The BEST Blogging Couple

The Rogue Speaks:

As you know, I don't think art and politics mix, unless I am lobbying for more money for arts programs for schools. Oh, I read the paper every day (even though my first column is the crossword, followed by my HORRORscope!), but when I want to know what current travesty is being perpetrated on the American Public, I go to AskCherlock and read what Rich or Cher has to say.

Cher doesn't always write about politics, and her human interest stories are always full-flavored and insightful. Over the last few months that I have been blogging, she has become a fast and dear friend of my heart.

I can always depend on Rich to give me the facts on political issues, even though when I comment I frequently feel like a fish out of water. He doesn't hold this against me, though, and his comments are always right on the mark.

So, if you want to meet this wonderful blogging duo, please check out their blog by clicking on the link above! I guarantee that you will come back to them again!!

Cher, here's a little stardust for you!!

Saturday Centus - The Wish

The Rogue Speaks:

If you have yet to visit Jenny Matlock, this is a "must do!" You all know how I love quirky, carefree people, and Jenny fits the bill. Each Saturday she posts a prompt, one sentence, and we, her loyal readers, must write a story of 100 words or less around that prompt. This is the first time that I have been able to actually figure out just how to post my entry, after explicit instructions from Jenny. Now where did I put those instructions?? Oh, never mind--here we go!

In that hazy state between sleep and waking, Micah saw her standing there.
"You're here!" he whispered in excitement. "It's been so long! Why did you leave? I loved you so much!"

She gazed down at him. "I didn't want to, Mikey! I had no choice."

"No one calls me Mikey any more. I've been Micah for ten years."

"You will always be my Mikey," she said, and she took him in her arms. "Happy sixteenth birthday, my sweet boy!"

Then she was gone. He never dreamed when he blew out the candles on his cake that his wish to see his long-dead mother again would come true.

Well, it wasn't the Pepsi Challenge..

The Rogue Speaks:

...but it was definitely a challenge! This past weekend I attended a collage workshop at Toscana Gallery. I was very excited about it because I have always wanted to do collage, but was afraid because I am so anal. Then on Friday, I read a post by Nothing Profound which said, "Don't stand in the hallway waiting; join the feast." Well, that was just what I needed!

Rebecca Bushner, whose paintings you can see on the right, and who is pictured in the top photo above, was the teacher. She has a wonderful and creative countenance, and she put me at ease immediately. The focus of the class was first creating one's own custom collage paper using solargrams (cyanotypes or blueprints) and then incorporating those into a collage using acrylics, pastels, colored pencil, inks, or whatever, to create a finished piece. O.k., I can do that! Or can I?

Once all the pieces for my first collage were laid out, Rebecca told me that I could now begin to assemble them. Yeah, o.k., right. I stared at them for a few minutes, then tentively began to lay them out on the canvas. Yikes! What the hell am I doing here?? I don't have the first clue! Rebecca saw the look of fright on my face, and gently encouraged me to just "play around with the pieces" until I found an arrangement I was comfortable with.

Karen Pena, one of the students in the class (photo above--pink shirt!), took to this like a duck to water. She told us that she was going skydiving in a few days, and that explained it! That gal is up for anything! She was starting on her second piece while I was still staring at my first.

Well, I finally came up with an arrangement that did not make me want throw-up, or leave the class because I just remembered I was scheduled for brain surgery in an hour, so I began to glue, and paint. The photo above is my first piece. Rebecca told me if I did not put it on MY blog, she would put it on HERS!

Please don't judge! Just look at all my other pieces, and you will discover that abstract is not a strong point for me. My wonderful friend, Cher, recently bought one of my encaustics that I have on the right side of my blog.

Now, please don't get the wrong idea. I am not giving up on this technique--I am just going to go s l o w l y until I get it figured out. It may take me a while, though!!

Hanging Out On The Corner Of Walk And Don't Walk

The Rogue Speaks:

Loading...loading...loading! That is what my brain is telling me these days, while my muses are on vacation. The post below is one from back in the day when no one on earth was reading my blog.
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I was driving to the mall today to spend my birthday money at Dillard's and I realized I had to make a very critical decision. When I came to the corner of Walk and Don't Walk, I started to get a little tense and sweaty. It was at the infamous corner where I got caught unfairly by the traffic camera and I received my first ever traffic ticket in December of 2008. Yeah, I know this is a very busy intersection, but there is more to it than that. The city fathers chose this intersection for a reason, and I know what it is. You see, on the corner there is a gas station, and the entrance to the station is VERY near the intersection, so if you suddenly realize that you are almost out of gas, you have to turn to get into the station. Of course, you are not the ONLY PERSON who is almost out of gas, so there is a line to get into the station and you have to STOP in the middle of the intersection and wait your turn. While you are waiting, the light turns red and you are CAUGHT by the camera. You had NO IDEA that those people were going to stop, trapping you in the intersection. But the city fathers knew--and they need that $180 that you have to pay for "running a red light." They need it so badly that they also shortened the light! They will claim that they did not, but all of us who were trapped there KNOW they did.
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There was such an outrage at this obvious attempt to TRICK people at this intersection, that literally hundreds of people picketed the intersection one weekend. This is no joke. The city is using this intersection to make money. They say that is not true, that the intersection is dangerous. Well it isn't half as dangerous as an angry mob waving signs at passing motorists.
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I was very cautious today at the corner of Walk and Don't Walk. I needed to turn to get to my favorite cocktail napkin store, and I decided to face my fear and turn. Just as I was about to turn, I remembered to check the entrance to the gas station to see if there was a line. There was. I stopped. Even though the light hadn't changed to yellow, I stopped--behind the "wait line." Immediately some jerk behind me blew his horn. I wanted to jump out of the car and go beat on his window and scream at him that unless he had $180 to throw away, he'd better SHUT UP.
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They got me once--they're not getting me again!

No Butt-Cracks Here!

The Rogue Speaks:

Six years ago, the dishwasher that came with our fourteen-year-old house crapped out. It was making those noises that only mothers hear. Men are not attuned to the sounds of daily living unless it involves their cars--and not always then!!

Off we go to the appliance store whose ads we see daily on t.v., and where our friends tell us is the only place to shop. I am NOT looking for a dishwasher that not only cleans the dishes, but puts them away as well. That's why I married Rod--to do the tasks that bore me to tears.

After all the blah, blah, blahs, we pick out one we can live with. Not the top of the line, mind you, but a good solid product. It should serve a family of two (or three) for many years, we were told. NOT!!

After the deal was done, and an installation date set, we went home pretty satisfied that we had made a good choice.

The installer came about one hour late of the designated time. He was a middle-aged guy, very thin, smelling slightly of beer, and apologizing for being a little late. Fine! Just do your job and get the hell out! I left him to his task.

It was awfully quiet in the kitchen, so I decided to check things out. A watched pot never boils, so I had retired to my office to do some reading. WATER!!EVERYWHERE!!And in the middle of the mess was the installer, looking rather stunned.
I became a little nervous and asked him if there was a problem. He assured me that there was not, and could he please have a couple of towels. Fine.

He wandered into the office and told me the job was done. Great! Now, leave so I can get back to work. He left.

A couple of hours later I go into the kitchen to put a few things in the new and better dishwasher and find that the door only opens SIX INCHES! He had put the base plate in UPSIDEDOWN! I am livid!

I must tell you that I have little tolerance for people who don't know what the f*** they are doing, but do it anyway. And I have less tolerance for people who hire these incompetent people without knowing whether or not they can do the job. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but NOT WHEN IT INVOLVES INSTALLATIONS!!!

Sales people don't like hearing from me. If you sell me something, by God you had better get it right, or I will come after you with a vengeance. I don't care if you are working your nuts off trying to support a wife and 10 children, AND your wife's mother, who never liked you in the first place. DON'T UNDERESTIMATE ME!

Needless to say, the very next day a new installer showed up to fix the mess the obvious vagrant made, and for the next six years, the dishes were clean and the machine sounded normal.

It is now 2010. We left in May to take care of Rod's mum in Atlanta. We were gone for three weeks. We come home, everything is fine(with the dishwasher!). We leave again for a VACATION in Mexico with my sister-out-law. We come home, everything is fine (with the dishwasher, that is!) Then we have to leave on the spur of the moment to go back to Atlanta.

Next thing we know, the kitchen is flooded with dishwasher water. If you ever want to clean the grout between your tiles, use dishwasher detergent. Just make sure you finish the job or your floors will look a little spotty.

We come home, and the washer has calmed down a little, so we think it was just an isolated incident. Don't believe this way of thinking for a moment--if it leaks once, it will leak again!

I am tired of washing these f****** towels from the dishwasher water! I tell Rod he has GOT TO CALL THE REPAIR MAN TODAY!

O.k., so I am out on the golf course, having a nice time with my friends. Since I have had no real summer, this is the best I can do. The repair man is scheduled for 10 a.m. Rod calls. He tells me we have to talk about getting a NEW dishwasher. TALK? What's to talk about??

I am seething! I get home and tell Rod we will take seperate cars to the appliance store, because he really doesn't want to be in the same space with me right now.

Of course, I get to the appliance store before Rod, and I have already given the salesman the criteria for not only a new dishwasher, but for installation as well. The guy looked a little scared--as well he should.

After Rod arrived and learned of my preference, I left before things got violent between me and the saleman. I let him know in no uncertain terms that this job had better be done right OR ELSE! Then I left. I don't deal with the money part. It is not my job.

O.k., so today is installation day. The installer calls at EXACTLY 7:30 this morning. He has been warned by the salesman not to piss me off. He tells me he will arrive between the hours of 9 a.m. and 10:a.m. He arrives at 9:30. O.k., so far.

THEN, he tells me that I have bought the wrong brand!!! He can't connect the new dishwasher because the connections are DIFFERENT!!! OMG! What a bad thing to say to me! My eyes get very wide, my teeth are clinched, and I tell him in no uncertain terms that he will MAKE IT WORK!!!!!!!

In the meantime, the salesman calls and tells me that he accidentally used the wrong form when filling out our credit application. He sounds a little nervous to be talking to me. I am quiet-very quiet. He tells me that EVERYTHING IS REALLY O.K. but he just wanted me to know. Fine, I tell him. I will let my husband know. OF COURSE I WILL!! Over the years I have dealt with pediatricians, school issues, homework, bed-wetting, shopping, cooking, cleaning,and all the other crap that mothers do. Someone else can deal with the money. I am way too tired for that!!

Everyone has gone. The house is quiet. Keil took me out for lunch because he could see that I was stressed out to the max. Rod came home and told me not to cook any dinner because he had a big lunch. WELL THAT'S GOOD BECAUSE I WASN'T PLANNING TO COOK ANYWAY!

I am sleeping in in the morning. Don't bother me. Make me some coffee and get me the paper. Load the dishwasher. If it doesn't work, FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T TELL ME!!!

Uneasy Lies The Head That Wears The Crown

The Rogue Speaks:
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Well, of course you all know who wrote that one! Our beloved Shakespeare, of course (Henry, The Fourth, Part 2, Act 2)!!
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And in a couple of hours, mine will be VERY uneasy! When we were in Atlanta, one of my crowns came out. I kept shoving it back in, but it just would'nt stay! Now, it has been deposed! I spent an hour at the dentist this morning, preparing to have a new and better crown installed!

Actually, it was a little more than an hour, and I was getting very antsy! First he tells me that he is going to numb up the area. "Just a little pinch, now!" he tells me. Yeah, right! "Now this next area you will feel a little more, I'm afraid! LET GO OF MY BALLS!! I AM ALL DONE!"
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Next comes "the jaws of life" to pull the side of my mouth open until it connects with my ear. Back tooth, you know. Then comes the dreaded drill.
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Here is a little tidbit of trivia that I'll bet you didn't know. Rod's dad invented the high-speed dental drill that has water coming out to cool and moisten the area being drilled. Because the area needs to be cooled THEY USE ICE WATER which spreads to the teeth that ARE NOT NUMB.
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Over the years, I have asked many dentists and dental assistants just why they cannot use tepid water in the drill and to scoot in your mouth to wash out the debris from all that drilling. They always give me a little half-smile, then ignore the question entirely.
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Here's why: The invention of novocaine took all the fun out of dentistry. When I was a small child, the dentist CHARGED EXTRA for novocaine. To his way of thinking, if he couldn't torture a small child, he would just make the parents pay him more money! My mother fooled him, though. She wouldn't pay extra for my comfort. I fooled them both, though. After he was through, I promptly threw up on him. This is not a lie. Then my mother would have to go across the street to Rich's in Atlanta and buy me some clothes to wear home. Neither of them ever learned.
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Having two strands of string jammed up into your gum is no picnic, let me tell you! Even with the novocaine, I was getting a little nervous. It felt like he was using a screw driver and a hammer to get that string up in there. My eyes were starting to water! But finally he was through, sort of. He jammed a tray of some sort of seaweed concoction into my mouth to make an impression for the TEMPORARY crown. This means that in two weeks, I have to go back and endure the "jaws of life" once again to get the new crown seated. OH, HAPPY DAY!
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I asked him if it was going to hurt when the novocaine wore off, and of course he told me that it "might be a little tender." Well, we all know what THAT means! It means that my mouth is going to hurt like the devil by the time I have to leave for my meeting to discuss plans for Holidazzle.

My only hope is that when I get to the "Wildflower" restaurant, everyone else on the committee will be as ready for some liquid anesthetic as I will.
*
That old crown had been in my mouth for more than 25 years. Rod's dad put it in. It has served me well, but what will serve you all is to brush twice a day, and floss before you go to bed. DON'T ARGUE WITH ME, DAMN IT! I am an expert. So there!

PUT THAT BACK!

The Rogue Speaks:

I know that title sounds familiar, but as most of you know, I have had a less than stellar summer, and while I am waiting patiently for my muses to return, I decided to do some repeats. The following post is from last March. I wrote it while I was still marginally amusing:
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I am embarrassed to admit that one of my weaknesses is cocktail napkins. But they can't be just any cocktail napkins--they have to have some silly (or sage) phrase, and/or picture on them. Whenever I go shopping at a certain store in town, I head straight for the napkins. I was in that store today, and found some I thought I could not live without.
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That voice! I HATE that voice! It spoils all my fun! You know the one I mean--the one in your head that reminds you that you already have a whole shelf in the kitchen just stacked with an item that you crave, so PUT THAT BACK!
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Before I discovered cocktail napkins, my passion was poultry. For a while, everyone was giving me chickens, chicks, roosters, etc., to put in my niche above the cabinets. Then one day I discovered that eventually you have to get the ladder, climb to the top rung, and dust every one of those non-essential items or they begin to look grungy. Dusting high places has never appealed to me, and especially dusting things that are non-essential. Bye-bye, chickens!
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Cocktail napkins don't get dusty, because they are wrapped in cellophane, and tucked away on a cabinet shelf. Even after you open them, you can put what you don't use in a zip-lock bag, all ready for the next time. That "next" time has become a problem, because I don't entertain nearly as much as I used to, and I have a cabinet shelf filled with cocktail napkins that will probably not be used in my lifetime.
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I thought everyone would just love those cute napkins at parties. But you know what happens? They grab a napkin to put their drinks on, and the cuteness goes unnoticed. I could put out squares of toilet paper instead, and that would work just as well.
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The only person who seems to appreciate my napkins is my Best Friend Artist. She always laughs and tells me how cute they are. So, to get around the fact that the last thing I needed to buy today were more cocktail napkins, I bought her a couple of packages for her birthday. Of course, it isn't until May, but I just told that voice to shut up because this was different--it wasn't for me. Don't you think that makes it all right?
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Shhhh! Don't tell her what she's getting! I want it to be a surprise!

FEEL-GOOD FRIDAY WAS YESTERDAY

The Rogue Speaks:

The Girl Next Door Grows Up (http://www.thegirlnextdoorgrowsup.blogspot.com/) sponsors "Feel-Good Friday" every week. I always try to participate, but yesterday I left quite early in the day and did not return until 8:30 last night. In one way, it was a feel-good Friday, because I participated in a charity golf event at the Ritz Carlton Golf Resort here. The sponsor was the Optimists Club of Oro Valley. This an annual event to fund activities for underprivileged children in the metro Tucson area. My very dear friend, Joe Bourne (internationally known vocalist and artist), persuaded me to play last year, and my team won the women's division. We won this year as well, and will continue to win great prizes every year until more women teams sign up. Then we are toast.

My friend Mary and I, and our friend Ursula, played together last year, but Ursula couldn't make it this year, so we had another woman, a stranger to us, assigned to our team. This woman was a little too bouncy, a little too cute, and a little too chatty. She whined and pouted about having to drive a cart by herself because she was "so tired!" and then she bummed cigarettes from Mary. I began to have a bad feeling. She knew nothing about playing a scramble, in which each person hits a shot and then the best shot is chosen, and this continues on until the ball is holed out. and even less about golf etiquette. She was definitely not an expert. HOWEVER, she was an expert in flirting with every man she saw. She was also an expert and getting men to buy her drinks, and in borrowing money from her playing partners to buy beer on the course.

It was a very trying day! It was brutally hot, the course was lacking shade, and after the first few holes, I could tell we were going to be out there a LONG LONG time. Every time we came up to a tee and a group was waiting to hit, out jumps Chatty Cathy, and makes a beeline for the guys. They were polite, and didn't have the heart to tell her that she was HOLDING UP THE WHOLE FIELD trying to be cute and catch a date. She even hit on some old guy who was sitting on a par 3, watching for holes-in-one.

There were no lengths this chick would not go to to attract attention from men. On one hole, she drove her cart into a wash and promptly got stuck in the sand up to the hubcaps. Poor little helpless female! Must find men to get her out! Along come four young gentlemen who were playing behind us, and were having their own fun drinking LOTS of beer. After beating their chests, they climbed down into the wash AND LIFTED THE GOLF CART UP OUT OF THE SAND, and placed it on firm ground. Mary and I sat in our cart on the cart path and watched. Frankly, it was revolting to me. What's more, it put us WAY BEHIND!

It was approaching twilight when we finally finished playing. I have never been so glad to finish a round of golf in my entire life. We raced back to the clubhouse, and our partner promptly disappeared into a sea of men without paying us the money she had borrowed. We were pissed!! When we finally snagged her, she seemed a little pouty that we wanted our money, and claimed she had to go to the locker room to get her purse (I didn't say anything, but her purse was on the table beside a drink from one of the men.) It was over 30 minutes later that we managed to catch up with her, and she quickly paid us, then slipped away to continue the hunt. We think she borrowed that money from some man she flirted with.

O.k., well we still managed to win the women's division, so that made me FEEL GOOD, but "God's Gift TO Men" had better not show up next year, expecting to be on our team. I am hoping that within the next 12 months, she will find the Sugar Daddy she is looking for so desperately, and stay away from golf entirely!

MY SON, THE ROGUE

The Rogue Speaks:

I am so happy that I have such brilliant and gifted children! They must have gotten their brains from their father, because I still have mine.

I called Joey yesterday to ask him if I could post something about him on my blog. "I know you, Mom. You're going to write about the time we were in the car, driving to Atlanta, and I yelled out, "My penis is strong!" and then pulled my pants down to show everyone a little woody."

"Well?" I asked him. "Can I use that story?"

"Just as long as you tell them I was not 18 at the time."

I decided instead to treat you to one of his stories from his blog, WRITE,RIGHT?
(http://mauhaus529.blogspot.com/) so here's what I picked--

•

THIS REALLY HAPPENED:

We thought that Larry was gone. We were told that Sheriff Doodle Peel had come to take him to Eastern State for an evaluation after his mother was moved to a home. This is not the case. The following is a true story. Nothing has been embellished or changed. I swear to the gods.

I am out digging post holes for the deck extension that is my spring break project. I hear a screen door open behind me, followed by, “Adding on to your house?”
I turn slowly, thinking maybe I am hallucinating. Standing at the top of the wheelchair ramp wearing a full-length tan Inspector Gadget trench coat, ratty beard blowing ever-so-gently in the breeze, is Larry. Larry, who lost his job, his wife, his kids, and later his memory to alcohol. Larry, who was told once by his octogenarian father not to use the upstairs bathroom while it was being remodeled and who has urinated in coffee cups and glasses ever since. Larry, whose bedroom was so full of empty beer cans that it took two full truckloads to the dump to clean it up.

I tell him I am adding on to the deck.

“I used to be in construction. When I needed a concrete deck in my backyard, I had a concrete guy I knew pour it for me. You doing concrete or wood?”

I tell him wood.

“You using Quickcrete?” he asks. I tell him I am. “I’m not telling you how to do it, but I used to just pour it in the hole and add water.” I tell him that’s what I am doing. He tells me about the time he had a friend in the construction business pour a concrete slab in his backyard.

“If you need any help, Joey, just holler.” He goes inside. I keep working. He knows my name.

Five minutes later (not embellishing) Larry comes out again. “Building a deck?” he asks.

“I had a concrete deck…” he says. “Had a friend…” he says. “You using Quickcrete?” he asks. “If you need any help…” he offers. He goes back inside.

Five minutes later—now at this point, you must think I am lying. I’m not—out comes Larry again. We have the exact same conversation. Let me back up and bit and tell you that an hour later, L.B. ran off somewhere. I had been calling for her and whistling every few minutes.

Larry—who, in his late fifties, has not bathed or changed his clothes in months—looks off into the distance. “That your dog?” he asks. He is pointing about two hundred yards away. I go to look. Sure enough, there she is. I call her. She comes home.

“You know, I used to raise dogs. Saint Bernards and English Bulldogs.” He then goes into a story about how he traded a Saint Bernard for an English Bulldog with a brown nose. “The brown nose is a defect,” he says. “I didn’t know that. L.B. I bet she’s the only dog in the world named L.B.” He knows my dog’s name. “If you need any help, just holler.”

He goes inside.

He comes out again five minutes later. Same conversation without the raising dogs part. He goes back in. He comes back out. He goes back in.

A car drives by with the trunk popped and a man in the trunk with a video camera. Running after the car is a clown. Yes, a clown. Giant yellow shoes. Red nose. Big hair. A clown running after a car with a man in the trunk.
All of this was 100% true.