Server Switch

Esteemed The Readers:  Morning Works Media is undergoing a server switch and major re-design, which should be done by this weekend.  When the awesome awesomeness is done, I’ll be better equipped to discuss standing in a -20 degree hotel lobby wearing approximately two feet of fabric.

Speaking of awesome awesomeness, in honor of my new day jobiness and perhaps in fear that I will ball up and cry even more than is legally necessary, Amy T The Reader has bestowed upon me bling.  The bling arrived this week in a tin, as all good bling should, and she made it herself, and it’s precisely eleventy billion times better than anything I could make with a foot of wire and a barrel clasp.  Go see her bling for your own self.

coding at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

Glamor

Excitement!  Adventure!  Cardboard fences!

If you’re wondering what it’s like to attend a Presidential Inaugural Ball, here’s the answer:  Really f’ing crowded.  There were seven thousand people at the Illinois State Society to-do this weekend.  Lines in the bathroom.  Lines at the bar.  Lines to gather up free plastic crap.  More on all this later.

And what happens before The Glamor?  The cardboard fences:

Every room at the Ball had its own theme, and ours was the Country Saloon, because when you think “Illinois,” you think naught but wild, wild West, with tumbleweeds and cacti choking the dusty streets of East Joliet.

in pieces at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

…Something Going On Today?

This is the first Inauguration I have ever missed.  I’m kind of hazy on my first one, which was in January 1977; as my parents were then in the process of taking me home from the hospital at the age of five days, complete with my three-year-old sister in tow, I’m fairly sure that Thing One on their priority list wasn’t an insta-civics lesson.

This time, I slept right through the oath, the speech, the benediction and the parade.  When you’ve been awake for 22.5 of the previous 24 hours, this tends to happen.

More, including incriminating pictures, later.

harnessing the sun at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

Gracias

…ain’t just a town in Honduras.  I hereby offer many thanks to a long-time The Reader, Red Pill Junkie, veteran commentor, recent bartender tipper, and perhaps most importantly, Blonde Champagne’s official advisor on Mexican drinking toasts.  Many thanks, old friend.

Paring Down

Kind and faithful The Readers such as yourselves may have noticed that Orbital Velocity is no longer with us, and, as of today, Along The Rails goes too.  For quitting is the wages of The Pending Horrible Day Job.

This sucks, of course.  But the heart of Freelance Switch articles will go on, as will The Side Dish.  I’ll also pick up my contributions to Catholic.com and JamsBio.  Otherwise, we’ll all get to behold the joy of watching me teach as many as four classes simultaneously while day jobbing it– in other words, totally inviting the breakdown we’ve all been expecting since Days of Yore.

I suggest that you make  popcorn.

further bracing at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Ready, Set, Blow!

Three hours to go in my birthday and I’m crouching warily, awaiting the usual karma collapse.

The terror, of course, is that I’m typing too soon. So far I’ve collected a glass of sparkling wine, several cards, a handful of Facebook hellos, and a serenade from my godchild (his version of “Happy Birthday” ended one line too early, but his pitch was smack-on, which is more than I can say for many and many people currently making a living from such a thing.)

I do not understand why Christ, with all of eternity at His disposal, decided to join human history as a Capricorn. I mean, at least He made off with some swag, but the Magi totally did the birthday-Christmas present combo, and I wouldn’t have been too thrilled if I were Him, gold or no.

Part of the frustration is that Capricorn weather greatly reduces celebration options. Josh The Pilot and Jeremiah The Brother-In-Law mark their birthday in June. You know what we did? We cashed in time share presentation tickets for a trip to Busch Gardens. You know what I did today? Loaded the dishwasher and taught my night class.

This afternoon I was carded (POINTS ON!) but the waitress, upon glancing at the date of birth, failed to wish me many happy returns (POINTS OFF.) But since in recent years I’ve also garnered a speeding ticket, various viruses, and a boyfriend dumpation, I’ll take it.

I’ll also take this,this or this, but Friendboy Andy, who perhaps knows that I call my mother every year on January 15 to say “Thank you for pushing!”, prefers this:

the students sang too, but totally didn’t know what to say after the “dear” part, and it was awesome at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Birthday Karma UPDATE: Past midnight and all’s well, with nothing more than a higher than usual incidence of hitting red lights to show for it. Taking this, too, and running.

Accessorized

Because you are excellent The Readers, good and true, I am going to show you my shoes.

These are my big-girl fancy dress sparkle shoes, and they were under the Christmas tree, because my husband is awesome.  He did not pick them out all by himself.  He watched me pick them out, then put them back on the shelf because, well, I have a pair of sneakers and a pair of navy pumps and a pair of black pumps and really, I tend to snap nice things right in half.

But Josh The Pilot remembered the store where I found them, and the style name, and the size.  I have never owned something so utterly frivolous and unusable for a freelance writer who, when she isn’t hunching into her nightshirt at two in the afternoon, is behind a podium at a college where the interviewer told her that her knee-length skirt was too short for class.

There are rhinestones on the buckle, too.

seven and a half at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Smiley Face

Today I did some purse shopping at the cozy little boutique down the road, Le Mart de Wal.  In yet another shocking life twist, the purse I’d previously purchased off television became, over the space of a few weeks, a pile of ripped netting and split zippers.  As opposed to my new one, which could last up to minutes.

My receipt dangled a chance at a thousand dollar gift card in exchange for taking an online survey, which I took, because I don’t spend enough time at a keyboard in the vain hope that this will somehow translate into great heaps of money.

One of the questions asked what brought me to Le Mart de Wal, but since “utter desperation” was not one of the choices, I was forced to examine one of the others, which was “To buy something special for myself.”  Because when I need to lift my spirits, I run straight to the live bait mini-fridge, stocked right between Pet Needs and Hannah Montana MaxiPads.

it’s a wonderful world at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Big Fun

I am working at one of the Inaugural Balls next week, because clearly the Secret Service is totally falling down on the job.  Yesterday we attended an informational meeting, at which the following facts were relayed to us:

-The District of Columbia, in its infinite wisdom, is shutting down the Metro at midnight even though the parties won’t even begin to wind down until 2 AM at the earliest, and the bars in the area are serving until at least four.  (Sometimes, it’s nice to live here.)

-Any cars left in Metro parking lots past 12:01 the day of the Inauguration will be ticketed, towed, and mocked.

-But Wait, There’s More:  Traffic into the District is also blocked off until four o’clock in the morning on Tuesday.

-Therefore, everyone attending or working the balls (snicker) should make alternative arrangements to, you know, not have to sleep propped up against FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE, ROAD CLOSED signs.

After these announcements were made, questions were invited, and at this point the whole entire process of peacefully passing power within the Republic came crashing down.  For people had the following questions:

-”What time does the Metro close down on Tuesday?’

-”Can we still park our cars at the Metro lots?”

-”What about driving in, can we still drive in?”

-”So why can’t we take the Metro, if we can’t drive in?  The trains will still be running, right?”

-”Now if the trains aren’t running, what about parking at Metro lots?”

-”Is Metro shutting down early the day of the Inauguration?”

-”What’s the best route for driving in?  Is it better if I just take the Metro?”

-”I heard the Metro might be shutting down early– what’s up with that?”

-”OK, I have both my hands here, and also a map.  Can you please tell my why I can’t find my a#@^?”

explaining a lot at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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The Cookie Whisperer

The most successful Christmas present I gave this year was the one which was the least expensive.  It resulted in outright awe.  I’ve never reduced a recipient to a whisper before:

If you’re wondering where Will was darting off to, it was the nearest sinkable place, lest he be forced to surrender the cookie:

Following this, I repaired to the upstairs bathroom to dress for our family’s Christmas party in varying stages of aunthood.  Halfway before all the rollers were in, I heard a very small, very determined “…Cookie?” from somewhere behind me.  When I glanced in the mirror, I beheld the head of Will The Smaller Child Nephew, peering at me from the top of the steps. This is why God invented bathrobes, and belts with which to tie them.

Jim The Small Child Nephew was behind him.  “I like you,” he announced, and then saw the curlers, which his mother, because she has manageable hair and also a life, does not use.  “Oh!” he said.  “What happened?”

This was revised after I began brushing out the moussed explosion:  “That’s beautiful!”  Even when it’s coming from a person who wears a great deal of fleece, a girl likes to hear a compliment every now and then.

hairspray at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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