Friday, March 28, 2008

Rules For Dating My Kids

As my daughter's fifteenth birthday and my son's sixteenth birthday quickly approach, I have frequent and reoccurring nightmares of the both of them and the fact they will start dating soon. I am not fine with this. In fact, if you must know, I am SO not fine with this that I've done a little research on how best to handle my daughter's beaus and my son's little tramps - err girlfriends when they begin showing up at my door. So in the interest of being the best parent I possibly can I have posted some rules I've found - rules for dating my kids.

Rules For Dating My Daughter

Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package because you're surely not picking anything up.

Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck…ever. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them for you.

Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult but you and all of your friends are complete and total idiots. However, I would like to be fair and open minded about this issue so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big; I will not object. In order to ensure that your clothing does not come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I WILL kill you.

Rule Five: Convention dictates that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back home. The only word I need from you on this subject is "early."

Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my sweet, precious, charming little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I make you cry. It will be painful.

Rule Seven: As you stand inside my front door, waiting for my daughter to appear and more than an hour has passed, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for a movie, you should not be dating girls. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful like changing the oil in my car.

Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.
Places where there are no parents, policemen, nuns, or clergy within eyesight.
Places where there is darkness.
Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or any kind of happiness what-so-ever.
Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.
Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies with a "G" rating are okay as are movies which feature chainsaws.
Hockey games are okay, old folks' homes are better.

Rule Nine: Do not lie to me - ever. I may appear to be a saggy, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been but on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless ruler of your world. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God. I have a shotgun, a shovel, an acre behind the house and I know how to hide the body. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. When my schizophrenia starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean my firearms as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, and then return to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The face at the window is mine.

Rules 1-8 by W. Bruce Cameron

Rules For Dating My Son

Rule One: Feel free to come and pick up my son for your date. In fact, you have the ability to earn bonus points should you pick him up in your parents’ little foreign car ditty. Do not arrive in an SUV unless you are heading to the woods for a little off-roading.

Rule Two: If my son gathers his courage and asks you for a date, this is not an opportunity to run all of your errands with my son in tow. Sweetie? This is not your chance to take him on any little side trips to the mall where he will be expected to tag along after you as you use him first as your personal chauffeur, then as your beast of burden for the packages you will have undoubtedly accrued. My son is sensitive and proud. When you chitchat with your friends about him (and we both know that you will) anything but praise is strictly forbidden. He has his heart on his sleeve and for whatever reason he has for taking you out, this in my one AND ONLY one warning - do not take advantage of him. This will simply not happen, correct? Good! If I hear it has happened, I will simply hustle your shapely little behind down my front steps, dump your skinny little bottom into the trunk of your father’s Ferrari with your precious packages piled high beside you and UPS the entire bundle to Outer Mongolia.

Rule Three: I'm sure you've are enlightened about sex and have all of the latest information on diseases and methods of contraception. You may even be using one of these methods "just in case". Awesome! And yes, I am sure that you are well informed and I’m so glad you paid attention during health class. I'd like to offer one tiny-itty-bitty-wee extra bit of information for your general edification - if you even THINK of touching my son in an intimate fashion, I will personally break every bone in your entire body - no questions asked - just to helpfully remind you of my favorite method of contraception…."abstinence" until marriage.

Rule Four: I have noticed that recent fashions include piercing various "interesting" body parts. I have no problems with your basic pierced eyebrow, nose, lip, tongue or belly button. Please be aware that, with only the most helpful of intentions, I have a rather large pair of needle-nosed pliers in my toolbox. (Yes, my toolbox, not my craft-box. I really do want to be helpful!)

Rule Five: Speaking of fashion, I am aware that it is considered “hip” (and don’t mock me for using that word, young lady) for girls of your age to wear their shirts with the bottom half ripped off with painted-on jeans slug so low your thong panties are there for the world to see. Please don't take this as an insult but you and all of your friends are complete moronic sluts. However, I would like to be fair and open minded about this issue so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with tits and ass hanging out, looking as if you are auditioning for a job as head pole-dancer at Uncle Eddies House of Whores. However, in order to ensure that your clothing doesn’t actually expose any unintended flesh, I will feel free to helpfully use my staple and hot glue guns to fasten them to your midriff and/or chest. Watch the makeup and perfume while you're at it, too. Should you show up with your face painted tawdry colors and reeking like the Whore of Babylon, I will take great pleasure in lovingly introducing you to a wire brush, sandpaper, and a bar of Lava soap.

Rule Six: If your only "asset" is a beautiful shape and your flowing mane of hair: stay away from my son. Only bright girls with excellent career opportunities need accept an opportunity to be seen out and about with my sweet baby boy. Your literacy and education will be tested so please come prepared to recite from the three-thousand, twenty-four paged manual you were provided with yesterday. What? You didn’t get your copy? Looks like it could be a difficult exam.

Rule Seven: You may be enlightened concerning natural and organic substances along with crystallized and powdered-sugar type items. If I so much as suspect that you have even a glimmer of intent in the education of my son regarding these substances, I will be educating Officer Dryzwiki about your existence to insure your general good health... just to be helpful.

Rule Eight: Do not lie to me - ever. I have access to a lie-detector machine and I won’t hesitate to use it. I may appear to be a saggy, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been but on issues relating to my son, I am the all-knowing, all-powerful and merciless goddess of your universe. If I ask where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God. I have been known to speed up slow answerers by grabbing the back of their jeans with one hand, the back of their hair with another, and re-introducing them to the brick steps out front. Do not lie, speak swiftly, and don't utter the phrase "ummmm" or snap your gum in my presence.

Rule Nine: Before dating my son you are required to get a physical check-up. I will review the doctor’s report. As long as you date my son you stick with him and only him. I have no doubt you are an extremely popular girl and could even have the rest of the football team panting after your skanky ass (oops, sorry, that slipped). This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my son. Once you have gone out with my darling, sweet, precious baby boy, you will continue to date no one but him until you come to an amicable agreement to separate. If you break his heart, I will most assuredly make you wish you had neverever… been born, Dear.

Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. When my schizophrenia starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean my firearms as I wait for you to bring my son home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my son home safely then return to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The figure in the rocking chair on the porch is me.

I have taken many liberties with “lists” found in my googling frenzy. Many thanks to those whose lists I used and/or modified.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Thursday Thirteen

Last week I was introduced to a blogging trend called “Thursday Thirteen”. Since I have been spending quite a bit of time complaining about the pollen that has sheathed our milieu in a thick cloak of sulfur-guised spores, I thought I should take a moment to share the joys of spring, as well. Here is my first installment of Thursday Thirteen:

Things I Love About Springtime

1. The overnight bursts of green from newly awakened buds.
2. Dogwood, Bradford Pear, and Redbud trees blooming throughout the neighborhood.
3. Lazy afternoons reading a book in the backyard.
4. Firing up the charcoal grill and cooking our dinner out back.
5. Afternoon walks with the kids.
6. Heading to the beach.
7. Cool mornings and warm afternoons.
8. Opening the windows and letting the breeze waft through the house.
9. Birds returning and filling the yard with chatter.
10. Clear, sunny days with not a cloud in the sky.
11. Pollen.
12. Putting away the heavy sweaters and bringing out those sundresses.

Next week, to make up for the warm weather and weekends spent out of doors, I will dedicate to those in the frozen north my next installment of Thursday Thirteen – “Things We Love To Hate About Florida”.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

How To Keep House

I love books. I love everything about books. I love the mystery, the romance, the scent and feel of a book. I have a quirky habit of browsing my bookcases every so often. As I have at least one bookcase in every room of the house except the bathrooms, I often come across a book I’ve forgotten about. Recently, as I browsed the bookcases in the living room (all seven of them), I ran across one of those forgotten books. This particular book was purchased at a yard sale for a dime. A dime? For a hardcover book? In the year 2008??? Oh what treasures await our discovery.

The book I ran across immediately made me giggle. It’s titled How to Keep House, A Happy Guide to an Efficient Household by Mary Davis Gillies, published in 1949. I took this book from the shelf and as I glanced through the chapter headings, this one caught my eye: “How to Wash Clothes”. Wow, I wasn’t the only person that didn’t know how to wash clothes when I left home! Cool! So I flipped to that section of the book and boy what an eye opener THAT was!

There are four areas of discussion in Section Four – About the Laundry. Holy cow, I must be doing something wrong! How many steps have I missed, Mary? Hold on, Effie, we’ve hit a roadblock, I need to pop a squat and see what I'm doing wrong.

The first area of discussion is “How To Plan A Laundry”.

Plan? As in making lists and checking them twice? Those kinds of plans? I thought we just went out and bought detergent, fabric softener, and bleach.

But no….Mary has advised us of the list of items needed for an efficient and well run laundry process. Let’s begin by seeing what is advised for a basic vs. an ideal laundry, shall we?

A Basic Laundry

For Washing:
A wringer washer (Counting on my spin cycle to cover this.)
Double-set tubs
Shelf Over Tub
Filter hose

For Ironing:
Thermostatically controlled iron
Metal-frame ironing board with pad and cover
A stool for ironing

An Ideal Laundry

For Washing:
Automatic washer
Automatic dryer
Single porcelain tub (Can I count the one in the bathroom? It’s not very convenient, though.)

For Ironing:
Ironer-flat plate or roller type
Thermostatically controlled iron
Built-in board
Wall cabinet over sorting table for stain removal kit
Chair for ironer

Nice-to-have Equipment:
Hot plate
Steam iron
Sweater stretchers
Sock stretchers
Sewing machine

Should-have Equipment:
Two-quart saucepan for making starch
Nest of bowls for stain removal and cold starch
Measuring cup for soap
Quart measure
Clothes brush
Lang-handled spoon for stirring starch
Glass rods for stain removal
Glass dropper for stain removal
Clothes stick for handling hot clothes
Plunger for hand washing
Clothes basket
Clothes basket protectors
Plastic or rubber sheeting for sprinkled clothes
Sprinkler top for bottle
Sewing kit
Mending tape
Pressing cloth
Small drying rack for ironed garments
Large drying rack or indoor line

Must-have Supplies:
Water softener (in hard water areas)
Bluing liquid and soap
Cleaning fluid

Looks like Mary's loaded for bear. And I finally realized why my own mother never had a job outside of the home.....she was busy doing LAUNDRY!

Now let us compare Mary's list to that of Marnie:

A Basic Laundry

For Washing:
Washing machine
Teenaged children

For Ironing:

(I got nothing for you here, folks, sorry)

An Idea Laundry:

For Washing:

Washing machine
Cocoa The Pool Boy
Lounging chair
Pitcher of Margaritas

For Ironing:

VERY, VERY heavy thermostatically controlled iron
Metal-frame ironing board with pad and cover
Cocoa The Pool Boy
Lounging chair
Chocolate bon-bons and/or a large bunch of grapes
Hand-held fan in case of the vapors

Nice-to-have Equipment:

Cocoa's Twin Brother Pablo

Must-have Supplies:
Fabric Softener
Teenaged children for when Cocoa and Pablo need breaks
A two-person hammock in the shade

Any questions?

House Hunting Hump-Day.

As it's Wednesday and I've started a "tradition" of looking for Marnie's perfect house, I couldn't let you down by not including a little cottage or two for our viewing pleasure.

I’ve only listed one house today. When you see where I’m moving you will see no other house is needed.

Well okay, maybe one more.

DAMN IT!!!! Sold right out from under me!!!

Okay, okay, okay, but this one was built in 1216 and I PROMISE it's the last one!
I got extra space for roomies; any takers?

Monday, March 24, 2008

Loblolly Love

I promised a pollen photo “montage” so I took my happy booty out this weekend and took a few pictures to share in the hopes my complaints about our springtime pollen would sink in. (Mrs. R…..I love you so ignore the pretty spring flowers in the background and concentrate on those Calvin and Hobbs snowmen.) In order to best understand just how thick the pollen accumulation gets, I must first introduce you to the dreaded loblolly pine trees I was lovingly referring to last week.
Here we have a photo taken from my backyard. This photo shows two of the title holding champion producers of pollen. Note: Those tiny little “blobs” that look like miniature pinecones? Their not – they’re what are called “pollen cones”. Yup – nothin’ but pretty yellow baby-fine powder up there just waiting to rain down on unsuspecting civilians.

Here is a close up of a pollen cone:

And here is what a tree looks like once the pollen cones have burst:


Moving on, folks.

Wandering outside with my camera in hand in the hopes of providing the best representation of the demonic fertilization technique through photographic example possible, my neighbor and kindred spirit, Magillicutty, threw open her screened door and beckoned me across the street with an ice cold beer. How does one resist that kind of temptation?

Cold beer in hand, I explained to my friend the photos I was in the process of putting together to include on my blog. “No problem! Just snap a couple of pictures here on my screened in porch and then we’ll have another cold one!”

Well okay then, buddy, consider it done!

Here we see Magill’s antique bureau. Note the circle in the bottom left-hand corner; that is where her coasters normally reside. I removed them to show you the effects on non-human entities as well. Isn’t that an exquisite shade of sulfur?

Here we have an example of a “butt print”. Thank goodness pollen washes out easily!

My plants at home look just a yummy and they’re not even outside!

And here we have my car. I love my car. I love my car so much I named him. His name is Gawaine. Gawaine looks like he needs a bath. But wait, he received one an hour before this picture was taken in the hopes of looking his best. ONE HOUR! (You can even see where the pollen dried with the droplets of water left over from his rinsing.)

Yes this is why I love springtime. Not the lovely flowers you catch glimpses of in the background of the photos above. Not the sunshine and lazy days we take advantage of every weekend. It’s the pollen; the repugnance that arises like the sun at dawn. The joy of Swifer as the cost of their stock continues to rise. It’s not love in our air, friends….it’s pollen.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Carndal Sin Friday

I am in a pissy mood today.

Sitting in a meeting this morning, a meeting that had absolutely no possibility what-so-ever to maintain my attention, my mind began to wander. I’m ADD; my mind wanders a great deal. It wanders so far and wide I have no idea where it will wind up.

Today’s destination was one of the cardinal sins. Can any of you remember what those seven deadly sins are? I’ll list them for you in alphabetical order. They are: envy, gluttony, greed, lust, pride, sloth, and wrath. Funny, because looking at the alphabetized list I was right there at the top dwelling on envy.

Webster’s defines “envy” as follows:

Noun – 1. A feeling of grudging admiration and desire to have something possessed by another. 2. Spite and resentment at seeing the success of another (personified as one of the deadly sins). *whew* got that right!

Verb – 1. Feel envious towards; admire enviously. 2. Be envious of; set one's heart on.

Yup, that describes my musing to a tee. I was recently reading blogs and comments of others and I became sad/aggravated/angry/disappointed/call it what you will that I didn’t have what some of them have. I didn’t have one of the things that I want most. I want it, Daddy, and I want it now! There it is folks - envy. That ugly green monster called envy.

What is it, you ask, that could put such a loving and caring soul such as mine into a tailspin of despair? I’m a forty-two year old single mother of two teenagers living paycheck to paycheck and I’ve never been married. Now I understand that not all marriages are sunshine and roses. Heck, I don’t think any marriage is sunshine and roses. But one of these days I would like to get married and have that sense of peace that some of you are lucky enough to have of being able to go home and have a man there that will listen, shoulder a bit of responsibility here and there, take that Honey Do List from you (even if he has no intention of completing one single task on that list), and just plane being there for you. I don’t have that. I’ve never had that. I really wouldn’t mind trying it on for size before I turn eighty-seven, suffer from dementia and not be able to appreciate what I had even if it bit me on the ass.

I know, I know, some of you are reading this with your eyes bugging out of your head, shaking that head in amazement and mentally composing your rebuttal.


Before you respond, take just a moment to ponder your life if you had no one to come home to…..ever. Can you imagine how lonely some of your evenings would be? Can you imagine the extra burden you would be taking on by being alone? I’m not speaking of escaping a dysfunctional relationship; I’m speaking of not having that man beside you. That man that loves you even when you berate him for a job poorly done. That man you roll your eyes at when he asks where the remote control sitting right there on the coffee table is that he’s been looking for for two hours and can’t find. That man that no matter how big the laundry hamper is fails to get his underwear and socks in the basket. That man that keeps you awake all night with his snoring. Wouldn’t it be lonely with no one to listen to your bitch sessions?

Take my word, it is.

Man….I am in a pissy mood today.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Happy First Day of Spring!

Leaving work yesterday I hopped enthusiastically into my gas-guzzling SUV, buckled up, and rolled down the windows. It was a balmy 79 degrees and I was excited that spring had finally arrived. I slid Sting into the CD player and sped out of the parking lot like a member of the mass exodus of the Great Plains in 1933.


Cruisin’ with Sting.

Cruisin’ with Sting and no kids.

Could anything be better than this?

Okay, cruisin’ with Dwayne Johnson sitting by my side – that would be better….

The windows were down, blonde hair flowing in the wind, voice echoing not so beautifully the words of Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner and then I see it. It surrounds me; a virtual cloud of dust gliding through the air and covering everything in its path. SHIT! Only one thing equals our hatred to lovebug season and that’s spring in Tallahassee.

I hurriedly close my windows, turn on the air-conditioning, and pray that I’m not too late. Double shit, I am. I grab the grape Gatorade I never finished at lunch as my mouth is so full of pollen my teeth are actually crunching. Triple shit, I’ve forgotten that pollen expands when mixed with any type of moister.

I blindly dig through my purse searching for my Chapstick. I remove the cap and begin applying to my poor, dry lips. I gasp in pain; the barbed pollen particles are being dragged across my mouth leaving behind a trail of jagged and shredded flesh. My eyes become victims of necrosis, exposed too long to the acidic chemical compounds spewed forth by the Loblolly pines. My lungs felt as if they would burst with the need to get uncontaminated oxygen.

And I don’t even have allergies.

If you’ve never experienced spring in the tri-state area (our tri-state area being Florida, Georgia, and AlaBAMa) there is no way to explain how colorfully–coated our world becomes. I could try to describe the yellowish-green haze that descends upon us but there truly are no words to describe our regional plague.

I’ll go out this weekend and put together a photo-essay so that you too can experience the wonders of Florida in the spring.

Hey, at least it wasn’t lovebugs!

Cartoon from MacGregor collection. Find them here

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Let's Find Marnie The Perfect House Day

As you know, last week I told you how I love house hunting. I have big dreams. It’s not a bad thing, but I also understand the love and care it takes to maintain an older home. My current house isn’t exactly “historic” but I was born and raised in an area of the country that values and appreciates architectural excellence. Therefore, I have just this morning deemed Tuesdays……”Let’s Find Marnie The Perfect House Day”. Here are a few to get your rocker rockin’; see what you can find that tickles your fancy.

A little too modern for my taste BUT I guess I could suffer.

What a shame this one is in the middle of town; wonder what it would cost to move it?

I have no desire to live in Mexico but hey, what do I know – never been there.

Check out the underground tunnel on this one; I could actually turn to my spawn and tell them to “Go downstairs and skateboard ‘til dinner is ready!”

Italy anyone?

Remember me saying how I would love a little farm to grow old on? Check out the barn that comes with this quaint little home build in 1700….and it has a “greenhouse”, too! Bedrooms will need a bit of updating (paint, furniture that fits in the room) but check out the kitchen – FAB!

Anyone a Hitchcock fan? Does that staircase scream “Vertigo” or what? And look at the ceiling in the “teal” bedroom. WOW!

I told you - it’s an addiction.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Why Irish Mommies Drink Heavily On St. Paddy's Day...

(Conversation with Spawnette this morning)

6:30 a.m.

Honey, it’s time to get up.


Would you like me to make you a cup of coffee?


‘Kay, be right back.

6:33 a.m.

Here’s your coffee Sweet Pea, I’ll check on you in a few.


6:47 a.m.

Honey, you really need to get a move on it, okay?

(Linda Blair shoots up into a sitting position spewing forth…)

I HEARD you the FIRST time!

6:53 a.m.

(I notice there still is no light streaming from under her bedroom door.)

(I softly tap on the door.)

(In a whisper…..)

You up yet?


7:02 a.m.

(I slam the door open and flip on the light yelling….)

Grandma’s here to take you to school; I gotta go!


What bag?


Where did you see it last?


No “where” did you see it last?


Hold on, I bet you left it in the car.


(I return in two minutes)

Here it is.


Right there.


What bag?


What game?


On the 24th, Honey, not today.


When did you find this out?


(Deep sigh)

Honey, I really need to go.


(Leaning over and grasping the handle of the bag lying at my feet…)

This one?


Some troll-like creature that goes by the name of Gork slipped into the house last night with the sole purpose of reeking havoc on your perfectly organized morning routine. Don’t worry Honey; Mommy will let him sneak in the house tonight then kick his ever-lovin’ dimply ass for disrupting everything perfect and orderly here in your room.

Mom… really need to go.

Friday, March 14, 2008

A Hard Day's Work

Why is it, I frequently ask myself, that I complain about the attitudes of my children, the cantankerous moods of my mother, and the vast distance between myself and my man but I fail to see the treacherous nature of working on the outskirts of town here in Tallahassee, Florida. Treacherous??? You ask. Why yes, treacherous. Aside from the tornadoes, hurricanes, and wildfires we deal with on a regular basis, we have the local wildlife to deal with, as well. You all know I am slowly but surely killing myself through the imbibing of cigarettes. (I’m cutting back with the hopes of quitting but we’ll save that for another bitch session.) However, should I take the following examples as God’s way of saying “QUIT NOW OR ELSE!”?

Example One:

This is the door I enter and leave my office building.
This is the alligator that was blocking the door I enter and leave the office building.

I hear you God.

Example Two:

This is the door I enter and leave my office building. These are the geese across the street from the door I enter and leave the office building.

This is a different angle of the door I enter and leave my office building.
Those are geese across the street from the door I enter and leave my office building.
Those geese WERE here:

I hear you God.

After briefly contemplating the two examples, I’ve come to the conclusion the alligator wasn’t so bad.
Those geese are SCARY!!!!

Thursday, March 13, 2008

I Love Googling

I love Googling.

It’s an addiction.

My senses are titillated much in the same why they are when I first walk into a DSW I have never frequented before. There are things available I had no idea were out there….and those that know me understand that my mind has the capability of working in a tasteless, most unseemly manner.

I’m in the process of redecorating my girl-spawn’s bedroom. She has decided she is “too old” for a rain forest green room and wants to graduate to orange.


That’s ORANGE for those that didn’t gasp the first time the color was read.

Lucky for her, I actually love orange. Not that I’d want to sleep in a room with walls the color of chewed and spewed cheesy poofs but hey, spawnette is only 15 years old.

In the hopes of not blinding other family members and friends, I was googling with the hopes of locating pictures of decorating ideas I had in my head that I was incapable of explaining to the tightly molded left side of spawnette’s brain. (She’s a visual kinda gal.) I have ideas for a slightly less bold wall color with the ceiling a darker orange, Indian saree’s turned into pillows and curtains, the removal of her closet doors and replacing them with drapes, the hanging of a capiz chandelier, and maybe, if the mood strikes us, draping gauzy material over the ceiling. I know, I know, it’s a bit much but I love decorating.

So there I am.

Nothing but Google to aid me.

I access the images link and type in “indian bedroom”, “moroccan bedroom”, “indian moroccan bedroom” or something along those lines. My search resulted in a multitude of images but we all know those images are small.

We have to click on them to see the photo better.

In big….bold….techicolor brilliance...




It’s a hotel in California (insert song lyrics here) and you get to choose from the 109 fabulously decorated rooms depending on your fantasy, sense of humor, or own personal taste.

Being of Irish descent, I chose the Irish Hills Room.

What? You’re French? How about the Fleur De Lis Room? Or the Vouz

Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening….you’re Swedish! Here, this is the Carin Room just for you.

Yes folks – there really is an OZ and it’s located halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. So grab those ruby slippers, throw the dog in a picnic basket and let’s meet so we can kick some flying monkey ass!