Hats Off

OK, so here I am, sucking down a V & T, shoving my pretty little head into a giant bowl of salad from Leo's , and scanning through my Tivo, debating whether I want to watch Housewives of New York or Daisy of Love, which can only mean one thing--it's Friday night!! Woo-Freakin-Hoo!! You have seriously ventured onto the wrong website if you're looking for inside information on happening night-life opportunities for Singletons here in the D.

So what to say about the week that was? Hmmm, well, the Red Wings scared the crap out of me--after Sunday's marathon 3 OT loss to Anaheim (and my new IB, the uber, uber-dreamy Ryan Getzlaf) they appeared to sleepwalk through Tuesday and the first period of last night's game. But they seem to have righted the ship, and summarily spanked those Duckies last night, so it would seem all is OK on that front. The Chicas went back to school Wednesday after the CDC announced that closing the schools only served to fuel the fire of paranoia in the face of the Virus Formerly Known as Swine Flu. Gee, that was such a big help. Oh, and Dave Bing was elected mayor of the City of Detroit on Tuesday, a mere 72 hours after I mentioned him right here. I don't want to take too much credit, after all, a whole 12% of the population turned out to vote on Tuesday, so clearly the immediate families of his paid supporters have made their voices heard. We have a little over 150 days til the next election, so until then, I have added his framed photo to the gallery of Famous Dudes Named Dave that graces my office.

But my favorite story of the week was this one, about how Aretha Franklin wants to be paid royalties for all the attention garnered for her Inauguration Hat. Now for those of you too lazy to click on that there link (it's OK, it's Friday, I get it) here is what it looked like

Now that is a chapeau with a bow! I myself could never wear something like that because I am not insane, and I have been a cursed with a little tiny pea-head that would be dwarfed by that gigando lid. I was actually surprised to read that Ms. Aretha Franklin paid for the hat herself, for it was my impression that celebrities rarely paid retail, especially when they were going to do something like, say, I don't know, sing at the Inauguration in front of billions of people? Seems to me that she needs better asssistants around her--folks who will strong-arm the designers into giving her free shit up front, rather than make the Queen of Soul come around the back door after the fact asking for royalties and/or additional headgear gratis.

If we're following the Quid Pro Quo formula, I would propose this question--If Aretha wants royalties for the hat, is she prepared to pay restitution to the designer of her 2008 Grammy dress?

Now you know that I am not one to take aim at the slow moving target, but Holy Hanna! I'm just glad she had the one wider strap and the shawl thing, because otherwise it would have been decidedly un-classy.

I'm not a big fan of the philosophy of "When Am I Gonna Get Mine?". Too many people these days have a sense of entitlement, that just because they are, they should receive. And that's not the case. I'm not saying that Aretha hasn't worked her ass off to get where she is today, but wouldn't it be more worthy of a Queen to provide a global stage for a designer from the D, and thank him heartily for enabling her to make a relatively understated fashion statement? I would think so, but then again, that's just me. At the end of the day though, all of this hubbub is about a hat. A gigantic bedazzled monstrosity, but still it's a freakin' hat.

So yeah, I'm going to forget about Aretha, hang out tonight and see if I can actually start to mutate into a vegetable form. It's all good, I really need to rest up before tomorrow morning when the tickets for the second Kid Rock show go on sale. And hey, if they sell out, he can personally thank me for mentioning it here. I will gladly accept his heartfelt thanks from one rock-star-resident of the D to another, but if he wanted to thank me in the form of free tickets and/or backstage passes, I would certainly accept them. I may have my principles, but I'm not stupid.

OMG H1N1 BS 4SURE

OK, so today was Monday, which is not a day of the week that inspires great loyalty or firmness of conviction, to which legions of folks around the world rally together to shout to the heavens "WE LOVE MONDAY!" No, those battle cries are saved for the sexy Fridays of the work-week, and to a lesser extent Thursdays whenever there are discounted well-drinks and dollar-bottles until 10pm. But you know what, if Monday wants to get out of the doghouse and get more respect, then it really needs to stop sucking so badly.

Case in point, this particular Monday came bearing the gift of "child-care scramble." All parents are familiar with this ritual, when you are forced at the last minute by illness or inclement weather to secure and otherwise slap together alternate child-care arrangements. Each time this happens with the Chicas, I am struck in equal parts with panic, frustration, and nausea at the fact that I do not really have a solid contingency plan--my parents don't live in the area, I don't have a uber-cool elderly aunt who could help me out for a few hours after her Chair-yoga class, and the only old-neighbor-lady around my house is married to The Hobbitt, and I really just can't take that chance no matter how desperate I get.

Oh, and did I mention why school was closed today? Yes, my Lovelies, it is because of Swine Flu, which I can no longer call Swine Flu, but rather must refer to as that other name with the letters and numbers, but not ever again Swine Flu. I swear to Ever-Living-God-Above, this thing is becoming my nemesis, my Newman if you will (yay--finally a Seinfeld reference!) because not only did PCCS close all schools for the next two days, but when I got to work, what did I get to do? C'mon, you can guess better than that...OK, I will tell you...I got to hand out the Emergency Preparedness Kits shipped to us from our granola-buddies at Corporate! Yes, each employee was bequeathed with the aforementioned 5-day supply of hand sanitizer, surgical masks, and latex gloves. Seriously.

I really think that someone could make a huge amount of money and provide a valuable public service by creating a company for contingent childcare. (Not me of course--I'm far too lazy and short-sighted, but if anyone needs eye-candy for an infomercial, feel free to give me a call). Not for when your kids are projectile vomiting, or legitimately sick with something that could be the dreaded Swine Flu, not that I can call it that, but just a back-up for snow-days or when they're just kind of sick, or when the schools cave into public hysteria like they did today. Something like a network of moms or old-neighbor-ladies (who aren't married to Hobbitts of course) who would be willing to make a little extra coin and help a sister out. I'm sure they're out there, I just don't know who they are. And yes, I know I could ask my friends, but they have their own lives and families, and I have a whole lot of chillens which ultimately makes for a brutally long day. I just feel like it's a lot to ask for when I already rely on them so much, and I have limited ability to reciprocate.

In the end it worked out OK, for the weekday-collect-the-big-Chicas-from-school-babysitter-girl was also not in school today, and was able to come help me out. As for tomorrow, I was a very big girl and actually asked the FM for assistance, and seeing that he's home this week due to "employment issues" of his own, it's really a win-win for both of us. So yeah, my very loosely woven net of childcare was patched together to survive yet another week. Of course, if this Not-Swine-Flu thing doesn't clear up any time soon, they may be out for the summer sooner rather than later. Which means that I would need full-time, preferably low-cost, in-my-home care for 3 Chicas at the drop of a hat... Newman!!

Blah

OK, so it's Saturday again, and I cannot believe another week completely got away from me. Today has been a little bit busy, I've already cut the grass, done some laundry, and spent the morning handing out free pens to doctors. At a trade show, not just on some random corner outside Receiving--that would be crazy. And silly. Maybe I'll try it next weekend.

Yeah, so the show was unremarkable. My boss loves to drag me along with her because A, I am a highly entertaining chick to have around, and B, she harbors some delusion that I will bag myself a single doctor at one of these things, and she'll get to say she brought us together while the angels sing and the rainbows dance. Now, I don't want to be mean, but the specialty we work with does not attract the most socially adept fellas into its ranks. They also tend to be short. Really, really short. Contrary to popular opinion, I don't have a problem with short dudes--in fact, they tend to dig me more than tall guys do for some reason--it's the skinny, geeky part I can't get past. Ah, Shallowness, thy name is Kelly-Girl.

I'm so not going to touch the Swine Flu thing because I am so over it (though I would like to point out that I talked about it in detail last weekend, before it officially reached paranoia levels) and I actually had to have a meeting with our entire department to reassure them that the company was sending an emergency shipment of masks, gloves, and hand sanitizer to each employee, and my personal feeling that if any of them actually wears said mask in the office, I would be seriously tempted to fire them immediately. Well, I left that last part out. Barely.

The mayoral race between Dave Bing and Ken Cockrel, Jr. is heating up the airwaves here in the D. Now, I was hoping someone, somewhere could explain to me the logic of having a financially struggling city hold an election for someone to serve out the rest of Kwame's term, only to hold the regular election in...wait for it...go ahead and guess...oh, ok I'll tell you...NOVEMBER!!!! Awesome! They're spending all this time and money for someone who will be mayor for a couple months, then stop working so that they can focus on their re-election campaign, and start the wheels of democracy a-rollin' all over again. I was going to endorse Dave Bing, because I know how much weight my opinion holds with the citizens of the D, but then he said "pacifically" in a press conference last week, so now I just don't know what to do. I'm at a loss.

So yeah, what else? Hmmm...really, not much. It's been kind of a dull, sluggish week and subsequently non-eventful weekend. The Marine is away, the Chicas are here, and there's just not a lot to report. Hell, we don't even have soccer this weekend, so you know something's not quite right. I guess I'm in kind of a lull, just feeling blah. Of course seeing as I just cut the grass, it could also be a symptom of oxygen deprivation, but what do I know? I suppose I'll take advantage of the relative quiet, and the lack of commotion, and just hang out with my girls. And my new pen that I took even though I'm not a doctor, I just play one on TV.

Viva Mejico!

OK, so today it became woefully apparent in very short order that I shot my proverbial gardening wad last weekend. I was only able to muster about an hour's worth of work out of my lazy Irish ass--I dug up 3 poorly rooted, thus dying shrubs of unknown origin, got the bejesus scared out of my by a freakin' squirrel who took up residence in my shed, and I wandered around a whole lot. It was an exhausting 72 minutes, but after last week, I figured I deserved a break, and quickly threw in the trowel (I'm so sorry, I just couldn't resist that one).

So health news has been big on the radar this week, huh? Local 4's coverage about the quasi-pandemic of swine flu got me spooked so bad this afternoon that I almost canceled my shipment of Mexican pork chops, and thought about ordering some Chica-sized respirator masks off of Amazon. Of course we have not, nor do we know anyone who has traveled to Mexico, but still, there's gotta be an alarmist Michigan connection that is putting me at risk somehow, someway, and if anyone can find it, it is Carmen Harlan and Devin Scillian.

While I was trapped in my second of two bridge-painting traffic jams yesterday, I also found out that April is Oral Health month, an unfortunately named event sponsored by the Canadian Dental Association. Along with the Ontario Ministry of Health, they have sponsored a number of PSA's aimed at educating our neighbors to the north (and those of us lucky enough to pick up their broadcast signal here in the States) on the importance of good oral hygiene. Did you know that tooth decay is an infectious disease? The 8 year old voiceover kid told me that, in addition to the fact that tooth decay is a leading cause of school absenteeism. Hmm, I did not know that. Finally and most likely to give you the willies, the old-official-sounding dude informed all of the listeners that if you lick your baby's pacifier, you could in fact be spreading tooth decay. Ewwwww. Seriously.

Now I am a fairly healthy chick, who thanks to great genes and a fabulous orthodontist (mad love to Dr. Wright in Somerville) doesn't often give much thought to her overall health or her teeth for that matter. I also don't worry about random illnesses, conditions, or uber-strains of some virus that I am unlikely to come in contact with. I am far more inclined to panic when a Chica-buddy comes down with the stomach bug for I know the vomit-clock begins ticking in my own house, and don't even get me started about what happens when the "Lice Note" comes home from school. Nope, I am a staunchly isolationist chick who chooses to bury her head in the sand, convinced that faraway stuff just won't happen to me, despite that the Henny-Penny's of the news world may tell me otherwise.

So yeah, the CDC can report, and label and worry all they want. I spent the afternoon calmly cruising Travelocity for a little Mexican getaway for me and the Chicas. I figure with the fallout from this whole swine flu thing, plus if I book it for August, at the height of hurricane season, I just may be able to afford it. Yep, that's me, always thinking. Though for the time being, I believe I will start calling them "Frauleins." Just to be safe. I think Carmen and Devin would approve.

Feel the Love

OK, so today was supposed to be a day of love--say it with me--looooove. I got to sleep in a little bit (alright, I admit, it was a lotta bit) the weather was gorgeous, and I started off the day meditating and professing my undying adoration for Kid Rock in front of the small, tasteful shrine I've erected for him in my boudoir. I was then headed to a wedding shower, which I usually boycott because I hate them, but it was for a chick at work whom I dig, so I agreed to attend even though it was all the way over on the East side and I ultimately got lost, which happens a lot when I go over there, but in the end, it was all good--all love, and rainbows and balloons. Then I got home, and read this crappy, crappy story about how Detroit is America's Most Dangerous City.

Now, all of us who live in the D admit that we've got our issues here, but it was my impression that violent crime in the city proper was actually down, which in truth, it is, but I'll get back to that little nugget later. Let's first talk about the report by Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg. Now I usually don't let things like this pile of poop story get to me, but this one really pissed me off. First of all, the story is about violent crime, and what does Mr. O-G start off with? Kwame Kilpatrick. Nice. Kwame was a stupid and narcissistic liar (from day one of his administration quite frankly) who ultimately cost the city millions and oh, by the way, ruined the lives of a few people, on the way to sullying the reputation of the city he was elected to serve, but I'm pretty sure that nothing he was convicted of appears on the FBI's Uniform Crime Report. So the entire lead-in? Nothing but a cheap shot.

Let's move on shall we? The story also relies on statements like this from some risk-assessment wonk-chick, "Detroit has, historically, been one of the more violent cities in the U.S. They have a number of local crime syndicates there--a number of small gangs who tend to compete over territory." Wow, that is some compelling data. Now I would assume that is the case in most cities across the country, but hey, why take that into consideration when you're trying to slam the D?? Then Mr. O-G talks about Mexican drug cartels having a number of transit points here in the area, which I cannot dispute because I personally haven't trafficked horse for them for a number of years, so whether my former pick-up points are still in operation, I cannot say for sure. I also loves when Mr. O-G throws in the reference to Stockton, CA but does so in a way that makes it look like he's still talking about the D--inflammatory and technically inaccurate, but again, it makes this story sing, so it's OK, right?

Now before I place someone on my shit-list, I try to do my research because once you are on said list, it is very difficult to remove yourself, and I don't want to deprive anyone from my gloriousness unnecessarily. So I did my due diligence and Googled Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg, and found that he has done a lot of work for Forbes.com for the past year or so (he just graduated from Yale in 2007 so he's still a newbie). Stories like, "Most Valuable U.S. Coins," and "Most Expensive Baseball Cards," and "America's Most Expensive License Plates." So clearly, he is the source you go to if you want compelling journalism organized into list format. Interestingly, he gave the nod to Comerica Park at #15 on his list of "America's Best Baseball Stadiums," so apparently he thinks it's safe to go see the Tigers in the D, just don't walk around too much afterwards. My favorite find, though is his piece on America's Emptiest Cities because it contains this statement, "An industrial boomtown during the first half of the 20th century, Detroit's population swelled from 285,000 in 1900 to 990,000 in 1920, reaching a peak of 1.8 million in 1950. But starting in the 1960s, Detroit began a precipitous decline. Detroit's population is now 900,000--half what it was in the middle of the century--and many of its neighborhoods languish in varying states of decay. Most scholars blame rapid suburbanization, outsourcing of manufacturing jobs, and federal programs they say exacerbated the situation by creating a culture of joblessness and dependency." Oh, my--sound familiar? It must be so great to be able to gear your work towards flat-out cutting and pasting from one piece to the next.

So, just to set the record straight, here is the FBI's Uniform Crime Report, which, contrary to what Mr. O-G stated in his story was actually released in January 2009, but let's not delve too deeply into accurate factoids. Now, I don't know how the fuzzy crime rate referenced by Mr. O-G was derived, but looking strictly at the numbers, crime in Detroit has, in fact gone down in every category, save one, Burglary, which given the economic state around these parts, I'm actually surprised isn't higher. Also interesting is the FBI's disclaimer on the very front of this report, which specifically states that the compiled data is voluntarily disclosed by the cities, and therefore should not be used to compare cities. I just gotta quote it, "Comparisons lead to simplistic and/or incomplete analyses that often create misleading perceptions adversely affecting communities and their residents." Hmmm...

I'm left wondering why I'm so bothered by Mr. Zack O'Malley Greenburg's story. It's not because he is a dude with 3 names or that he was also the child star of Lorenzo's Oil, which was a flick I did not enjoy. It's not because the D is a pristine, crime-free paradise full of unicorns and golden fairy-dust--hella no. But then again, no place is. I grew up in Jersey and I live in Detroit, so I am well-versed in deflecting jibes and taunts thrown around by those not in the know about the places I live. Stories like these just perpetuate stereotypes, and they don't reflect the growth and progress that we're making. Slowly but surely, it's happening, and the real, true numbers prove it, should anyone deign to actually look at those.

OK, Mama Bear is stepping down from her soap box now--that was a whole lotta social activism for one afternoon. I'm going to shake off this angry mojo and go sit on my patio, for the weather is still lovely. I will drink a beer while my big fat steak cooks on my grill, and watch the Banana as he tries to wrestle that overgrown tree branch onto the ground. Yeah, it's Saturday in the D, all is now right with my world, and I am once again feeling the love.

A Good Thing

OK, so Wednesday April 22, 2009 will not go down in the annals of history as the day that Kelly-Girl lit the world on fire with her productivity and business savvy. First, I forgot my laptop at home, a fact that I became aware of as I turned onto Garfield, a mere block from my office. Faced with a 2 hour error-correction-turnaround-drive, I opted instead to spend the day at a different workstation, thus relegating myself to answering emails without access to my treasure trove of 7,000 plus previous messages--basically my entire knowledge base--and unable to open any attachments because there was no software loaded on the dummy terminal at which I sat. Yeah, a whole lotta cussing and swearing came from this here purty mouth, but in the end it was OK, because no one else got any work done either, for today was...wait for it...Community Day!

Yes, of all the days of the year, Community Day is one of my least favorite, ranking right up there with Christmas Bingo Day and Halloween Dress-up Day. "What is this occcasion?" you ask with bated breath and near-desperate anticipation. Well, my Lovelies, Community Day is our opportunity to gather together as a company to donate our time and efforts to give some good back to the world around us. Well, that's the warm-fuzzy-munchy-crunchy-granola spin put on it from our senior leadership, but in reality, it is a corporate-sponsored arts and crafts day. Yes, we give the staff a free t-shirt and a box lunch and let them open the floodgates of their creativity and benevolence. Well, they eventually get around to all that once they stop bitching about the fact that their shirt is too big, and how come she got an extra pickle, and why don't you have bottled water?

Last year, we made tote bags for pediatric cancer patients. We had a plain cloth bag, and we had to trace, then color in a picture of a cartoon character onto the bag using fabric markers and old-school carbon paper (yeah, the kind they used to make dittoes with, and then when Miss Coukas would hand out the spelling tests we'd sniff the still-damp-purple-inked delights). Then we filled them with dollar-store-goodies, and boxed them up to be sent to a local hospital. Easy enough, very fun, no muss, no fuss. Except for the one misguided tote, whose artist apparently didn't properly transfer the picture, so Tinkerbell ended up having only one arm and looked incredibly angry, with a very bizarro five o'clock shadow. I still feel very badly for the poor child that received that particular bag.

This year, our project was larger in scope. We were given 90 minutes to produce no-sew throw blankets for patients in VA hospitals. Now this is a noble cause, and one particularly close to my heart since I'm still hanging out with the Marine, but what the Powers-That-Be fail to recognize is that the task of instructing the 50+ people in my department on how to make said blanket fell to me, God help us all. So here I am, on the floor, on all fours, (did I mention ass in air?) trying to show these people how to cut out the corners, then cut all the little fringey things, and then tie them all, not rabbit-style, but with pull-knots. Seriously. I am not good at sewing or baking because they require measuring and precision and patience--all things in woefully short supply with the Kelly-Girl.

Yeah, this chick is neither artsy nor craftsy. My blanket came out round, and looked more like a ridiculous beret for Gulliver than anything Martha Stewart would advocate let alone touch with a 10 foot pole. Yes, my lack of aptitude with anything HGTV was on full display, a fact that my employees just loooooved, and I'm sure will now mock on a fairly regular basis. In the end though, we came together as a team and did a good thing to recognize people who have done an even greater thing--too great for words, really. So I guess that was the whole purpose, huh? Hmmm...point taken. Now get back to work.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

OK, so yesterday was the greatest day of the year so far, from a meteorological standpoint. It was sunny, about 75, and not a cloud in the sky. Of course, this being the D, it only lasted til about 5:30, at which time the clouds rolled in and the temps dropped about 27 degrees in about 20 minutes. Mother Nature is a big freakin' tease, but still we had a full 8 hours of uninterrupted outsideness. Even the Banana made a brief appearance, breaking out the tri-fold lounge chair and sunning his big fat ass on his deck, thankfully in tiny running shorts, not the yellow Speedo. Yeah, it was a fabulous day.

It was also a very productive day here at Casa Chica. We rolled into Home-Owner-Hell to purchase various sundries and notions to accomplish our landscaping goals for the day. The ATF and State Department put the kibosh on my Napalm order, so we had to resort back to conventional means--black plastic, weed killer, and lots of cussing and hacking at the underbrush. By the time all was said and done, we had filled 13 of those ubiquitous brown paper bags--I told you my backyard was huge, and now I have visual proof that it had grown totally out of control.

All-together, the Chicas and I spent about 4 hours working on our botanical mess. Well, let me rephrase that, they pitched in for about 38 minutes of that time, while Kelly-Girl toiled her sweet ass off. I realized that while I generally do not enjoy yard work, I do not mind it as much as I used to. When I was a kid growing up in Jersey we lived on about an acre of land, so Saturday-Chore-Day brought fear into our hearts and nightmares to our sleep. I spent every weekend for over 10 years coughing and sneezing and wheezing, all the while being barked at to stop whining and standing around, and get a goddamn tissue--good times, good times. Of course, finding out in my adult life that I have severe allergies (I'm allergic to absolutely everything besides dust and dogs) made those memories all the more enjoyable--a little Benadryl would have made my life so much easier, and put me into a yummy-sleepy place that might have made all the barking less permanently damaging.

I think that the daunting part is that even though I worked that hard, for that long yesterday, and achieved measurable results (can you tell I've been doing year-end employee reviews??) I am far from finished. I made a small dent, cleaning up years of neglect, and overall I am proud of my efforts. I was even able to politely ignore the Hobbitt as he commented, "Nice to finally see ya out here," and resisted the urge to stomp all over his wide swath of newly-sown grass seed that apparently now serves as the DMZ between our property. I know I have much more work ahead of me, but I'm working on my yard, at my pace, on my terms, and it feels pretty damn good.

So yeah, this morning while I look out my kitchen window with my sore and sunburned back, and hear the screeching of the Chicas as they beat each other into submission, I feel differently about the landscape I see before me. I no longer feel completely overwhelmed, just slightly, and I think perhaps I might have a plan. I have all the time in the world, and daresay a little motivation to keep moving forward. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel very positive today, like I've finally turned some corner, maybe even grown up a little bit. And if the Hobbitt and the Banana and the rest of the folks surrounding Casa Chica have a problem with what I've done, they can suck it and suck it hard. Yeah, I have wicked grown, fo' sho'.