MAJOR, Life-Altering Announcement.

And let me just start with NO, I'm not pregnant and announcing it through the blogosphere before alerting my husband.

And, OK, so it's not THAT life altering....but still kinda neat.

I've started a new website - a very cool little blog that I'm quite proud of so far. Now I know you're asking yourself, "Why, Daisy? I mean, you're already working a full-time job, a part time job, and you have taken on the grading for a whole other class, making that a grand total of 2.5 jobs. Plus, you have a little bit of a life outside of all those jobs and commitments and need to pee every so often. So, WHY on earth would you take on something as major as this fabulous new website?"

Because, quite frankly, I'm nuts. And more so because SOMEONE had to do it. In this case, two people are - me and my fabulous friend, Mockarena, who I've plugged shamelessly (www.mockdock.com) numerous times in the past 6 months.

The site is www.chicksontheright.com.And, there's the first plug of many for it. It's the result of several lunch conversations between Mock and I - ones about the demise of foundational values in this country – values such as hard work, self-responsibility, and the capitalist notion of less government interference. We both realized, after several run-ins on The Mock Dock, that people tend to get their proverbial panties in a wad when you criticize liberalism these days. And we also realize that conservatives currently have a really bad rap.

So we have decided to do our part to help re-brand the conservative party by starting www.chicksontheright.com, a political blog that freely pokes fun at the political process and all of its related people and parts. We don’t profess to be political experts or economists or anything other than two hot chicks who like to tell people what we think about stuff.

So, if you read my blog - all three of you - and you haven't heard about the new site from me spewing about it verbally, check it out immediately and visit often. I shall always remain loyal to my own little personal ranting blog, but I'm looking forward to making www.chicksontheright.com an underground voice for conservatives in exile. After all, NO one puts baby in a corner (there's the picture reference, in case you were wondering why Dirty Dancing is there).

Last shameless plug (today). I promise. www.chicksontheright.com

Supergroup or Springfield and Skinny Tie Revival? You decide.

I stumbled across a video of a new band, Tinted Windows. All the members are from older groups - James Iha from the Smashing Pumpkins, the drummer from Cheap Trick, and of course, Taylor Hanson. I mean, it's not a band until you have a Hanson, people. Honestly.

I'm not going to be terribly Judy Judgmental, but the host dude (Godwin Alexander) is slightly creepy. And, James Iha is looking too much like Yoko Ono's elder sister. He needs a haircut. Pronto.

However, little Taylor Hanson is sort of John Taylor'esque, reminiscent of Duran Duran back in the skinny tie and Dep hair gel days. I can't deny his cuteness, but it's the kind of cuteness that only an 11-year old boy should have.

The music...I'm not sure. You can decide for yourself, but I'm in complete denial of the fact that one writer compared this "supergroup" to the likes of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. I'm just going to block that out. PUHLEASE.

Behold the cheese and Rick-Springfield-like feel. A swell "group of terrific guys," indeed....

Random Acts of Karma

Last week, Husband Man was at a retail store and found a wallet in the parking lot on the way back to his car. He picked it up, looked in it, and noticed that there was around 400 bucks in it. So, like any normal person, he strolled back into the store and turned the wallet in. When he got home, he told me about finding the wallet, and I said, “well, honey…..that’s good karma; it’ll come back to you.”

Fast forward to this weekend. We were supposed to go to the Japanese place, and we had even agreed to use that nice, crisp $100 bill that his mother slipped into our Valentine’s card. We were set to watch an onion fireball and everything when Husband Man threw a curveball at me.

“Hey babe, why don’t we just take 100 bucks and go blow it at the casino?”

To start, Husband Man and I are NOT gamblers. In fact, I’ve only been in a casino one time, and that was to basically hold my mother-in-law’s purse while she gambled and I watched in horror at how much a person can lose in the matter of minutes. Husband Man has been to Vegas, but he said when he went with his once-high-rolling mother back in the 80s, she gave him money to gamble and have fun. And, he pocketed it. So, yeah…Husband Man and I aren’t exactly the gambling types.

I thought it’d be fun to be a bit spontaneous, so I got on board with the “let’s blow 100 bucks” idea. We chucked the Japanese restaurant and made our way to the smoky, blue-hair-infested casino in Shelbyville, Indiana. This place was huge. And, people were EVERYWHERE. I saw my share of rednecks and old women. And they had a cover band with a big blond woman singing Guns -N-Roses. One lovely fashion plate of a diva had a shirt on that said, “101% Redneck.” And, Husband Man and I saw one of the biggest mullets we’ve seen in at least five years. Oh yes…we were among the beautiful people, indeed.

After walking around for about an hour, we decided that I should sit down at a 2-cent slot machine, which I did. I barely knew how to use the thing. I figured it out, though, put our $100 bill in it, and off I went. I got down to about 20 bucks at least two times, played for an hour and a half, and I almost quit. Husband Man stood behind me the whole time and said, “screw it, babe…just play it…we agreed to consider the money lost anyway, so just play it all out.”

I’m glad I did, because I hit the jackpot. Of course, it wasn’t a huge jackpot, but I won $420 total. And, being the non-gambler I am, I cashed out.

As we were walking out, Husband Man said to me, “You know, that wallet had 400 bucks in it….and we just won 420.”

Go figure. Karma rocks.

And it begins....I'm just sayin.....

Um, NO one has read it. And, a promise for transparency and I don't know - for people to be able to actually READ it - has already been broken.

GGRR. Socialism sucks monkey poo.

Bogus Politics, Burning Onions, and a Birthday Boy

I’ve been back from Atlanta for over a week now, and I really don’t have anything earth-shattering to tell my readers about the trip. Other than the fact that I was one of about five women in a hotel full of 1500 male tractor dealers, and that I feel as though I was visually groped about 1476 times while staying at the Hyatt Regency, there’s not much else exciting that happened that week. I did get to see my friend, T, and enjoy some sushi and sake with her my last night in town. I don’t get to eat a lot of that here, as it’s considered “bait” where I live. And, I was sure to do a short, yet obligatory nostalgia drive through my old digs. I went past the perfect, Colonial house I grew up in, the old apartments I lived in after my divorce, the Big Chicken in Marietta, of course, and my last place of employment before bolting out of the land of debutantes and dogwoods several years ago.

I love my friend T. She’s my favorite bleeding heart liberal on the planet, after all. If you’re reading this, T, I adore you and promise not to make fun of any more of Obama’s lame and non-tax-paying appointments to his cabinet. Or his ridiculous “economic stimulus package” that may as well be a box of vibrators, as they are about as relevant to economic stimulation as his so-called stimulus package is. Socialist healthcare reform in an economic stimulus plan? Really? Nice that the Dems are cramming in all of those little projects they never quite got on the docket into a package that’s labeled “economic stimulus.” Transparency? Um, no. It’s called socialism, people. Open your eyes and take a big bite of the Karl Marx rotten apple. Tastes kinda funny.

Phew. Sorry. Got a little sidetracked there.

So, T. My brilliant, yet liberal friend. I promise not to make fun of these things in front of you, anyway. But I still love you, nonetheless. Just don’t ask me to come along with you to get that eventual group lobotomy that’ll be served up with that rotten apple.

Upon my return from Atlanta, I was hit with work, work, and more work. No big shocker there, as it’s usually the status quo for me. But this time, I’m doing my day job, my night job, and then taking on the grading for another professor. One of my professorial colleagues has pancreatic cancer, and I was asked to do all of her grading for the semester. How could I say no to that? And, how on earth does that type of news not change one’s perspective on the work at hand? I haven’t complained about a single weekend I’ve had to work through since, nor will I. Instead, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I’m alive, healthy, and kicking. Perspective, indeed. If you pray to God, Allah, Buddha, Obama, or whomever, say a little prayer for Daisywriter's professorial colleague. And then go kiss and bear-hug the people you live with immediately after reading this entry.

Speaking of kisses, this weekend marks the holiday we all wait patiently for every year! And, if you didn't sense that dripping bucket of sarcasm in the previous sentence, then you weren’t reading hard enough. In honor of this Hallmark holiday, Husband Man and I are doing the great American dinner of Japanese food, cooked table-side by a genuine Japanese chef with big, sharp Ginsu knives and a miraculous flaming volcano formed by a simple onion. Pure magnificence. Our sweet little Indiana town just got this restaurant (which is conveniently placed right next to a John Wayne’s American Grill restaurant, I might add), and I’m very pleased to be able to have our inaugural dinner there on Valentine’s Day and spend it with my loving spouse - even though we would’ve just eaten there on Saturday night anyway.

Coincidentally, Valentine’s Day is also my father’s birthday, so I’ve always honored it more as the day my father was brought into this world instead of the alternative chocolate-and-roses capitalist plot (which, is indeed brilliant, I might add, but still bullshit, nonetheless). So, happy birthday, Dad. I hope you have a wonderful day. You taught me to be independent and self-sufficient and to not trust boys that don’t have their own toolboxes and can’t fix flat tires. You taught me that cold beer and good company can cure any trace of the blues. You taught me that with 50 bucks and a lawn chair, pretty much anyone can do anything in life. You taught me to be a fiscal conservative capitalist, but a social moderate who believes in love (but not necessarily Valentine’s Day, because you should always continue to question, question, question). And because your Mom wasn’t around after my 9th birthday, you taught me a little of what she taught you – that women in 4-inch high heels and matching accessories can be smart, graceful, and devastatingly down-to-earth funny.

And for that, I salute you on the Hallmark holiday and shall raise a glass of Japanese sake (or Asahi) in your honor while I clap like a monkey to the onion volcano. And get tipsy just enough to forget that the economic stimulus plan is a complete JOKE. Oh yeah - you taught me to recognize that if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's probably a damn duck.

So thanks again, Dad.

A Must See? Or is it just because Brad Pitt is hot?

Or it could just be his ridiculously exaggerated, fake southern accent. I'm not sure, but I'll see this movie, nonetheless.

So THIS is where Quentin Tarantino's been for the past few years....huh.

I love this SO much.

I don't know if I'm just overly hormonal, but dogs and babies make me smile. It's the little things.

And, this dog reminds me so much of my Tess Larue, it's scary.

Enjoy.

Planes, Journeys, and Juno

Well, I'm here in that charming little city known as Hotlanta. Yesterday started off as a normal day, it seemed, then my AirTran flight from Indy got delayed by about two hours (which didn't even seem that abnormal on the AirTran scale, as I don't remember ever having a flight with them that was ON time, really). When I finally made it, I fetched my luggage and went to the Dollar counter to get my awesome rental car. The dude behind the counter acted as though he was giving me a brand new Porsche when he said, "Well, for special customers like YOU, I will give an upgrade to something cool. Something NEW."

I felt special for about 30 seconds. Like I may have won the rental car lottery. And, yes, the Dollar man - the dude who was speaking some sort of broken Swahili/English - I believe he was flirting with me. Normally, I'd be flattered at my age, but I wasn't so much this particular time, as I could smell him from approximately 30 feet away. So went my potential ego boost...

Wow, I thought. I mean, maybe I'd get to drive a brand new Honda Accord or something neato like that. Something kind of normal, I thought. No such luck. I grabbed my keys to space number 4, and came upon what appeared to be the offspring of a Dodge Caliber and the bus that Mrs. Partridge drove. Lo and behold, it was a Dodge Journey. Now, I apologize to anyone out there that has a Journey or that's getting ready to buy a Journey in the near future, but this car is slightly sucktastic. The outside of it appeared to be pretty nice, and I thought, "oooh..an SUV!." I tried to like it - I really did. But, I felt awkward in it. The kind of "doesn't suit me" type of awkward that can't be remedied by the seat adjuster thingies - no matter how hard I tried to adjust, readjust, and adjust again. And keep in mind that this is a brand new car - with maybe 100 miles on it total - and I was having to adjust my seat manually. I'm just sayin. I would venture to say that I didn't look like a complete dork in my Pearl Blue bus, but I felt like I was driving an ice cream truck. Again, my sincere apologies to those who love all things Dodge, but now I know first-hand why American car companies needed to be bailed out.

After my 8-hour quest from Indy to Atlanta, I wanted to just crawl into bed and order room service, but my client had other plans. So I was up until midnight doing Powerpoint edits for my client like a gerbil on crack. During my mad editing, though, I managed to simultaneously watch the movie Juno on HBO. I can NOT believe that I've never seen this movie. I always wanted to, but I just never got around to it - what, with all the jetsetting and Powerpoint editing and Dodge test driving that's consumed my life. This movie was great, and Ellen Page really did deserve some type of award for her portrayal of the main character. Jason Bateman was in it, too, so I think that helped to up its awesome factor, as I love that guy so much (see "Pepper Brooks in Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story" and the brother in "The Sweetest Thing," and of course - as Derek Taylor in the hit 80s TV show, "Silver Spoons"....GOD, I loved that show).

Tonight, I may take the Journey out for a quick bite on the town, but it will mostly be consumed by work stuff. Tomorrow night, however, I plan on breaking free and seeing my friend "T" for some dinner. They call it "bait" in my new home base of Franklin, Indiana, but as I recall, they call it sushi here. With some sake to wash it down, of course. :-)

So, what have we learned from today's entry? Always add 2 hours to every AirTran reservation you make, go rent Juno if you haven't seen it, and the next time you see a Dodge Journey, tip your hat to those American car executives that are currently playing 18 holes of golf with your tax dollars.

The Only Superbowl there is, really.

I'm not an NFL fan. I mean, I'll go to a Colts game and drink beer and hang out like a fan, but I'm not really a fan. Case in point: I was at my hair salon on Saturday, and my hairdresser asked, "So, what are you guys doing tomorrow?"

I answered with, "what's tomorrow?"

Nope, not a huge fan.

So, when the SuperBowl came on last night, Husband Man and I were watching other things - bits and pieces of other movies, Ghost Hunters, you know. And, of course, we watched parts of the Puppy Bowl, which is something that Husband Man had never seen. Despite the horrific parrot-delivered National Anthem (Jennifer Hudson definitely wins the battle of the National Anthems last night), the puppy bowl was a nice deviation between bad TV. Here's a slice, just in case you missed it.

Pure GENIUS.

Hotlanta and My Delusions of Grandeur

I leave tomorrow for a business trip to Atlanta. Let me first preamble with the fact that I love to travel, but I don't like traveling for business. It seems all glamorous and stuff, and one would think that I could use the company resources to see old friends and take time to enjoy a bit of my surroundings, but inevitably, I know I'll be working non-stop. For three nights and four days. I like my house, my bed, and my family. So, I guess I'm becoming an old, set-in-my-ways kind of gal, but yeah, I'm not a fan of the business travel.

I'm leaving for the place in which I grew up...the quaint little southern city that I spent my fun/formative years, as well as my divorce/pain years, giving me a nice dichotomy of love it/hate it feelings. Atlanta is WAY different now than it was when I was an 8-year old kid. I lived there before the superhighways and the traffic that rivals L.A. I lived there when people seemed to be a bit more laid back and the smog wasn't quite as prevalent. People still had lovely southern accents and the Yanks hadn't yet taken over. But by the time I left, it was just another pretentious city full of too many people living way beyond their means, an overabundance of mini-malls, and poor air quality, really. Still a great place to visit to shop, eat, and bar-hop of course, but I knew I'd probably never live there again by choice when I made my life-changing trek north a little less than 5 years ago.

I'm trying to be positive about my trip, even though I'm gripping myself for a week of being a pee-on at the hands of a very needy client. The client's always right...the client's always right. I'll keep telling myself that and pretending that I'll look like Victoria Beckham when I get off the plane. Ridiculously flawless.