he's kind of used to it now). "Ugh?" he says, but in his superfine way gets up and makes a bottle of formula for the little miss. (He can't resist the ladies!)7amStumble

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110723517278423682005-03-13T06:16:00.000-08:002005-03-13T06:23:08.266-08:00

Ugh. Debbie and dogfaceboy are so right on this, I'm so wrong. In my 'hood we have a lot of republican assholes with impeccable taste. They all shop at the fancy grocery store, women in expensive shoes elbowing each other out of the deli line in their quest for proscuitto, climbing into their suburbans with the lacrosse stickers and W: The President bumper stickers.But this other subset--the

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110642090603333692005-03-12T07:18:00.000-08:002005-03-12T07:41:30.606-08:00

I hate to admit it, but I think my disgust with the right wing is more aesthetic than political. There's just something so unappealing about country music, NASCAR, the architecture of megachurches, suburban strip malls, pee-wee football, golf, and giant TVs.This is why all the soul-searching among progressives will come to naught. You read these blogs, they're all like, "We have to be more

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110503655711533672005-03-10T16:53:00.000-08:002005-03-10T17:15:09.396-08:00

I am a stealth nerd. And you probably are one too.Stealth nerds look like something else on the outside. Me, I look like a yuppie advertising woman. I have the blonde French twist, the high-heeled boots, the cute skirt. I may betray my nerdiness in various behaviors or gestures, but I've figured out how to hide my nerdiness walking down the street, at the very least, and in client meetings.I know

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110412592437619862005-03-09T15:38:00.000-08:002005-03-09T15:56:32.440-08:00

Since when did homework become a family event? My daughter came home with three assignments today, all of which involved great amounts of parental effort.The first assignment didn't even make any g*d sense. She was given a list of words, which she then had to copy. All well and good, although she is far beyond copying words like "shoe," but whatever. But then, the directions go on to say, we

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110250490607384042005-03-07T18:07:00.000-08:002005-03-07T18:54:50.610-08:00

My first day at my new job was great! The official job description I received, in my little packet of information, involved a lot of three-syllable words. But I think the actual job description is "wranglin' 6 boys into shape." I was born to wrangle 6 boys into shape. My career path was doomed from the start: if I didn't end up a project manager, I'd be either a personal trainer or a therapist.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110121762843912122005-03-06T06:54:00.000-08:002005-03-06T07:09:22.846-08:00

I start a new job tomorrow. Yes, yes, I know, I just started my last job. But it was fairly obvious from week one at that job that it was just wrong for me, so why prolong the misery? I went out and found myself a nice, shiny new job, and for some reason I'm not the least bit nervous about my first day.All I know about my new job is:1. I'll be the only person doing my particular job. Which means

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110065096644031922005-03-05T15:24:00.000-08:002005-03-05T15:24:56.643-08:00

ava and jack kiss Originally uploaded by clairerb. This is Ava's boyfriend Jack. He's a younger man and can't walk yet, which is just fine with her. That way he cannot escape her kisses.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110065017894094342005-03-05T15:23:00.000-08:002005-03-05T15:23:37.893-08:00

meat dept Originally uploaded by clairerb. We saw a beef tongue in the meat department. It was icky.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1110064969212174882005-03-05T15:22:00.000-08:002005-03-05T15:22:49.213-08:00

baby food dept Originally uploaded by clairerb. Groery shopping can be fun. Yum, carrots.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109858366020655802005-03-03T05:50:00.000-08:002005-03-03T05:59:26.023-08:00

I was driving yesterday to pick my older daughter up from school, and the baby was fussing in the back seat. Nothing seemed to make her happy--not a bottle, not a binky, not some nice soothing classical music. "Ehhh ehhh ehhh," she'd say to all the music I chose, and shake her head violently back and forth as if to say, "No! I hate that!"And then the dial settled on 92Q and it was a Slow Jam. And

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109734564719837242005-03-01T19:18:00.000-08:002005-03-01T19:43:59.390-08:00

It's garbage day and that damn border collie Bert has struck again.I come out of my house all ready to sweep the car off and there's my garbage, all over the street. Dirty diapers, beer bottles, empty packages of cereal and meat, strewn across the lovely snowscape of Matterhorn Lane."FUUUUUUUCK!" I think to myself, but don't say it. Instead, in the tradition of martyrs everywhere, I pull on a

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109621064407572252005-02-28T11:57:00.000-08:002005-02-28T12:04:24.410-08:00

Remember how snowdays used to feel? Magical and quiet and full of possibility and hot chocolate and freedom?Not anymore. Now they are a trap.My child has been out of school for three days. THREE DAYS. Was there any reason for this? Any reason at all? No. The roads were fine Thursday and Friday, and as I speak, I see cars cruising merrily along on the road behind my house. She's bored and so am I.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109602914383398442005-02-28T06:53:00.000-08:002005-02-28T07:04:01.680-08:00

Wal Mart again, sorry:Robert Reich makes a good point about Wal Mart in today's Times, namely that when we act in our own self-interest as consumers, we are actually acting against our own self-interest as worker-citizens. We force companies to do everything in thier power to bring us low prices, thereby forcing down wages, which affects all of us--though of course, we don't see it that way when

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109382867898501262005-02-25T17:35:00.000-08:002005-02-25T17:56:15.873-08:00

I almost had a panic attack in the Wal-Mart today. That's how much Wal-Mart freaks me out.OK, OK--I go to Sam's Club. I know Sam's Club sucks, I know that the Wal-Mart corporation is evil, and yes, I know that Costco is an actual liberal donor. But Costco is in Glen Burnie, which is the ass end of the earth as far as I can tell. And Sam's Club is right off the highway. So when I need formula,

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109287169260445852005-02-24T15:19:00.000-08:002005-02-24T15:19:29.263-08:00

Thanks to my ever-more-influential blog, the CDC is now testing a vaccine for the bird flu!Perhaps we won't all die in a horrible pandemic after all.Thank you, Charles.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109246405007400772005-02-24T03:54:00.000-08:002005-02-24T04:00:49.736-08:00

No one seems particularly worried about the avian flu. CNN tells us it's all just fine, and it doesn't seem to be making the front pages.But this week's New Yorker contains a devastating article on the likliehood of an avian flu pandemic. According to public health officials in Thailand, the question is not if, but when.In 1918, the flu killed more people worldwide than all of the combat deaths

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109242271756200842005-02-24T02:31:00.001-08:002005-02-24T04:03:21.240-08:00

My first child was an extraordinarily calm and placid baby. She spent most of her time observing us, as though we were some kind of fascinating science project or an amusing movie. We never had to childproof the house for her, because she was more verbal than she was active, and seemed content, mostly, to sit in her high chair or saucer and look around.I used to shake my head at my friends with

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109208434665373012005-02-23T17:08:00.000-08:002005-02-23T17:27:14.666-08:00

Hi, reborners. Welcome to Home of Dismay. Y'all generated a lot of traffic today. Listen--this blog really doesn't have much readership, it's quite amazingly unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and has no effect on any part of the outside world. My opinion does not matter, at all. I am aware of this, and it's why I go ahead and share my thoughts--good, bad, and indifferent--because it's

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1109117995578698442005-02-22T15:50:00.000-08:002005-02-22T16:19:55.580-08:00

Welcome to the mysterious and creepy world of Reborners!These women (and they are ALL women) tear commercial dolls apart and remake them in the image of the Perfect Newborn. Versimilitude is paramount, so they spend a lot of time with oil paints achieveing that perfect "blue, mottled tone" of babies fresh from the delivery table. For added effect, they stitch human hair onto the dolls' heads, and

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108870827880611052005-02-19T19:36:00.000-08:002005-02-19T19:40:27.880-08:00

Every single character in my fiction from now on is going to have a spam name. Everything I write will be populated with the likes of Lamar Winston, Pasquale Mackynen, Alfred Rendino, Neil A. McLain, Durham Lupe, Ernie Prophett, Olen Bird, Leonora duHawkins, and Jamar Thigpen. I've always had a hard tie coming up with names, and now I don't need to any more! I can just check my bulk folder every

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108870074513394212005-02-19T18:52:00.000-08:002005-02-19T19:27:54.516-08:00

Suburban dads, would you like to know what your wives really think? What they're really up to? Because I've gotten an earful over the past couple of years, and so I consider myself somewhat of an expert. And even I continue to be surprised.(BTW, I'm sure you husband-men are just as weird, but I don't hear about it, thank god--and I suspect your guy friends don't, either. Y'all are a closemouthed

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108740504831311062005-02-18T07:15:00.000-08:002005-02-18T07:28:24.833-08:00

Just to clarify the previous question, which my husband says is dumb....Isn't it at least a little bit possible that this giant network of billions upon billions of pieces of data could, theoretically, become conscious, a la Skynet? I mean, what is the brain but a giant network of processors, fed new information constantly? Sure, our brain is attached to a body, which makes it easy to see the

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108694172069502412005-02-17T17:05:00.000-08:002005-02-17T18:36:12.070-08:00

Question of the day, please comment:Is the interweb sentient yet? If so, what makes you think so? If not, why not? And when will it be, if ever?Don't be a smartass. I wanna know.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108618025233136892005-02-16T21:27:00.000-08:002005-02-18T07:30:36.450-08:00

My husband has managed to commission an entire governmental study on the possibility of bad guys causing a tsunami.It's true. We received the envelope--a thick envelope, mind you--from the Department of Geological Surveys (part of the Department of the Interior) today. This was in reply to his very frightened inquiry to our state senator, wondering if this volcano in the Canary Islanda could be

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108616282890007802005-02-16T20:58:00.000-08:002005-02-16T20:58:02.890-08:00

the girls Originally uploaded by clairerb. It is good to have sisters, even if what they mostly want to do is hang around in your room and chew on your toys. Because when you're all grown up and you have sisters, you can go have dinner with them and complain about everyone else.These two are moving all the time. It's impossible to capture them any other way.

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108520332527934712005-02-15T18:01:00.000-08:002005-02-15T18:18:52.530-08:00

I bought a scratch-off ticket tonight at the liquor store near Marcie's house. She'd paid for my drinks all night, which was just too sweet, and so I felt lucky.I don't buy these things very often, maybe twice year, and even then I only buy the BINGO scratch-offs, because they require work. (OK, OK, to be perfectly honest, you can just buy a scratch-off and actually not scratch anything off of

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108422849423171522005-02-14T15:07:00.000-08:002005-02-14T15:14:09.423-08:00

Welcome to Valentine's Day, the world's least happy holiday ever!Evidence:1. Officemate spends entire day bitching at her BF over long, ranting emails about how he didn't send her flowers, and furthermore that digital camera he bought? which was kind of an unromantic gift anyway? had PICTURES of other PEOPLE on it and therefore must have been in some way used. And the people in the pictures were

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108351021950907672005-02-13T17:39:00.000-08:002005-02-13T19:17:01.953-08:00

One of my sisters recently eloped to Jamaica to marry her second husband. Since none of the rest of us were present at the wedding, we felt the need to do something, and so my eldest sister and I decided to plan this after-wedding party for her. Which is all well and good, but somehow I got stuck with the job of Invitations.This sounds straightforward, yes? Go to Target, buy some invites, mail '

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4028851.post-1108174227360467082005-02-11T17:03:00.000-08:002005-02-11T18:10:27.363-08:00

I often wish I had a nice, easy-to-explain job title, like doctor, or mail lady, or teacher, or lawyer. Instead, my poor child has to wrap her head around "advertising account manager," and she's clearly confused. With her dad, she can say (with evident pride) "My dad makes video games!" But with me? She's flummoxed.I'm sure it doesn't help that since birth, we've inculcated her to be

Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15876221752357551160noreply@blogger.com1