Only 99 hours left until school starts.

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts. Today’s query comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 13.

What would constitute a “perfect” evening for you?

With or without kids?

With kids: All three would eat everything I gave them for dinner, including the green beans, and declare, sincerely, how tasty it was. Why thank you kindly, girls.

They’d clear the table, wipe it down and then sweep up the food that fell on the floor. After playing a few board games — Don’t Wake Daddy and Cranium Triple Triumph — they’d yawn and tell me they were going to bed. And then they’d get ready for bed without any horseplay and fall asleep immediately after tucking themselves in.

Meanwhile I’d toggle between watching a marathon showing of Dr. G: Medical Examiner and Forensic Files. And as fate would have it, I’d never catch a commercial between those two shows.

Without kids: Mr. C and I would get Chinese takeout and eat at the coffee table in the living room like we used to. We’d watch Hardball with Chris Matthews (Mr. C’s show) while we ate and then we’d settle into the Dr. G/Forensic Files marathon. Mr. C would watch with me and actually discuss some of the heinous crimes we were viewing.

I would also rent Hobbes for the night and that cat would be my bitch. He would love me unconditionally — even though we just met — and he’d be happy to sit in my lap, chase a string and let me pet him for hours. I’d quietly slip him some of the chicken from my dinner and we’d bask in the sunshine of our love.

Later I’d have a yen for chocolate so I’d eat some Hershey Kisses and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. And someone, with clean hands, would have already removed the wrappers so I could submerge my dirty paws in the bowl without having to remove my eyes from the television screen.

Lastly, that Chinese food and all of the chocolate would have negative calories. I’m not talking about zero calories so it added nothing to my daily caloric intake. I’m talking about calories that were burned by eating the food. The more candy you ate, the more weight you would lose.

That, my friend, would be a perfect evening.

Only 123 hours left until school starts.

For the last 26 years I’ve been stunt riding on my high horse while proudly declaring, “I’ve never been pulled over by the police.” I recently fell out of the saddle and was dragged, head bouncing on the ground, behind the horse.

However, I can still say, “I’ve never received a speeding ticket.”

This is how it went down. A few weeks ago we packed up the Mystery Mobile and embarked on the 250-mile road trip required to visit my in-laws. Factoring in bathroom breaks and food stops with three kids that’s a solid five-hour-plus drive. The last 75 miles are brutal. Every. Single. Time. It’s pointless to ask us, as we debark from the van, “How was the drive?”

Because the answer will always be, “Hellish.”

Compounding the situation is the fact that a large portion of the last 75 miles or so are on a two-way, two-lane road where the speed limit is 55 mph. There are passing lanes every six to eight miles and that is when The Game begins.

Drivers go about 55-60 mph until the passing lane opens up. A few people get into the right so the speed demons can fly by in the left lane. But 80% of the people stay in the left lane and drive 75-80 mph only to slow down to 55 when the passing lane ends.

That’s so frustrating.

My kids
were
jacked that
we were stopped
by a
police car. Flashing
lights, yay! A police
officer, yay!

Anyway, I opened it up on a passing lane, but not before I had to flash my lights at the old man in front of me who wasn’t paying attention. He finally moved over, I gave him the requisite dumb-ass glare as I passed him and then took my foot off the petal when we went back down to one lane.

While the lane was ending I looked in the rear view mirror and noticed a white sedan pulling onto the road. We drove for at least two minutes as he slowly closed the gap behind us and I told Mr. C, “I think that’s a cop car behind me. Why won’t he turn on his lights? Do you think that’s a cop car? It’s all white.”

And then the blue and red lights began to flash. I’m pretty sure he was waiting for a spot on the shoulder to open up so I could pull over. I stopped, Mr. C handed me the registration and proof of insurance and my kids excitedly announced everything that was happening. They were stoked. A police car, yay! Flashing lights, yay! An officer with a hat, yay!

I told them to stifle it because Mommy was feeling pretty uptight. NO speaking until the van was moving again.

After I handed over my information we engaged in the following conversation.

Cop: “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Cardiogirl: “I was driving waaay too fast.”

Cop: “Do you know how fast you were going?”

CG: ” At least 85 or 90? I was going way too fast.”

Cop: “I clocked you at 75.”

CG: “Wow, really? I was positive I was going 85 or 90.”

Cop: “Do you know what the speed limit is on this road?”

CG: “Fifty five.”

Cop: “Have you ever been pulled over before?”

CG: “No. You can check it out, I don’t have anything on my record. This is the first time I’ve been pulled over.”

Cop: “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

CG, speaking in code in front of the kids, to Mr. C: “Do you think the, uh, prior visits to our house are going to show up on my driving record?”

Mr. C: “No,” pauses to consider it. “Probably not.”

CG: Terror flashes across my face as Mr. C adjusts his answer.

Mr. C: “No. That has nothing to do with your driving record. I don’t think that will show up. No, that won’t show up.”

Cop. Takes. For. Ever. To return.

I mentally practice my I-have-no-contact-with-my-father-or-siblings-and-yet-they-continue-to-send-the-police-to-my-house conversation as he hands my paperwork and driver’s license back to me.

Cop: “You really surprised me by saying you thought you were going 90 mph. I’m not going to give you a ticket but you really need to slow down. This is a weekend, traffic is heavy and a lot accidents happen on this road. Just make sure you slow down and have a good weekend.”

Shocked, I thanked him profusely, pulled back onto the road and my hands shook for the next 20 miles as I drove 55 the rest of the way there.

Lesson learned: The truth shall set you free, boys and girls. And even if it doesn’t, you still need to take responsibility for your actions.

Only 147 hours left until school starts.

Just yesterday I popped a CD in the car and told my kids about my brush with up-and-coming fame. It was 1990 and I was an entertainment reporter for The State News, Michigan State University’s campus newspaper. My assignment: interview The Ocean Blue, an alternative rock band out of Hershey, Pa. They had just released their first album and were on the 1990 Laugh Tour and EP with The Mighty Lemon Drops and John Wesley Harding.

The top ten hit from that album was called “Drifting, Falling” and that is the song we were listening to in the car.

Drifting, Falling

The Ocean Blue | MySpace Music Videos

What I remember most about that interview was the lead singer’s hair cut. It was a bowl cut, I guess. It worked for the era; I wonder what it looks like today.

Anyhow, I wrote an article and I have reprinted if for your enjoyment. As I re-read this I had a few thoughts. The Mighty Lemon Drops were definitely the headliners and the most famous. I have absolutely no memory of interviewing them. In fact, when I was looking for this article I expected it to be about The Ocean Blue. Period.

Poor John Wesley Harding. If I were him and I read this article I would be really pissed at the reporter. He’s barely mentioned and when he is it’s to note that as he left the stage the crowd went wild for The Ocean Blue. Awesome.

And lastly, I could seriously be friends with the lead singer of The Ocean Blue. He is quoted in the article as saying, “I forget the words to songs all the time so I make them up as I go along,” he said. “A lot of the time I do it on purpose. I love to watch people singing along and then sing something different.” I think that’s the best quote I have ever read.

And now on to the article.

Musical triple header delights crowd

by Cardiogirl, State News MS&U Writer

Although the Might Lemon Drops headlined the Sunday night concert at Sensations, the show really belonged to The Ocean Blue, one of the two opening acts.

As the other opening act’s acoustic guitar player John Wesley Harding left the stage, fans were drawn to the platform like magnets to steel. What they were awaiting was The Ocean Blue — a band out of “a little chocolate town” known as Hershey, Pa.

By looking at the fanatic crowed at Sensations, 131 Albert Ave., one would never guess the band hardly ever gets stage fright.

“We get so tired before we go on stage,” said signer and guitar player David Schelzel. “We have to wake ourselves up, but once we’re out there our adrenalin starts to flow.”

Adrenalin was not the only thing flowing. Hardly anyone sat still and almost everyone sang along with The Ocean Blue performance. But the joke was on the audience when Schelzel decided to improvise some of the lyrics.

“I forget the words to songs all the time so I make them up as I go along,” he said. “A lot of the time I do it on purpose. I love to watch people singing along and then sing something different.”

But the fans did not seem to mind. What they did mind was the end of the Ocean Blue’s act.

Although the band has encountered nationwide success, Schelzel said he is continually surprised by audience reception.

“I (make
up
different lyrics)
on purpose. I
love to
watch people singing
along and then sing
something different.”

“We’ll be somewhere as far away as you can from Hersey, like Salt Lake City, and there’s a gigantic crowd singing along to our songs,” he said. “It’s amazing that people that far away have heard and know our songs.”

The Ocean Blue, whose name, incidentally, came from the desire to suggest something “sort of serious, vast and mysterious,” played for about 45 minutes.

And then it was on to the headliner: The Mighty Lemon Drops.

What is most noticeable about lead singer Paul Marsh is his voice. It’s very strong and distinctive. What is most noticeable about the band is its ability to make the crowd dance.

“I think we’ve been well received by the college students (on this tour),” said lead guitarist Dave Newton. “There’ve been no major disasters.”

International success, however, comes as something foreign to the Mighty Lemon Drops.

“We never really get a chance to think about success.” Newton said. “Once you’ve been on tour and played 60 shows in a row, you start to play on what they call automatic pilot. You just don’t have a chance to think about it.”

The band did not need to think about success on Sunday. The crowd took care of that by roaring approval to such tunes as “Happy Head” and “Sometimes Good Guys Don’t Wear White,”

Surprisingly enough, they did do one cover — “The Rolling Stones’ “Paint it Black” during the encore. Maybe it was good by association, since both bands are from England. Maybe it was good because the Drops are talented.

As for the fan hoopla before, during and after the concert, Newton asks people to remember he is just a normal person.

“Before we formed the band I’d never been outside of England before,” he said. “I worked on buildings as a carpenter carrying bricks and ladders. In my spare time I went to gigs.”

Only 171 hours left until school starts.

It’s been a while since we last hopped on the Party Posse train so that’s what we’re doing today. Plus I want to see Solomon all glammed up again. Single file now and keep your hands inside the cart at all times. If you missed the last party let me explain what we’re doing.

I thought it would be fun to take the VIP Lounge to someone else’s site. As you know, the VIP Lounge is my comment section. My clutch dawgs are fun! We have a party daily and I like the idea of having a progressive party on the internet. Hence the Party Posse.

Head on over to the guest pad, read the post and leave a thoughtful comment (none of this “Great post” stuff.)

Hopefully we can leave up to 15 comments; at last count she had seven — let’s get her up to 22, minimum. I know you’ll make me proud on this trip.

Today we are visiting Babbling Brooke written by a gal named Brooke Amanda. I recently met her at Tribal Blogs and immediately subscribed to her feed. I can totally relate to the tag line on her blog: Tact Is For People Who Aren’t Witty Enough To Be Sarcastic.

In the post Shits McGee we step inside Brooke’s apartment to learn a few important things. Her living space is a bit small and odors travel quickly; her friend (who chose the name Shits McGee for this post) can really eat anything regardless of the physical ramifications and it’s important to carry a cell phone at all times.

Here’s an abbreviated excerpt from her post.

Brooke (texting on the cell phone): “You may need some diaper rash cream.”

Shits (yelling from the bathroom): “DIAPER RASH CREAM?!”

Brooke (yelling back): “Or I have aloe vera gel in there if you need it.”

Shits (texting a few seconds later): “You’re going to have a funny post on this.”

Yes, Shits, yes I will.

And like a prophet, Mr. McGee was correct.

Only 195 hours left until school starts.

We hit a milestone at Casa de Cardiogirl this weekend. Seventy-five percent of the childproof locks have been removed from the cupboards and drawers in our kitchen.

Can I get an amen my brother? I have been looking forward to this day for more than nine years. If you have no clue what childproof locks on cabinets are, why they are necessary or how they work consider yourself lucky.

Babies and toddlers are like termites; they destroy everything in their path. Once you have a baby nothing below waist-height is safe inside your house. Their hands are everywhere and every item they touch goes directly into their mouths.

Got an under-the-counter cabinet that houses AAA batteries? Babies and
toddlers
are like
termites; they destroy
everything in
their path. Then you’ve got yourself a big problem just waiting to happen. Add some matches and a set of barbecue tongs and you’re guaranteeing imminent death.

That’s where the childproof lock comes in. It’s a plastic device that allows the cabinet to open two inches or so and then catches. You must depress the plastic lock to unhinge it.

As with any sort of change, it takes the human mind a few weeks to accept and adapt to the new status quo.

When we first installed those locks it was extremely annoying to pull the drawer only to hit resistance after two inches. The silverware rattled, I mumbled, “Grrrr,” and then pushed the drawer in an inch so I could press the latch down to release it.

But eventually pressing down the latch became a subconscious action.

So now that the locks are gone, the reverse is happening. All of us — except for Emily, since she never learned how to release the latch — are slowly opening the cabinets and drawers with our index finger ready to release the latch. But, psyche!

*It’s not there!

And this leads me to my next point. I’m not one of those mothers who laments the changes from babyhood to early adolescence. Michelle isn’t either (sends a congratulatory cyber fist bump.) I have read about the mothers who actually miss hearing the crinkle of a diaper as their baby toddles about the house.

WTF, man? I cannot relate.

Diapers are expensive, they leak and they stink. Good riddance diaper, I shall not miss your presence in my household. Ditto on bottles, onesies, the crib, stacking toys, sippy cups and everything else that represents life before four years old. Onward and upward, gingah.

Oh yeah. Have I mentioned there are only 195 hours until all three of them start school?

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts. Today’s query comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 90.

If you could choose the sex and physical appearance of your soon-to-be born child, would you do it?¹ Would you like to have a child much brighter and more attractive than yourself?² What difficulties might result?³ How much would it bother you to have an unattractive, mentally challenged or crippled child?⁴ To ensure your baby would be born bright, attractive and healthy, would you use a safe medical procedure to genetically alter the developing embryo?⁵ Would a baby designed in this way still feel like your child?⁶

Oy.

¹ No.

² Do I really have to answer this? Fine. Yes; I believe those who are deemed attractive and intelligent have more opportunities in life than the rest of us.

³ Well, she might talk down to me in a condescending manner because she assumed I was an idiot. I have a sister who used to treat me that way. (Note the past tense.) She is intelligent, but she’s not *quite* as smart as she *thinks* she is.

⁴ It would bother me because I think her life would be full of challenges. I’d want to protect her and would worry about how she would get along after I died.

⁵ No. It feels too much like playing God and I would always wonder what my kid would have been like without those modifications. In a way, this is like using fertility drugs and then having multiples. Nowadays, if a couple has triplets or more, most people wonder if they used fertility drugs. (Cringes) I always wonder when I see triplets but I never ask. I just assume they did use drugs.

And then the people who conceive multiples naturally tend to feel as though they have to throw out that disclaimer. Maybe that’s about the individual — the nosy neighbor (me) and the mother of multiples who wants to set the record straight.

⁶ Not entirely. It would be too weird.

Alright, there’s lots of stuff that goes on around this world that amazes me. Frequently I think, ‘That’s crazy; that is not okay.” But then again I’m not a risk taker and I tend to be uptight.

And this is exactly when I get on my knees and thank the good Lord that I have a blog which allows me to question a small segment of the population. I also like a good poll, so I’m killing two birds with one stone (pauses to mop up the blood and feathers.)

One note about the polls before we get started. There’s no gray area here. You cannot say it depends upon the circumstances. I have a gun to your head and if you utter anything besides “Okay” or “Not okay” you will be flossing your teeth with lead. Now that we all know the parameters, let’s get to it.

Throw rugs in front of the toilet

Quite a while ago I saw a show on HGTV where two interior designers pointed out the mistakes homeowners make when decorating their houses. They went room by room and gave their input. When they stepped into the bathroom both of them basically convulsed with dry heaves when talking about a rug in front of the toilet.

They felt that was a cesspool of germs, bacteria and overall nastiness. They basically begged everyone in America to stop that practice. The guy even went so far as to say he uses his foot to kick the rug away when using the toilet and then replaces it — with his foot — when he’s done.

Thoughts?

Setting boundaries for small children

How about allowing a three- to seven-year-old child to sit on the roof of the minivan while packing the car for a week-long trip? I saw that happen twice in my neighborhood last summer from two separate families. What say thee?

Society at large

You’re driving around town running some errands and the driver in front of you throws a smoldering cigarette butt out the window onto the road. Are you cool with that?

Mel Gibson’s recent behavior

Yeah, that’s right. I am like a fly on shit when it comes to Mel Gibson.

Alright boys and girls, thanks for playing Okay or Not Okay. I’ve left a voucher for a lifetime supply of Rice-A-Roni The San Francisco Treat on the table next to the door for your efforts. Grab one on your way out.

I have been figuratively pounding the pavement all over the blogosphere in the last month or so, kids. I’m starting to figure out how to work smarter instead of harder and my work is paying off. However, my house is falling apart.

No, it’s not literally falling apart, although there is a tile in front of the fireplace that’s cracked and has pieces missing that’s been bugging the shit out of me for the last two years. However, I’m pleased to say I’ve got a handyman lined up to fix that problem.

So what the hell does all of this have to do with housekeeping? I’ve actually discovered three ways to get motivated to clean the house.

Method One — A Cautionary Tale:

You know those days when you just don’t feel like cleaning? There are dishes in the sink, toast crumbs on the kitchen floor and approximately 278.3 pieces of clothing sitting in front of the washing machine.

Side note: Yeah, that’s right. I said 278.3 pieces of clothing. How did I come up with .3 pieces of clothing, you ask. There are always a few pairs of jeans and socks with holes in them. Add all of those holes together and you get .7 pieces of cloth shy of one full piece. What’s left over is .3 pieces that need to be washed.

The mess feels overwhelming and leaving the house to have a root canal seems so much more appealing.

I have to be in the mood to clean the house, but I do love the results so when I’m not feeling it I fire up an episode of Hoarders. There’s no need to go old school and wait for an episode to appear on cable TV. This is the 21st Century, gingah — the age of technology. You can watch full episodes right now on their website.

Once you’ve seen a bathroom so cluttered and filthy that the toilet, sink and shower have not been used in over two years scrubbing the toilet suddenly becomes a top priority.

Method Two — Peer Pressure:

This is when my kid’s friend is coming over for the day. Or the babysitter is going to watch the kids for three hours. Or the handyman is coming by to fix the overhead fan/light combo in the bathroom. Ugh, that’s a story that’s currently unraveling and I will be writing about that when it’s done. I can sum it up right now by saying that mofo Mr. Cook strikes once again.

So the kid is coming over and I’m straightening the rooms, swiping up spills on the kitchen floor, clearing the kitchen sink and shutting the door to the laundry room. Some errant shit will be thrown upstairs in our bedroom and the door will be nailed shut. Problem solved.

Method Three — Scared Straight:

Thankfully I only approach this mode once or twice a year. It is the most intense method and it keeps me up well past midnight and causes me to notice every last nook and cranny repeatedly for days on end. This occurs when my inlaws come to visit.

(If you crazy kids are reading this right now I really am the one with the problem. I realize I am extremely critical when it comes to matters involving myself. Nothing is ever good enough, so it’s not about you. It’s about me. Love ya, mwah!)

Because they live 250 miles away they occasionally stay with us on those visits. And the shower in the basement has the best water pressure so it’s in high demand. The laundry room is right outside the bathroom. So that right there means I have at least eight loads of laundry to catch up on when they visit.

I would rather jam it in the closet in our bedroom but, alas, it is too small; it’s just the width of the door. Unfortunately eight loads of laundry won’t fit in there. And then there’s the problem of my wandering eye. Without fail I will see a huge cobweb in the corner of the ceiling when I am sitting on the couch chit chatting with my mother-in-law.

I know she doesn’t notice it; it’s my own neurosis. Strangely enough, I never notice small details like that at other people’s houses even though I try to remind myself to look for cobwebs. Somehow I always forget.

So since I’ve been slacking it looks like it’s time to hire the handyman for another job, invite my kids’ friends over or schedule a visit with my inlaws.

I found a meme at Lola’s Diner today and one question stood out as a must-answer. But I’m not a meme kinda chick so I’m not doing the whole thing. If you want to know who started the meme which started the whole world laughing go read Lola’s post.

Here’s the question I felt compelled to answer.

A celebrity knocks on your door saying that their tour bus/limo/pedal bike broke down (you pick the transportation.) Who is it and what do you do to help them?

Lola said she’d help Mr. Rod Blagojevich by pointing him to the nearest bus stop.

But it’s Heidi Klum who’d be ringing the doorbell. It would be the real Heidi Klum, too, not the fun Heidi Klum in the VIP Lounge whose name is Heidi Something Else In Real Life.

Heidi Something Else In Real Life indulges my love of Heidi Klum version 1.0 and has agreed to be Heidi Klum version 2.0 in the VIP Lounge just to make me happy.

Alright, now that we’ve established that fact, I’d look through the peephole to see who’s standing there. Would I be able to identify Heidi Klum through the peephole?

She’d be a tall, skinny blond chick wearing black four-inch heels and waving endearingly.

Yes, I’d recognize her through the peephole.

Look at that friendly smile and hand wave. Once I identified her I would start to hyperventilate as I opened the door. She’d be concerned for my health but then I’d recover and tell her that I’m her biggest fan but not in a creepy stalker kind of way but in an earnest totally safe kind of way.

She’d see my eyes flicker to the limo parked in front of my house and she’d explain that she has a flat tire and wondered if she could use my phone to call AAA. I’d tell her, “Yes! Yes, you can use my phone. Let me get it!”

My kids would be standing in front of the screen door looking at her and my oldest kid would say, “You look like the woman who’s on Project Runway. My mom and I watch that show.”

And Heidi would say, “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

My middle kid would look at her shyly, smile and wave which is what she does upon first meeting someone.

My youngest would look at her and say, “You’re pretty. You have yellow hair like I do.”

Then I would push my way past my kids and hand her the phone saying, “Here you go Miss Klum.” Then I’d stare at her while she made the call. It would be awkward and she would gently turn her back away from me while speaking into the phone. Then, when she was done, she’d hand the phone back and say, “Danke schön!”

Then she’d notice the pail of sidewalk chalk on the porch and she’d ask all of us if we’d care to join her in the driveway while she drew some pictures. We’d laugh in the sun, she’d draw really cool pictures of outfits made on Project Runway and we’d be BFFs by the time AAA was finished fixing the limo.

She’d give me her email address and then she’d start commenting in the VIP Lounge but she’d call herself Heidi Klum version 3.0 and it would be our little secret. She’d also make her gravatar a picture of her hand so people didn’t think she was a poser. This is what she would have said on yesterday’s post.

Every so often I like to give you an update on some stuff I previously mentioned. I use the phrase “I’ll report back later” quite often and I like to keep my promises. As indicated by the title, we are now on volume 7.

The hostas are basically thriving and if I could kill all the squirrels I’d have some tomatoes, too

Back in May I took a stab at dividing some hostas that were threatening to take over my backyard. I was afraid to just rip them apart with a shovel because I like them but I did it anyway. Success, baby! Those things really are hardy.

Although I divided and dispersed so many I might have to get rid of a few. I’ll have to think about that.

Just to get jiggy with it, we threw some tomato plants and two green pepper plants into the mix and they’re actually surviving. I talked about getting a Topsy Turvy container but never did. I was put off by the reviews that said the thing grows progressively heavier and will bend a shepherd’s hook. And I never nailed anything anywhere in the hopes of supporting the weight.

Twice now a green tomato sprouted, we oohed and ahhed over the miracle of life and then the mofo disappeared. It’s those effing squirrels. Hate the squirrels. I’d like to wage war on the squirrels. Punks.

It really was dog shit

Remember when we went up north for a long weekend and when we got back the neighborhood smelled funky?

It took a day or two of serious scavenging on my part but I found a pile of dog shit on that stupid section of grass that’s between the sidewalk and the street. I hate that section because I’m responsible for it but it does not belong to me and is deemed public property. I don’t even know what to call it. Oh! Wikipedia tells me the kids in Detroit call it a tree belt. Effing tree belt.

Note to the dog owners of the world: It is. Not. Okay. To let your dog shit on that piece of “public property” and then walk away without tending to it. Is it okay for me to drop a shitty diaper on your tree belt and then walk away? No it’s not okay.

It’s the same concept, people. Get with the program.