Why Can't I Get a Good Margarita?

We live in a town of few choices. Food choices, that is. Which makes takeout decidedly unclimactic.

A coupla years back, when my sister was in town, and my cousin was in town, we all met at the local Mexican place. I wanted a margarita and chips and salsa (can't do chips without the salsa). I ordered my margarita with a really nice dark tequila that I like.

The drink came in a tiny wine glass and the color was all wrong. It tasted like shit. I drank the crap cocktail because it had cost a small fortune and I vowed to myself that I'd switch to beer next round.

And then a different bartender appeared, and it was time for another round and I said to him, "Are your margaritas better than his margaritas". "Oh, yes," he said. What he should have said was "Oh, yes. Sucker." I bit and I ordered the same thing I started with. Because it's not good to mix, right?

Drink number two came and it was the same awful crap I'd been overcharged for on the first round.

A Mexican restaurant serving the worst margarita ever?

Moral of this story:

Always keep the vows you make to yourself,

and

Just because the only Mexican restaurant in a 20 mile radius wins awards, doesn't mean the food is good OR that they know how to make a margarita.

The local Irish-style pub? They make awesome margaritas.

Two years ago for my birthday we took a little road trip to another Mexican type place. Their margaritas came in Mason jars. And they have a two-margarita limit. Why?

I don't know, but I can't remember the ride home.

Head Noise

You know how when you're trying to do something important (at least to you), and you have this song or conversation going on in your head? Do you? Because I do. It happens all too often. Especially in situations where I'm supposed to be paying attention. And I do. For a minute or two. Then I'm off. I look like I'm paying attention, but I'm so not there.

My mind starts planning stuff like what color I'll finally paint the bathroom, or even "if" I'll finally paint the bathroom, or starts a shopping list, or throws away all the crap in the basement, or decides it needs another cup of coffee.

And before you know it, it's two hours later and there hasn't been any progress forward into your day (or evening if you're a night owl).

My son has the same problem. Especially when he's doing homework. But not when he's playing with trains. Because when he's playing with trains, he's doing what occupies his mind. So when he's not playing with trains, they are still occupying his thoughts. His head is full of trains, submarines, steam powered machines, and myriad ideas and inventions. It makes it difficult for him to settle down at bedtime.

Yes, I've considered that ADD may be at work here. I am reluctant, however, to confirm that and to label the boy in a way which will make school even more difficult.

So we call it head noise. Get the noise out of your head.

Maybe we just need to listen to more music. Create some classical white noise to help us focus.

Maybe I'm a genius.

Probably not.

Mother - Daughter - Sister

My sister called this evening to offer some food for thought. She read in a magazine about mother/daughter vacations and suggested we consider doing something like that with our mother.

I asked her if she knew what she was suggesting.

She claims she does, but since our Mom is in her mid-70's, she's afraid of the day when it's no longer possible to have a bonding experience, and might regret not doing something like this.

I pointed out that doing something like this might be a more significant cause for regret.

She agreed but qualified it by saying if we have enough alcohol at our disposal, we could get through a weekend with our mother. Especially if we ply the old lady with a couple of drinks, put her to bed, then go out and enjoy ourselves with more alcohol and possibly some nachos.

Food for thought, indeed.

It could be fun. As long as the husbands have enough cash to post bail.

Breakdown and Repair

Supposedly, when Mercury is in retrograde, things go wrong - I'm assuming this means more than one might usually expect. They break, they stop working, they leak, whatever. My vacuum cleaner was the first to go. But Mercury is no longer retrograde and things are still breaking.


What's up with that?

Yesterday, my entire morning was sidetracked by water in the basement. Mostly on the floor, but there was some on top of the washer and other surfaces.

Curious.

Boxes were wet, the rug was wet, the smell is not a smell of choice. But the big mystery here is: where did the water come from?

We know where it went. And, frankly, serves us right if stuff gets ruined because we still haven't gotten around to unpacking the rest of our crap from moving three and a half years ago.

The heating guy was here yesterday. Said it wasn't the heating system. The plumber is here now. We booked him earlier this week for the toilet that stopped working in December. I should clarify - we shut off the water because it was leaking and the floor was wet.

A link, perhaps?

Curiouser and curiouser.

And now I'm about to head out and make a stop at the repair center to drop off the vacuum. Hopefully, it's a cheap fix. The unit is less than four years old and I'm counting on it lasting as long as the last one did. Which had to be upward of 20 years, but I don't know for sure. I got it from a little old lady. And I had it for 12 years.

I'm afraid to ask "what next" because I really don't want to know. The septic is waiting for us to do something about it. It could get ugly.

Stay tuned.

Baby Steps

Hi, I'm River Wench and I'm a 12-stepper. I have addictions to chocolate, coffee, and carbohydrates, and I'm the daughter of an alcoholic. I'm also the granddaughter, the niece, the friend, and probably several other distinctions, of alcholics.

Sadly, most of us are.

Luckily for me, several friend and family members suggested Al-Anon and after hemming and hawing for a few years, I finally ventured into a meeting. That was a little over two years ago.

I've been committed to my recovery, but probably not as dedicated as I could be. Eventually though, things surface. Someone makes a thoughtless comment, or you start to question your inability to put yourself first, and slowly, imperceptibly, change starts to happen.

Today Change is kicking my butt. It's painful and difficult to realize things about your loved ones. Especially parents. To start to understand how human they are, how much baggage they must be lugging around and how much more they've dumped on you.

Today I go to my regular weekly meeting. I've been disenchanted with this meeting lately. It's gotten too big, too repetetive. I need to immerse myself in a new meeting, experience the stories and conditions of people I haven't yet met. Spread my wings.

And forgive.

So easy to intellectualize. But the hurt child in me is still in the midst of her temper tantrum and needs a little more of the primal scream before she's ready to forgive.

But, for today, I'll go with an open mind, learn what I can, and treat myself to a latte at Starbucks.

Sometimes, it's the little things.

Another Day Off

The parents among you (if there is actually anybody out there, parent or otherwise) might notice that, if you look at the school calendar, there are a lot of days off or partial school days. Not counting snow days, of which we've had none yet this school year.


Yet.

Did I say yet? These days the threat of snow is enough to close the school. Back in my day... oh, nevermind.

Today is a day off for the local school system. Why? Apparently the teachers need additional training (which they get at least once a month resulting in an early dismissal day). So my kid is home.

We've been lucky enough to be able to work from home. When I had a job, that's where I worked. Home. With an occassional foray into the office once or twice a year. What this has meant for us is that we don't have childcare issues on days like today. And now, it's really not an issue at all.

What we have is some wonderful quality time with our son. And cheap child labor.

Don't look down your nose at me. Everybody does it. Why do you think agricultural families are so large? The kids are already getting free room and board. And they're smaller than their parents. At least for awhile. So the parents can pretty much tell them what to do and the kids have to do it.

It's really not so bad. If you want bad, read some Dickens.
This kid has it easy. Which is why I have to get back to figuratively cracking the whip. Before I take the fruit of my loins to the library.

Cheap Thrills

Having been deprived of my nice paying job and being still unemployed, one learns to truly appreciate the little things in life.

I remember reading something about how, when the economy tanks, lipstick sales soar. A tube of lipstick is a relatively inexpensive way to feel like you're getting a lot for a little.

For me, it's nail polish. I don't actually get manicures, or give them to myself. My hands are past hope, except for special occassions and a lot of moisturizer. My feet, however, are another consideration. I've often felt that trying to give yourself a pedicure is like trying to give yourself a massage. An exercise in futility.

Still, with the severe reduction in discretionary income (i.e., none), pedicures have become a thing of the past and my feet spend their days hiding inside my holey socks (can't afford to upgrade those either).

So now I just enjoy websites about nail polish. My toe nail color preference for the last 12 years or so has been in the blue family, preferably cobalt, with an occassional foray into green. Except one year at Christmas when I alternated red and green for happy, festive toes.

And now, when the funds are short, the colors are in full bloom. The choices out there are many and I have a few faves. There are some great blog sites out there that focus on nail color.

I do think it's unfair that the colors have gotten better as I have gotten older, thereby rendering them inappropriate to my age. Not that I pay attention to that sort of thing. But if I did, I'd have to forego wearing dark colors on my hands which are at least 20 years older than I. Because, once in a great while I do get a manicure.

And I don't get red or pink or beige.

I get dark charcoal gray. And I love it.

Just in case you're wondering, I'm not a goth chic. Nor do I fall into the "chic" category any longer. Unless the person categorizing is some old geezer. With a lot of money. Then, maybe if he didn't smell too bad, I could be his "chic."

With an awesome mani and pedi.

Warm But Still Cold

We've been freezing our privates off for the past few weeks, but yesterday I had an outdoor moment that almost felt like Spring. I was in a neighborhood warmer than mine. It's thirty miles away, but I think I crossed an invisibile line and wound up in the tropics. Not sure which tropic, but it was positively balmy nonetheless.


Then I came home and on the drive watched the thermometer in the car drop degree by degree. There's not enough cement and conjestion around here to absorb the heat of the sun. At least that's my guess.

Today was also warm. I wouldn't call it balmy - the skaters are still out on the pond enjoying its frozen aspect. But the snow in my driveway is creating large puddles, the dirt has more the consistency of mud, and I fear that when the termperature drops, the tires will be frozen in place in the mud puddle turned ice block.

Despite all of this global warming, I still can't seem to get warm. I need the big fuzzy blanket while watching TV to contain my body heat. My kiddo likes to climb under the blanket with me. I bask in that warmth. How much longer can I expect this growning eight year old to want to cuddle under a blanket with his mom?

We were hoping for a brief, fresh snowfall this weekend. With the holiday on Monday to remember Martin Luther King Jr. and then the teacher 'in service' on Tuesday, allowing a four-day weekend, there was the hope of some sledding.

More like a mud slide. And not the tasty kind with vodka, Kahlua and Baileys. (Although... that's giving me an idea.)

And the boy has a head full of muck, which isn't quickly and conveniently making it's way southward out of his nose. Not that he feels badly. He just can't have a playdate.

Except with me.

Poor kid. He keeps me warm, but I'm really not that much fun.

I guess that's something I've got to work on.

Organizing

I have a need to organize. My environment is chaotic. Crap everywhere. It drives me bonkers and affects whatever serenity I might find in a day. My home office is the worst offender. The visual noise is deafening.

I would say I'm pretty good at organzing. I often think I would like to parlay this ability into a career. But if I can't get my own house to be acceptible, how can I try to sell my services elsewhere. Seems a bit fraudulent.

Last week I went browsing at Ikea. I was specifically looking for this

which I found. It was smaller than I anticipated, so instead of the planned three, I bought one. For the office. For my son and all of his "collectibles" and supplies.

I put it together when I got home and proudly rolled it into the office.

It stands there now. Empty.

While perusing the options at Ikea I came across this

which I decided would be perfect for the basement playroom. My husband got online, looked at it, and agreed. Only I couldn't lift it. So I didn't get it. Thoroughly annoyed by my inability to lift large boxes of pressed fiberboard, we stopped at Ikea on Friday night, on our way home from somewhere else, and got in just before the store closed. We got the shelving components and Saturday they went up. Sunday the finished product got securely anchored to the wall.

And today I begin. I begin organizing my son's toys up off the floor and into cubbies and (hopefully) adequate storage. I plan to be sneaky and remove some of his old forgotten toys. I'll wait to see if he notices. Then, maybe I can pass then on.

Wish me luck. If I succeed, I'll post "after" pictures. If not, cards and flowers will be appreciated.