Using a Hummer for a Golf Cart...

I recently had the great privilege of being invited to experience a technological miracle. No, my invention for a disposable head toilet plunger is still in the crapper. I'm referring to my household's recent conversion to AT&T Uverse, or as I like to think of it, I Can Now Launch a Missile through My TV Remote If Only I Could Remember My 11 Character PIN Including Four Symbols, Numbers, and a Mixture Of Capital Letters.

This is a big change for someone who gets misty over the rotary dial phone at my sister's house. I feel like Marty McFly in one of the crappier Back to the Future Sequels that I never bothered to rent, but through my conversion, is now available to me 24 hours a day on one of the 400 channels I now receive.

All About the Bottom Line:

The selling feature for this household was that "everything would be the same except cost me $70 less per month." That was the hook line and sinker I swallowed when the sales rep stopped by. Also, she told me that four of my neighbors (she mentioned them by first name and Master Card numbers as proof) had already committed to switch from Time Warner and I'm nothing if I'm not a trend follower. Finally, I think its kind of sweet how AT&T pronounced "Universe" exactly like my three year old, "U-verse," so I decided to give them a try.

What the sales rep didn't mention is that converting from TW to AT&T is only slightly less complicated than converting to Scientology without the blood sacrifice. Also, that $70 a month savings in actual numbers and American currency really comes down to about $6.47. Still, being an "el Cheapo," a phrase favored by my mother during my formative years in a bilingual home, we repeatedly told ourselves that we are doing this to save money on our communication/entertainment bill. I think its great that I have all this technology available to me, my biggest question is why do I need this?

Work that Hamster:

Residing in a predominantly English speaking home, I can now access about 150 Spanish Language Channels. I can watch the Jetsons in both my native tongue, and Portugese. The first day I was channel surfing looking for, you guessed it, the Wonder Pets for my little one. Not only can I find the Wonder Pets on four channels in four languages, but it is broadcast at least 70 times a day. That is a lot of ringing phones for that little hamster to answer. Even for the bundle of energy that is a hamster, someone will need to find a tiny little defibrillator and clean cape for this little guy. Don't tell PETA how hard he's working for AT&T. I'm grateful to know that Spanish speaking folk enjoy more than racy poorly acted soap operas and Dora the Explorer--a demographic I've always suspected Time Warner was underestimating.

Things we Lost in the Fire:

Speaking of ringing phones, the single most important phone feature to Juj was the greatest invention since the Thermal Coffee Pot, Caller ID. I'm completely lost without it. I was assured that this would be "exactly the same." Guess what was the first thing to go?? If you called me recently and I sound confused and disoriented its because I have completely lost my ability to identify friends and family based on their voice alone. As a society that has become completely dependant on foreign oil and caller ID, everyone greets you with a quick "It's me..." (Except for Jenny M****., thanks for the first and last name, but that also makes me think you're confirming my dental appointment) I assume you are calling to get me to refinance my home or order the Dish Satellite network so I'm automatically suspicious. It can be noted here that if my family was willing to replace the perfectly working 4 phone bases in my house and purchase a better, pricier, fancier brand, I don't know, let's take a stab in the dark here, but maybe an "AT&T" model, my caller ID would be fully restored to its original magnificence.

How's that Digital Phone Technology Working out for y'all?:

I recently had a phone conversation that was interrupted by what sounded like the Wright Brothers taking off at Kittyhawk while the Beatles played the Hollywood Bowl in the background. Don't wanna play "Can you hear me now??" on a land line in my home. Having a strong capacity for denial, I'm telling myself that she was on a cellphone and calling me from the Batcave.

Features and Benefits to AT&T Uverse where the threat level is always RED:

AT&T Uverse is nothing if not security conscious. I now have to enter a pin number followed by the pound sign to exit my house or exhale or go potty. After a few days of this, I realized I could shut off this feature if I was patient enough to sit through an intense scolding by the disembodied lady voice about national security and such. I can now pick up my voice mail in my own house, but I sit through a "Welcome to AT&T" followed by a long moment of silence where I am to reflect on how I am leaving my messages vulnerable to Osama Bin Laden before the messages are read.

If you picked up the foreshadowing in the lead of this blog, (thank your 9th grade English Comp. teacher) you can't just enter a quick code. AT&T requires your pin be longer than your left arm including a delicate mix of numbers, letters, capitals and symbols with overtones of hieroglyphics, Cyrillic, and high notes of paprika. Your pin must be at least as complicated as the double helix structure of the DNA strand, but something that you will remember if prompted with the security question: "What is the name of the town of your paternal great great grandfather's birth in the former Yugoslavia, former Croatia, former Bosnia-Herzegovina, former Ottoman Empire? Proper spelling required." Your pin requires its creator to have a memory equal to Rainman's, but if you master this first step, the Wax on, Wax off portion of your training for you Karate Kid buffs, you will be able to control the universe as laid out by AT&T, or at least proceed to "paint the fence":

Tricks you can Turn in the AT&T U-verse if you take enough Gingko to remember your Code:

You will be able to program all four of your TVs to record 9 programs simultaneously in 12 languages including Braille and Furbish. You can do this fancy trick from Belize or Peru or wherever you winter in December providing you can detach yourself from your life-giving remote long enough to actually have a vacation.

You can link your AT&T cellphone and program Zombies and Robots and your Roomba through your cellphone.

You can override security measures of a Brinks truck through your TV remote.

You can order Canadian prescriptions through your digital recording device.

You can remove 67% more of dental plaque from those "hard to reach places."

You can get your children to salivate five minutes before dinner increasing the likelihood that they will eat said dinner.

You can contact at least 6 dead people from history that you've always wanted to have dinner with.

You may even be able to reduce or remove the appearance of unwanted facial and body hair.

One (actual) Good Thing About AT&T Uverse:

My husband tells me the wireless connection is excellent. That, I might add, is a feature I have never used in my own home preferring to work on the computer on top of this antique relic called a "desk" that is conveniently located next to the early technological wonder called "an outlet."

Note to my readers who have remarked on the abundant length of my blogs: If you've read even one of my blogs you know I'm nothing if not a rambler. How long does it take to write these monstrosities?? Long enough to cause third degree burns to mine thighs, mine thighs, if you're ever tempted to actually put your laptop on your actual lap regardless of the quality of your laptop cooling system. That's why God invented the desk (5th day) before he invented the Laptop (6th day, Genesis 3.14, or three years after Peter Gabriel left). I put my laptop on a trivet on my desk and don an asbestos-lined bathrobe when I write, just to be safe. Why do you think the Unabomber used the good old-fashioned five subject college ruled spiral notebook in lieu of the laptop computer for his classic manifesto? When you have a lot to say, you must protect your thighs!! Sometimes doing something just because we can isn't necessarily the best choice. Ask Evil Knieval's chiropractor or anyone who bought a Hummer.

Downside to AT&T; subheading: Come to my Pod and bond with the Zombies:

After about 14 hours of residency in our new AT&T Universe, you become dependant on your TV remote as if it is water or a flush toilet or caffeine. Here is some behavior changes I noted during my transition to AT&T Pod:

1. Receiving 400 options for TV watching eventually makes you feel obligated to attempt to use 400 channels of TV Watching. I have calculated that I will need to live to be 114, leave my house no more than 24 times, never hold down a job requiring more than 12 minutes per week of work, and relocate the toilet and shower to the living room (Which will require better window coverings once we've recouped our costs of replacing 4 perfectly functioning phones, see how we chipped away at that $70 savings?) in order to fully get my money's worth when it comes to TV watching, recording, and pausing of live TV.

2. Repeated exposure to the AT&T logo either visually on the computer and TV or audibly repeated every time I use the phone will eventually make me less of an American citizen and a Wisconsin resident than a Pod zombie in the new AT&T U-verse. My son, immediately addicted to Boomerang and all the Yogi Bear access now asks if he can "watch some AT&T?" As a side note, did any of you remember that Yogi bear was a smoker??? I knew about Batman and Catwoman and their Lucky Strikes, but kind of a strange habit for a bear in a fishing cap who lives in Jellystone and doesn't have thumbs I believe Yogi is even a distant cousin to "Smokey the Bear" who, despite his moniker, was anti-smoking and green back in the dark days of 1950s advertising where Big Tobacco labeled cigarettes as "Native American herbal supplements."

The Flicker of Doubt: Torn between life as we know it and channels dedicated to Serial Killer Entertainment:

After 24 hours on AT&T, I was ready to cancel and go back to the old regular Universe called Earth when I surfed upon the Big Kahuna of entertainment: a channel that features serial killer movies. It was like they programmed a remote directly into my brain trying that one last sales hook. I paused, I recorded, I watched. No matter I've seen and probably own on DVD every good serial killer movie ever made, I fell for it. I was up all night and when I did nod off, I had graphic nightmares that left me terrified and exhausted... It was great. When I detoxed after a marathon of Summer of Sam, Se7en, followed by Silence of the Lambs and a special on Ted Bundy, I realized I needed to detach this monkey off my back and return to the good old days of "52 channels and nothing to watch."

Confidential to AT&T: While I've enjoyed my visit in your U-verse, but even for grossly inflated savings $70 a month, $6.47 when all is said and done, I can't live without my caller ID and my ability to experience bodily functions without a remote or security code. I'm happy to come out of this experience with more substantial draperies and a deep-seeded fear of technology, but I'll be boarding my spaceship and returning to Earth momentarily. If you'd like to have me back, please enter your 92 digit pin, followed by the pound sign. I'm sorry, that pin is not valid. Please enter your 92 digit pin, followed by the pound sign. I'm sorry, that pin is not valid. Please enter your 92 digit pin, followed by the pound sign. I'm sorry, that pin is not valid. Osama?? is that you trying to infiltrate Juj's messages about overdue material from Blockbuster and the Shorewood Library??? I have to sign off now, I see smoke coming out of my laptop.

When it comes to Rudeness, Its not a competition

The other day I had the opportunity to catch a sermon from the mothership, or as you may know it, Oprah Winfrey Show. Even though I am Oprah's target demographic as evidenced by my collection of velour robes, my erratic hormone levels, and the root fusing my buttocks directly to my couch, I usually don't tune into the leader of the free world because although I like her, she's no Arthur, and animated aardvark trumps the Angel Network most days.


Other Reasons not to watch Oprah


Suze Ormon: She can whip your finances into shape, but apparently she can't spell Suzie. This woman is angry and scary and should really budget her use of highlights, foundation and teeth whitening products and any financial advisor that offers a "Financial Smackdown with Suze" should really be performing at the Wisconsin State Fair in a ring of mud, not on her own show on MSNBC.




X-Rated Subject Matter: Plenty of times I've tuned in to see who's on the O with my kids in the room and mine eyes, mine ears, there is a demonstration on how two women kiss while keeping their lip liner in tact, or Valerie Bertinelli is spewing detail about her three-way with Eddie Van Halen and Steve Spielberg and I vow to never stray from Arthur again.

Too frequent guest appearances by Celine Dion: The French Canadian songstress is freakier than playing Ouija in Haunchyville with Janice Dickinson. 'nuff said.

Reasons to Watch Oprah:

Lisa Ling: Hands down, the best freelance reporter with good hair working on television today. What Lisa doesn't know that Oprah probably does, is that she should have her own show so that Oprah stops interrupting her with stories about what happened at Quincy Jones's hot tub last week at yet another Celebrate Oprah bash.



Nate Berkus: Common sense interior design that actually reflects the person living in the home. And, have you seen Nate Berkus? Another talent that needs his own show so Oprah can stop interrupting him with stories of how John Travolta and Tom Cruise stopped by to clean the leaves out of her gutters after Maria Shriver varnished her floors.



Oprah wants us all to wear a good Bra: This is a public service that we can credit the Queen for. However, the right bra is not the Dream Tish that Oprah touts on the show. I was inspired by the Queen and ordered the Dream Tish after this show which was suspiciously on sale with free shipping the day of this broadcast.




What Oprah doesn't tell you is that the Dream Tish arrives in a crate, like a piano, and it is composed of so many wires, ribs, padding and hooks that it would make Quasimodo stand up straight. While the Dream Tish does what a $70 bra should do, like cure curvature of the spine, it hurts. But after dropping seventy dabloons on Tish, I felt I should wear it until it wore out. Guess what? Dream Tish never wears out.



There is so much metal framework and foam insulation to this thing that it also serves as house floorplan C for Habitat for Humanity. Not only does Dream Tish provide support, but its fireproof and older versions might just be lined with asbestos. No shock here, but the Dream Tish is not comfortable for the average woman who is not wearing it to appear gravity defying on national TV in front of 3 billion people. The Dream Tish is more like a straight jacket for your torso. You must psych yourself up to get into it and only keep it on for two hours or so until you need to breathe. Now I know how Polly Pocket feels wrapped in that rubber dress. After about a year of guilt induced Dream Tish wear, I wanted out. I contemplated retrofitting it for a Life Jacket, but the cups are in the wrong place, so I donated mine to the local government of Pisa to see if they can shore up their tower. Don't buy this one.



Dream Tish misstep aside, we all need to be in a worthy bra. We also need to cut our Crystal Gale hair, lose the mullet, stop wearing sweats in public. We should stop buying designer puppies from that cheesy strip mall on 27th Street, drink Green T, tip better, don't marry our first cousins, or, if we married our first cousins we should adopt, stop hoarding trash from the curb to decorate our living room, don't endorse plastic surgery for children, support Tatum O'Neal's sobriety, and worship Maya Angelou. So there are good things to Oprah and that is why she's the Queen.



Oprah's show the other day had the tag line "Are You a Rude Person?," and featured a quiz about some rudeness indicators and a long winded explanation from a Rudeness Expert who was, ironically, French. While Oprah highlighted some common manners missteps like sneaking through the express supermarket lane with more than the alotted items. I'd like to take the Rudeness quiz a step further and ask "Are you This Rude Person?" and see if I can get anyone to 'fess up.

In no Particular Order, Are you This Rude Person?

1. Have you flashed an obscene gesture not once, but twice to Juj's friend Cathy while she was walking with her son?

Cathy, fun size half of "the Krug," was innocently walking with her son on a bike path in Fox Point when an elderly woman flipped her off from a car on Lake Drive. Then, the woman circled the block and flipped her off again to be sure the Krug got the message. I can vouch for the Krug that this was not an earned action, she'd own it if she brought it on. Random rudeness that she's still spewing about today. The Krug wanted it noted that she was also wearing an MS Walkathon T-shirt advertising her goodness when this happened. Fess up.



2. Did you get your drink on at Chuck E. Cheese, Where a Kid can Be a Kid, on or around October of 2006? Did you proceed to heckle the Mouse? At my son's birthday party? In the middle of a Thursday afternoon for Godsakes? If you can't find a legitimate bar sans arcade on the southside of Milwaukee between the hours of 6 a.m. and 2 a.m., you just ain't trying and you probably don't have enough brain cells to waste on alcohol.


3. Do you think the Lifeguards at the Polynesian Water Park in the Dells are synomous with free child care? Did you drop your kids off with no food, no money, no swim diapers, no manners and go to Ho-Chunk for 48 hours? Is there ever a good reason for children to wear goggles and go underwater in the hot tub? Quincy Jones would eject your butt if you tried that at his hot tub, ask Oprah.



4. Are you living on my block and pick up your newspaper every day in a robe that doesn't cover your nether regions? You don't need to fess up, just letting you know you are not invisible and gutchies come in all shapes and sizes--find the right ones for you or at least wait the grade school second bell rings before you come out.



5. Did you invent Apple Holler? Fess up and retire. No one treats Tracey that way, even if she's from Chicago.


6. Are you the girl from the Vitucci's Cocktail Lounge bathroom that I innocently warned had a long train of toilet paper wrapped around her ankle? Hey chickie, the correct reponse is "thanks for telling me," not "Same to you b***h!" That doesn't even make any sense! Fess up, I mean, sober up. Three drink maximum.



7. Are you the freak who I caught drinking straight from a full gallon of milk while driving with 5 kids bouncing around your car? Both hands on the gallon, none on the wheel, foot on the gas?? A gallon is not the approved size for a Milk Chug lady. Curses for being too shocked to get your plate number!! Citizen's arrest on the spot.



8. Are you either one of the Grandmas droppin' F-bombs in the Build-A-Bear queue? (Yes friends, you can rank the Build-A-Bear right next to the East Capitol Drive Walmart on the list of parenting necessary evils.) Lit Grandma's with blue vernacular in an Irish pub at happy hour=funny and eccentric. The same at Build A Bear=not so much. I think I sit in front of your kind every time I attempt to take my kids to the Family Section at Miller park where you must have the highest score possible on a Breathalyzer to get in. Take your George Carlin show down the hall to the Thomas Kincaid gallery where no one under 75 shops.



Thanks Oprah for inspiring me to wear a better bra and personally call out rudeness that has crossed my path.

Didn't you used to be chunky and weird?

Some Things Never Change

So after a good year of anticipation and planning, the reunion party went off without a hitch. Everyone seemed to be well buzzed and enjoying themselves and more importantly, no one got hurt until after I left. I'll hold back some of the details to protect the innocent, but here are Eleven Generic Tips (or Ten Tips and one Poke in the Eye)that I think everyone can enjoy at their own class reunion.

Tip 1: If you are going to greet people with an exuberant "Didn't you used to be chunky and weird with crazy hair?" Make sure they have a good sense of humor. By the way, this wasn't directed at me (thought I can see why you jumped to that conclusion.) But I did hear about it, she was smiling and you are forgiven.

Tip 2: When returning photos of a classmate's shall we say, frank and beans, please do not mix them in with your current photos of your lovely family around the Christmas tree. This can be shocking to friends innocently flipping through your pics, but it will show who's really paying attention. Mine eyes, mine eyes. Even your casual "Oh, that's Bob (not his real name-or is it?) I was going to give it back to him tonight. I don't need it anymore."

Tip 3: If you were not able to pull off the last fake occupation I gave you at the 15 year reunion, come up with some suggestions of things you might be able to fake. I guess this tip is just directed at Mr. Most Absent. Let's just say at the 15 we got a little creative for him 'cause he needed a bump. And maybe a bump from Most Absent to midwife was a bit of a reach. Most Absent dropped the ball and told people he learned his trade on-line. Yes Russell, its possible, you just won't have any clients. Now you come to me with "Juj, they're not buyin' it, gotta give me something better." Well your bratwurst shaped fingers eliminate concert pianist and the fact that I'm craning my neck to talk to you eliminates jockey. I'm trying to work with you here, but you seem to not fit into any of my exotic ideal fake jobs. I'm already pulling off beekeeper and there cannot be two of us at the same party or they will suspect, buzzed as they are, that we are in cahoots. Next time, email me ahead of time and I'll punch up both your resume and your class bio for a small fee.

Tip 4/Poke in the Eye: Someone told me she is waiting to read my reunion book bio information until she has to do "a number 2." This is not really a tip, but more of a poke in the eye, to said classmate and she knows who she is.

Tip 5: If you won the genetic lottery and entered this world as a twin, please know that if you don't show to either night of the two night event, Juj is entitled to share all of her fun memories of you with your brother and he is obligated to laugh and reminisce right back. Apparently you didn't hear about my shared DNA profile drink special? The Gordons and the Heindels showed up for it. Funny aside here, one twin read the class list name by name to his brother asking after each name if he should say hi from the planned to be absent twin (that's a good 285 names for those of you who follow me, but probably done all by twinspeak ESPn--Dooleys are not only psychic, but huge sports nuts). Fortunately, I got a "yes, say hi to her," not so much for the friend who tried to smoke in his dorm room. Didn't you know Dooley's were anti smoking before it was green and en vogue to shun the nic?

Tip 6: Lesson for the boys: ok, just to Mr. Most Attractive: This is your 20th reunion and if you danced to "Baby Got Back" back in the day, you can alter that to "Baby Got Spanx" if your graduating class has entered the child bearing decades. And when your Miss Most Obnoxious classmate, Toe, ends up on her back on the dance floor with her skirt over her head as will invariably be the case at any social occasion, pointing and exclaiming in a voice more innocent that my seven year old's "Hey, she's wearing bike shorts!!" will get you a spot on the blog. Yeah baby, we are all wearing bike shorts! Why do you think it takes us twice as long in the bathroom?

Note in defense of my good friend Toe: Lying on the dance floor with skirt over head is just the latest in a long series of moves by Toe to prove that yes, she is a girl. Her early emotional scars date back to middle school when attending free skate at the Skate University (not an Ivy League feeder). When she arrived in her standard issue brown Toughskins and Terry Bradshaw jersey some chick asked her to couple up for Moonlight Couples!! I'm a girl!! I'm a girl!! she shrieked, and she is still trying to prove that simple fact today.

Tip 7: Asking Why didn't you guys do karaoke? = offering to host the 25.

Tip 8: If you win a goody bag, plan to have an oxygen tank on hand. Lord knows the excitement of a hello Kitty notebook and a bootleg of the Karate Kid can send your heart soaring. Heart soaring, yes, hyperventilating and shrieking, a little scary.

Tip 9: If you receive an email that your hosting committee would really like a current photo to post on the class website, don't take this opportunity to send an embarrassing one with no instructions, see that it got posted, then send a "Whoa Girl, that was just for you," email. I fixed it, we're still friends, but really, your sex tape is totally safe with me. Thanks for letting me be the toilet paper on your shoe at your 20th reunion.

Note to class of '88: Meredith is a serious, smart, accomplished, cultured, mostly sober and brimming with self control classmate regardless of what thousand words that picture spoke. My bad. I wish I could have posted said photo here, but she just started taking my calls again and I don't want to risk it.

Tip 10: Some of you may be tempted to show your love for a fellow same-sex classmate by humping and groping him on the dance floor. Be sure to move slowly enough so we can get better footage for the class website. What we have now looks a little Blair Witch rather than Ron Jeremy. We'll have to use it, but please let's work together at the 25 so we can preserve these precious moments.

Tip 11: Most of your fellow classmates have aged a bit and right after common sense, hearing is the next casualty. Embarrassing misunderstandings can happen.

Note to M.M.: I thought you said you were "living in a U-Haul." All I could think about was your new 4 month old daughter and your bagpipe playin' spouse in the echo chamber of despair. (Let's flag that bagpipe thing for Mr. Most Absent for next time) So when I passed the plate for you, it was out of concern. Fortunately someone clarified "living on Newhall" which is a little different animal. Sorry. Donations were redirected to Lani's bail.

Note to grade school chum: Lani: some things never change and since grade school I've been telling people to start every sentence to you with "I bet you won't..." and you never disappoint. Fountain diving on the first night, traffic cone abduction on night two? You still rock and roll girlfriend!! Afterbar and all, last one standing. No wonder my mom never wanted me to play at your house! I feel so predictable and in control sitting next to you. You never let us down.

Note to Divina: Hosting an afterbar with Lani and her traffic cone dangling over the railing of your high rise while serving tasty, mostly clean, treats and beverages? Nothing you can't handle. Your military background has served you well. Miss Friendliest and Miss Most Memorable in a nutshell.

To the committee: Thanks for everything you put into this event. I could have done at least 3 more nights with our peeps from '88 provided we could vote someone off each night. Although after common sense and hearing, I guess the voice goes next. Took me 4 days to get back enough croak to call some of you and laugh ourselves silly all over again. Does this mean we're not 25 anymore?

Happy Election Shopping to you and yours

Disclaimer about political propaganda: Juj's blog is apolitical and slotted to give equal print space to representatives from both campaigns regardless of how unattractive they are in High Definition TV or how irritating they are to me personally. If you want to know who I'm backing in this election, you won't find it here, but rather, I'd recommend you drive by my Obama '08 jack O'lantern.

In these tough economic times, and I know they are tough 'cause my crack financial advisor and neighbor, Karen, keeps me posted on the nation's financial house of cards anchored in quicksand, we must look around for the VanGogh under the velvet Elvis.

But before I delve into treasure hunting with Juj, let's get back to Karen. Karen is a financial whiz who could stuff and fluff Oprah's Suze Ormon in her dryer. And believe it or not, Karen doesn't have her own show on MSNBC. Think of her as the hybrid of Warren Buffet and Chicken Little: The markets are crashing, the markets are crashing.

Recently she advised me to rathole a few thousand dollars in my house. Although ratholing sounds like fun, I'm reluctant to learn a new mom-craft right now 'cause I have no money. If I had a few thousand dollars, I think I would probably spend it at the Dollar Store and come home with, well, thousands of things I don't need. This is why I look to Karen for advice on financial and other matters.

Hybrid of Warren Buffett and Chicken Little with Highnotes of Bob Villa:

Subheading: Other Things Karen Knows

Karen spent a few years as a stay at home mom, like me, but unlike me, she can't pine away an afternoon reading Vanity Fair while the kiddies study the Wonderpets. I'd be outside on the porch with my Mojito reading People Magazine and before I finish the page where you have to find 6 things different about the almost same picture,(always check the jewelry and belts) Karen has mudjacked her basement. And I don't even know what that means, but its not when someone steals all your mud at gunpoint--I already asked. And before I know if Dominic Dunne thinks Phil Spector is guilty,(he does), Karen has stripped and refinished all the wood trim in her home. Before I see if Paula Abdul can sit Straight Up without fidgeting on American Idol (she can't) Karen has replaced all of her windows. By the time I get to the reveal on Trading Spaces,(they hated it), Karen has power washed her house and half of mine. So compared to Karen, I'm a sloth, but in addition to being industrious she's kind of quirky too.

Karen can do a spot on Grandma Walton impersonation from the first episode of The Waltons: The Homecoming. In fact, she channels Grandma Walton frequently at book club. Yes, we're in a book club together, but while Karen is a reader, she is too busy rat holing gold bricks to get into any fiction, so she provides the entertainment portion of the evening in character of Grandma Walton.

Yes, Karen is a gold mine of talent and skills and entertaining to boot. Smack down that! Suze Ormon. Karen can also make the rest of us feel like the Three Little Pigs, playing all the day away while Rome burns. She will make you feel like the time allotted for your annual Pap exam was frivolous and ill spent.

One Thing Karen was Way Wrong About:

She let go of my 5 month old daughter because she thought she could walk. Yeah, Karen dropped my baby, but only 'cause she thought she was freakishly advanced so I let it go.

Now, to Ebay, a veritable Bomb Shelter of Financial Security:

One of the financial advantages to Eblogging is that it keeps me off of Ebay. In fact, that is pretty much the only financial advantage of Eblogging. Sometimes, I miss Ebay, the warm welcome "Hello Shopwood70, how's it going?" The pleasant and loving reminders that my watched items are ending soon, the thoughtful suggestions of what I might be interested in. Yes, Ebay fills a void left by my childhood imaginary friend, Jumpy, who disappeared shortly after I packed up for college. Ebay is always awake and up for shopping and rummaging happy for me when I've won an auction. Ebay is sad for me when I've been outbid. And Ebay wants to know what I think about each and every transaction I've ever made on his site. I've been known to cancel social opportunities and shirk parenting duties because a watched item was about to close. But trying to exercise some spending restraint, I've let go some good ones:

The Ones that Got Away:

• The rabbit's foot blessed by a druid for the low low starting bid of $9.99 and free ship (Where do you even find a druid, much less get him to bless your rabbit's foot for the low low price of $9.99?) In fact, Ebay has an extensive collection of this type of jewelry under heading "Druid Wiccan Pagan Wicca Jewelry."




• The Haunted and Active Kirsten American Girl Doll (worth at least 15% more than a new boxed doll directly from the American Girl Store because she's possessed) Check back under category "Psychic, Paranormal, Toys and Dolls."




• A Phone Psychic reading by "Bob" for $9.99 and free ship (Bob prefers to be verbally abused and humiliated and apparently couldn't find a job at Chuck E. Cheese) This was a one time listing, I'm sorry I didn't make a bid and I have no idea under what category Bob is stored.

I suspect that Karen's financial smarts have caused her to avoid a relationship with Ebay. But even though I know my Ebay affair is co-dependant and wrong, I couldn't help but be intrigued by this little find: Sarah Palin Cabbage Patch Doll, a collector's item. The Whistler's Motherload of an Election Year Bargain.

Yes, there is a genuine Cabbage Patch Biden, Obama, and McCain doll to go with Sarah, but Sarah's pulling in at least three times what the boys are. At the time of this posting, Sarah's raking in $9,600. Obama is a distant second with $4,800. Joe Biden was a paltry $800 and I think that was mostly because his kids pooled their allowance. In fact, I think you could say that in this capacity, Sarah is maxing out her potential in regards to stimulating the economy and we'd be crazy to think she could do any better.

Yes, $9,600 is the top bid. One lucky bidder among 88 will take Sarah home tomorrow when the auction closes. And if that person is into saving his pennies, he will enjoy FREE SHIPPING on this item.

The days when people sunk $9,600 into, say, a bank, real estate, or a stock portfolio, have passed, but its good to know that we have at least 88 creative financial minds out there willing to take a risk and sink the wad in a Political Cabbage Patch doll.

I'm guessing Karen is probably not one of the 88 bidders vying for a spoon session with Sarah P. (There is a warning that her American Flag pin may pose a choking hazard to children under 3 so I guess Sarah's not much of a snuggler anyway) No, Karen is probably onto something more secure with that ratholing idea. Though I may not have a few thousand dollars lying around to rathole, this is one class of 88 that I'm happy to know I'm not a part of. But I'll post the winning bid here soon.

Disclaimer #1: All proceeds from the political Cabbage Patch dolls will go to Toys for Tots so its not like you're throwing your portfolio down the sewer. Your foolishness will make lots of small children happy at Christmas so bid away, bid away.

Disclaimer #2: I fully expect the Ebay Police to come after me for posting this auction on my blog. Let's just say it wouldn't be the first time I've been pulled over and ticketed by the Ebay Police. I've learned my lesson about auctioning Marlboro Indy Car racing memorabilia. And that lesson is the little guy is but a fly dancing on dog poop to Big Tobacco and they'll squash your tiny Ebay auction with a tobacco farmer's sh**-kicking boots faster than you can say "Increase my Max Bid Please." Think the suits at Marlboro won't stomp all over your legal and fair auction if they think anyone is making fifty cents on their name without cutting them a quarter? My paranoid roots tell me that Big Tobacco makes the Russian Mob look like a bunch of vodka swillin' lollipop lickin' Oompa Loompas when it comes to threats and intimidation. So here's my chance to stick it to the nasty folks at Marlboro: Readers, Quit smoking. Yesterday. And don't forget to vote!!

I had a farm in Haunchyville....

Now that Halloween is upon us, I will take this opportunity to enlighten both of my readers on one of the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups of Parenting: Children and the Occult.

I've spent much of my life drawn to things that are spooky and weird--like Janice Dickinson's reality show. (I think her most recent face, is probably the best one yet if by "best" you mean "frightful," and also graded like a mini golf green or the Whitefish Bay Sendiks parking lot) But how often do you stop and notice the presence of the occult in our children's every day lives? Here are Five of my favorite otherworldly children's activities, please feel free to chime in with your family occult traditions as well.

Ouija***** (that's a five star or five asterisk rating with Eblogger's limited symbol options)

We'll start with the Big Kahuna of board games, that which combines the genuine plastic reader to interpret messages from the Mystifying Oracle. Of course, the Ouija board. If you attended a sleepover at any given point during the 1970s or 1980s, you know that Ouija board is ten giant scary steps up from "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board," when it comes to contacting the dead or finding out if you're going to marry Shawn Cassidy. Marketing genius William Fuld holds the patent on the Message Indicator and the Talking Board design. He wants you to be aware of that fact so much that he slapped that enforceable Patent notification on the face of the game board not once, but twice. Not only did Fuld combine children's natural curiosity with witchcraft and neatly packaged it into a board game, but he spent the duration of his career shutting down hawkers of imitation inferior "talking boards" until Ouija was the Ma Bell of communicating with the dead.

Genuine American Made in Taiwan Magic 8 Ball **** (four stars)

The Magic 8 ball has not lost its charms as it can be found today on the top shelf of Winkie's. Kids never tire from being told Reply Hazy, Try Again as we all know there is a teeny tiny smidge of a shaman inside the black water Magic 8.

Upon receiving his first Magic 8 Ball, my son tore open the package, vigorously shook it while pleading: Is God For Real??? (Answer was Better Not Tell You Now, another lost sheep looking for someone with a clue.)I guess our family occult night combined with the strict observance of the public schools not to acknowledge any religious holidays except for a heavy dose of Halloween tempered with the same public school exposure to all the major religions in a non denominational way has confused the boy a tad. Basically any mention of Church or God is usually followed by a panicky reply of "Do I have to wear a shirt with buttons?" In spite of that, he insists that "he likes Jesus, he just doesn't like to wear nice pants," and we accept his spiritual limitations because all the photographs I've seen of Jesus, he didn't wear nice pants or a button shirt either. Church rules don't always get you closer to God, just ask Jerry Falwell if he's feeling a little warm about now.

Edible Occult***(three stars)


Fortune Cookies: How freaky is it that so many of us are living a long and happy life and that we absolutely should "learn Chinese," in a nation becoming increasingly dependant on the Chinese takeout? Nothing gets my kids throwing down as the award of one of the two fortune cookies that come with our East Garden take out.


No Photo available 'cause offspring ate them all while I was looking for the camera.

Note to East Garden: We have three children and since China Palace closed, you receive 100% of our Chinese takeout business. Maybe you can kick an extra cookie in the bag so we can put a stop to the Tuesday night bloodshed in our home. Also, stop skimping on the rice, but that's another blog.

Speaking of Chinese, Note re: blatant copyright infringement as it relates to Ouija boards and Magic 8 Balls: The Chinese versions of these games are similar in size and design, but have small clues that they are ripoffs of the real thing. For instance, the juice in the Chinese made Magic 8 is actually toxic mercury and the first reading the ball will give you is: "This ball is bound to leak Toxic Mercury all over you." The second reading is "Seriously kid, you'll need a skin graft." Don't believe me? Let's ask the Ball:

Q:Will The Chinese Rip Off Magic 8 give me third degree burns?:
A: Without a Doubt

The Chinese version of "Ouija...it's only a game--isn't it?," boasts a board and genuine plastic message indicator, but it has not been endorsed by the Mystifying Oracle like the genuine Parker Brother's (not really brothers) brand. William Fuld's iron fist didn't reach to the Far East. Therefore your board will not be able to answer sample questions like: Will I ever be tall enough to slam dunk? and Does Tommy know I like him? Who told him? Will my parents let me go to the concert? What should I wear? Instead, your Chinese-made set will just have the plastic message indicator spinning into infinity. BTW, the Chinese also invented Infinity, but only to distract the rest of us from severe copyright infringement that is their stock and trade. Always look for the genuine American Made in Taiwan seal that shows your occult games are for real.

Occult in the cards** (two stars)

Indian: If you have small children and you haven't played Indian, you are missing out on one of life's greatest adventures. For those of you who are too politically correct to play a game so uncomfortably named, each player is dealt one card face down. Each player then holds the card to his forehead so that his opponents can see the face, but he can't. It is helpful to use duct tape if your opponents are really young or if they have greasy foreheads from eating a lot of Chinese food. Then, based on what you observe from your opponents, you are supposed to bet if you think your card is higher than theirs.

Seems straightforward, but here is where the occult comes in. You have to read the mind of your opponents in order to know if you have a high or low card. Comments like "Oh, I know I beat Daddy 'cause he's got a two," may lead you to an educated guess, but really, Patricia Arquette has the edge in this game. Don't rely solely on questions from your kids like "Mommy is your Queen higher than Sophie's ten?" They won't always be this naive. If you expect to win at Indian, you must clear your head, focus and try to read the minds of your opponents. Or, you can sit across from a window or a mirror and steal a peak at your card, but be discreet, that only works for a couple of years before they get wise.

Sentimental Occult Shout out to My West Allis Peeps--All Star Occult:

Haunchyville: Ahhh, these blogs will often ramble back to my youth in the bustling village called West Allis. It is common knowledge that kids from Muskego enticed us West Allis-ites out to their cornfields to visit what was known as "Haunchyville," a haunted cornfield populated with possessed gnomes or gremlins if you will, out for West Allis blood. Now, you might think that if we were old enough to drive, we were old enough to know better, but no, we went, hoping to catch a glimpse of a haunted little cornfed sprite running through the crops with a sickle. A few times we did get the B'Jesus scared out of us and a few classmates were known to have spotted one (little person, not a B'Jesus). More than one classmate spotted rows of shorty mailboxes as you can be possessed but well informed if you subscribe to the right literature.

As I mature, I often wonder if Muskegoans were mostly messin' with us in a desperate attempt to feel superior to our Ivy League feeder status but I can't discount the strong otherworldly vibe we all felt in the corn. I started to get suspicious when on one of our jaunts out to Haunchyville, we stopped at a service station and asked for directions. To Haunchyville. With a straight face. The counter dude smiled and said "are you kids from West Allis?" but happily pointed us in the right direction.

Haunchy Watching with My Kids:

Class of '88 quotes on Haunchyville:

Divina (Friendliest and Most memorable): "There was always talk (about Haunchyville) but I tended to back away from those conversations because I'm close to being a haunchytype: short and freaky in stature/nature. That is me."

Jill (Best Driver): "I sooooo remember driving out there several times with a carload of us, but can't for the life of me figure out where it is. I do remember trying to "back in" in case we needed a fast get away, but the cornstalks on both sides of the car made it too hard to see."

Curses being en vogue city folk unfamiliar with the height of September corn!! But check out that driving acumen. That was a well earned honor.

Toe (I'm a Girl and Most Obnoxious): "I remember a Children of the Corn feeling when we drove there. I think the vertically challenged people could have made it through the bondo on my Maverick."

Note to readers who didn't grow up to the sounds of Toe's mufflerless Maverick cruisin' the strip: Toe's Mav had no floor ala the Flintstones but if you wanted to add the thrill of motion sickness to your donuts in the school parking lot, no better ride to be had.

Jimmy B. (1/5 of German Five Five aka Deutsche Funf Funf): No official English comment from Jimmy, but during business hours, Jimmy located Haunchyville on a map and gave me the cross streets of Mystic Drive (oooohhhh, creepy) and Janesville Road. I'm going to speak in code to Jimmy B now: Guten Tag, Herr Breitenfeld. Danke und Guten Arbeit mein Freund. Wie geht's Fortunatus, die Haunchy auf Deutschland, auf Schwarzwald? Auf Wiedersehen und Gesundheit.

Heather (Best Musician): I think I had viola practice when you guys were at Haunchyville. (Say it with me: Poor Heather!!)

Meredith (inappropriate pic on reunion website): "What do you mean you can't say midgets anymore?" and: "I definitely remember the "Children of the Corn" feeling, but never actually observed threatening little people to my recollection, but there were some squat mailboxes in the shadows of the corn. Even the petite need their Vanity Fair."

Micki (FL Wright's answer to Coco Chanel and 1/5 of German Five Five): "I remember a bunch of us psyching ourselves out thinking we wouldn't live to see another day if a Haunchy saw us in the corn. I remember small mailboxes too. To this day, I have not seen a Haunchy but would love to meet one for a latte."

Oh Mick, how high falutin' of you to offer a growth stunting beverage to a Haunchy.

One stray quote from the Class of '85, but its my sister Anja and you guys all love her stuff: "I never heard of Haunchyville. But one time a bunch of us went to the airport to see Gilligan come into town. That was before airport security was so strict so we went right to Gilligan's gate."

Note to class of '85: You guys were kind of a snooze, wholesome and sweet to be sure, but zzzzz...

see Journal Sentinel Travel Reporter Dennis McCann report on the true story of Haunchyville at http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=267593

Johnny Appleseed plants a Patent Search

The list of parenting necessary evils runs long and deep. It starts when they hand you your little seven pound bundle of love at the hospital garnish him off with a booger suction bulb. Shortly after, that angel from heaven will vomit and poop with enough frequency and force to inspire you to wear a SeaWorld poncho around the house. And that is just when they're healthy. Then, they get infections and pox viruses and plantar warts and stuff that would send you running were it not for the miracle that is the parent child bond.

That parent child bond will take you places the childless never have to go: Waterparks, the Capitol Drive Walmart, Disneyland, the Chase Avenue Chuck E Cheese's, the elementary school's Caf-a-Gym-a-Torium. Another such destination is the Preschool Apple Orchard Field trip. This one was really a head scratcher for me. But ever since I helped with the school's lice check, everything is a head scratcher for me. I swear I think you can contract lice just by thinking about it. After the Apple Orchard field trip with my 3 years old's preschool class, I had to wonder, for a three year old, what is the educational value of projecting the Johnny Appleseed movie onto the lifeless face of a mannequin in a dark barn?



"Johnny" is a half mannequin, half scarecrow. No face, just a blank white head topped off with a tin pot. Turn on the projector and Johnny comes alive "Hey there little lady, little man, wanna learn somethin' about the importance of apple to the first Colonists?" The actor portraying Johnny is an extra from Deliverance who was fortunate to stumble on this royalty goldmine, the educational film.

Now, I'm no child development expert and I'm sure there are some redeeming qualities of delivering educational information from a disembodied source. To be fair, "Johnny" spoke of many things that the general public might not know about apples and their uses: in fact, as he babbled on and on about the status of the Apple in Colonial Times: apple cobbler, apple pie, hot cider, cold cider, apple bread, apple muffin, I was struck not only by the similarities to the Bubba character from Forest Gump (shrimp soup, shrimp cocktail, shrimp kebobs), but how well, possessed Johnny seemed projected in this manner.

The median age of the audience is 3. They react to this seance in many different ways including Threat level Yellow:"Look mommy, the scarecrow man is talking,"
to threat level Orange: "mommy, that dead man isn't dead,"
to threat level Red: Lots of shrieking, crying, pants-wetting, maybe should have brought the poncho.

My own kid, third of three, has been toughened considerably by having two older sibs and even she was cautious "Mommy I don't like that scary dude." But she couldn't take her eyes off of him, which brings me to my next great invention: Mannequin Mommy or the "MommyQuin".

A Patent Search is Born

MommyQuin is basically a movie of me droning on incessantly and projecting it onto the head of a faceless mannequin wearing my clothes. Think of how much I'll save on babysitters! My kids won't be sure whether its me or a movie. They'll be too terrified to move for several hours, but the audio message is calming and soothing and possibly educational which covers my butt with Social Services.

You can project videos of yourself explaining fifth grade fuzzy math which might send the kids to dreamland, but frightens a lot of parents that I know. I think I just found the upgrade to the teddy bear wazoo camera. To keep the kiddies guessing, you sell a mannequin complete with several of your mommy looks: there is of course, the Sea World Poncho, the regular genuine fake velour Bathrobe, the cropped sweats and T shirt, whatever the kids are used to seeing you around the house in. If you're a mommy whose dripping in diamonds and drowning in Prada, we can customize a look for you, but it will cost ya extra.

Kids are so used to high tech audio visual equipment, I'm certain they will be stumped by the old fashioned projector style. Even the smart ones will be wondering what the heck is up.

I asked my 11 year old if she remembered the Apple Orchard trip from her K4 days. Seven years ago, I had a new baby at home and couldn't attend the trip with her, but the chaperones assured me that yes, she cried uncontrollably the whole time. At the time I was flummoxed by her reaction to just picking apples in an orchard, now that I've met Johnny Appleseed, I finally understand what sent my first born into a tizzy. A dark cloud crossed her sweet face and she said:

"Oh yeah, I didn't like that trip 'cause there was a scary dead guy in the barn."

MommyQuin: Patent Pending.

I'm so Green I'm Yellow

Not All Green is Good Green

Most of you, like me, have made some adjustments to your spoiled, self-indulgent lifestyles as you realize our economy is increasingly dependent on foreign bikes. Some of my articles may be on the frivolous side and a gi-normous waste of your free time, but others, like this one, will create a forum for educating/co-miserating on how foreign oil has caused us to cut back on things like toilet papering and flattering lighting and such.

Today, I'm going to focus on one sacrifice I almost made.

Last week while comparison vodka shopping, I found myself at the Whitefish Bay Sendiks. Now, although this article is a bit of a palette cleanser on the drama of my class reunion, I was purchasing vodka in preparation for the big weekend with these delinquents. I haven't bought vodka for myself since at least 2 kids ago and some things have changed in the vodka industry that has historically been dependent on foreign potato growth.

For those of you who have not had the opportunity to visit the Whitefish Bay Sendiks, let me fill you in on what you may have missed. The Whitefish Bay Sendiks is the epitome of high falutin' and en vogue consumable products that are not only ridiculously overpriced, but observant of our greenability and these products usually taste pretty damn good.

That being said, drawbacks to the Whitefish Bay Sendiks include, but are not limited to, the fact that their parking lot is only slightly more dangerous than Kuwait with 1/3 of drivers being tiny, elfin-like elderly people in large Cadillacs abruptly pulling in and out of spaces with no warning and no feet near a braking mechanism. A second 1/3 of drivers being tiny, elfin like au pairs to wealthy families who didn't request a "driver" 'cause they live in a "walkable community" and thus received a nanny who got her license in Peru where everyone completes a mandatory 13 hours of steering a mountain goat before being rewarded a driver's license. Then, as the epitome of the American dream, she comes to this country and finds herself behind the wheel of a Hummer in the WF Bay parking lot. The remaining 1/3 of drivers are moms in minivans who are undercaffeinated. Also, the parking lot has been graded much like a mini golf green with lots of hilly landscape and if you let go of your cart to say, put your baby in your car, your groceries go careening into traffic faster than you can say "crunchy granola."

Additional drawbacks to the Whitefish Bay Sendiks include wide shopping carts and cramped check out lanes. At first, I would struggle to wiggle on through feeling fat and bloated when I realized, "it's not my hips its the damn cart that doesn't fit." Also, the Whitefish Bay Sendiks, while located in the heart of greenation, offers a plastic bag that is thicker and nicer than most people's luggage. I feel guilty about choosing the plastic because it is "too nice for dog poop," and usually ends up stowed away in my basement, waiting until I have a spare moment to hot glue gun a zipper closure on them, so that our next overseas holiday will be complete with a set of coordinated luggage. I know, I should keep them in the car and reuse the bags for repeat shopping at the Mecca that is the Bay Sendiks, but anything stored in my car quickly becomes contaminated with dog hair and Goldfish crumbs and the idea of putting perfectly clean groceries in them is just groady so I don't.

So stepping back to the liquor department at the WFB Sendik's, I'm perusing the vodka section knowing neither what brand is en vogue or when vodka bottles became so pretty when I notice a brand, sold in a giant cardboard box that boasts "The World's First Eco-Friendly Gift Set." And I couldn't help but be intrigued: What qualities make vodka eco-friendly and damn, my Christmas shopping stops here?

What made this 360 brand a better choice for the Greenable was apparently the giant cardboard box that it was packaged in and the fact that it contained a fluorescent type light bulb and a giant book of tips on making sure your grass remains greener than your neighbor's. All in one handy "gift set" that will be flying off the shelves like this year's answer to Tickle me Elmo and PlayStation 3 of yesteryears.

Now, I don't know about your people, but mine are of Mediterranean descent and have been known to enjoy their vodka in copious amounts, under incandescent lighting. My vodka roots go back to my childhood when my Uncle George schooled me on the proper proportions of vodka to water (two fingers tall of vodka to one of water, but wait, you're a child, better use four of your fingers of vodka to one water) Now, it must be noted here that if you are a group of "adults" at a poker game in the mid to late 60's and you delegate the cocktail mixing to your children, don't be surprised when you see that the toilet bowl is empty because your bartender is too short to reach the faucet--yeah, leave the vodka in her reach, but hide the water. Kudos to cousin Holly: you've got your own hall of fame in the annals of family lore. Also, it might be helpful to tip the bartender or at least spring for a step stool. But now it is 2008 and as we know better, we do better so back to eco-friendly rail drinks.

All the vodka exposure of my youth and almost none of it occurred under a fluorescent bulb. As I said, we are a Mediterranean folk with lovely olive skin. Put us under a fluorescent bulb with an open bottle of vodka and you might as well slap some yellow turtlenecks on us and start passing around the malaria vaccine.

What has this world come to when you can't even drink pretty bottle vodka under good lighting without a twinge of guilt?

I must say I debated with myself.

Note to self: Start wearing cell phone ear thingy in public so people stop looking at you funky during your self debates. On that note, the next time you think someone next to you in a public toilet is saying hello, she is probably talking on the phone. On the potty. How low falutin'.

I was frozen to that particular aisle for a long time pondering if my friends would judge me for the less environmentally but prettier vodka purchase. Decided no, the bulk of these folks live in Brookfield where they haven't heard of global warming and the effects on vodka yet. So I purchased a prettier, but smaller bottle of regular kind of vodka and hoped that people might drink it by candlelight to spare all of the world a bit of green where we don't need it.