The New Name is.... I have been trying to avoid a lot of stories from the home front down in West Virginia simply because 1) I was hoping that things would change and 2) I thought maybe it had gotten way too boring to even read. But...1) it isn't changing and 2) now I need to vent and I don't care too much if its too boring to read! As everyone knows, my father is dating the Squeeze. She's a derelict that picked him up at his bar the night of the Eagles concert at the MCI Center in Washington, DC last summer. There's currently a huge family fight between me and my waste-of-skin sister about whose fault this little love connection really is. Mostly, I figure, it's mine since I was the one who drove from Pittsburgh to Bunker Hill and then onto Washington, DC and back that day. It was me whose contacts were so dry they nearly flipped off my eyeballs as we sat at the bar after all that driving and a hotter-than-hell concert at the MCI Center. And it was me who pleaded exhaustion and blindness and left him there...ALONE...while I went back to his house to sleep it all off and prepare to drive BACK to Pittsburgh the next morning. My sister could possibly be culpable since she and her husband arrived at the club post-concert just after we left and were the last ones to see him before this Black Widow-type got her claws into him but for the sake of the story, I'll accept the blame. Unfortunately, while we gave it days, then weeks and finally, until New Years...they're still together. This after she basically slept with everything that crawled near her while he went to Washington Redskin games and then masterminded a sophisticated and incredibly stupid plan to have him killed so she could inherit what she perceived as his "mansion and millions." Too bad for her he recorded it all and too bad for him, he got depressed after he threw her out and she played that for all it was worth, ultimately getting back in on Christmas Day. Imagine MY surprise when we arrived two days later, not knowing any of this, and she greeted us at the door. She's fairly shameless and figures he made her do it so she can still hold her head up around us although while we opened Hanukkah gifts, she stayed in the big master bedroom, barking out orders to my father who catered to her every whim. We went to dinner with them later and she remarked about Evan who was brazenly chatting her up that his only interest in her was that "he thinks I have money." Mr. Pot, may I introduce you to Ms. Kettle????? Et tu Brute???? Well, anyway, my father is still as devoted as ever and even went so far as to buy her two dogs - Gigi and Pierre - to go along with her aged beast Roscoe. He hardly ever calls ME anymore so I annoy the crap out of her every Sunday evening by calling them. He started attending Sunday School and church services with her at the Berryville Baptist Church. I am pretty sure she assured him that this was how she'd overcome her alcohol and drug addiction although I have no idea if it worked. They take my nephew PJ, who is 8, and who some may remember as being just shy of authentic spawn of the devil. I do believe the Squeeze likes to pretend she's his mommy or something but usually they dump him just afterwards and go find her granddaughters and take them shopping. Needless to say this infuriates my sister who sees HER kid getting gipped at the expense of these other kids we don't even know. In fact, just after she managed to get back INTO the house, the Squeeze announced that she and my Dad would be taking HER grandchildren to Disney World this summer. That's fine. Just stay the hell away from me. My dad has definitely settled into some weird domestic life with this fruitcake - they have their dogs that travel with them everywhere they go, they attend church (even though he still says he's Jewish) and now...they'll be traveling together. I find this to be the most disturbing since I had hoped she's be gone by now. Apparently, her tentacles are quite firmly entrenched. Every February he goes off to Brasil - to HIS people, he says - for Carnivale. This year his childhood best friend was going and they were meeting people there including another buddy from Detroit. It's even MORE pathetic since they had booked a suite for the three of them and had been really looking forward to it since last summer. He cancelled last week. And why? Because of her. And I say that with as much distaste as possible, I assure you. Now, he's booked to travel to Nashville and Memphis and finally, New Orleans for Mardi Gras. He's leaving WITH HER on Thursday. She wanted to take all three dogs but apparently he grew a pair between then and now and put his foot down. I was amazed. In honor of all this nipple-twisting, I have realized that the name I have coined for her - The Squeeze - just doesn't seem to catch the essence that is her. No...here is a woman who does nothing but put my dad down, find reasons to interrupt and make him hang up when he's talking to moi, and who generally whines, puts out and grubs to get anything and everything she can for her and her family. Believe me, as soon as she can drive a wedge between me and my dad...she will. In honor of this newfound reality, I am unveiling her new name. The Sponge. I think it fits....perfectly.

Water Water Everywhere... Being a devout Weight Watcher, I am one of those chicks you see who pretty much carries a 20-ounce water bottle with me everywhere I go. When I eat out, the drink de rigeur is "water with lemon please!" From a very young Weight Watcher age, I was taught that everytime I peed, that, yup, there went even MORE fat into the toilet. The more I drank, the faster I would lose. Hydration was as critical to weight loss as calories! And in the ensuing years I have heard every urban myth about water that comes down the pike. How you need to drink one ounce for every two pounds you're overweight, or two ounces for every pound, or just drink your weight in water and BAM! You'll see the fat running right out from between your legs! Now, granted I SHOULD be drinking a lot of water. I am a survivor of some 40 kidney stones over the past 20 years and water is definitely my friend!!! My urologist loved it when I happened upon Weight Watchers and he's particularly happy during those times when I am following it religiously because those are times when we don't see each other so much. But is this water/weight loss thing really what it's cracked up to be? I have to wonder. And my conclusion (and that of the Institute of Medicine apparantly) is that we are hyped by the media into thinking we really NEED more than we do. According to their study, the Institute says that women need about 91 ounces a day and men need about 125. Well, hush my mouth but that aligns fairly well with what Weight Watchers has hawked all along - they say drink 6-8 glasses (8-ounce) daily and that THAT, combined with your food and other beverage intake will be JUST RIGHT. The study can be found here. They also release some information on salt (we eat too much) and potassium (we eat too little) which is quite valuable. Check it out and then have a glass of water on me!

Not your average Stooge or Just Call Me Curly I have decided I must be a Stooge. And why? Because I am being extorted by a munchkin of a man at work. And let me tell you, extortion is NOT pretty. It all started about four years ago. I had just gotten the shiny new job where I work now. Granted, the working conditions were somewhat primitive. Four of us, crammed together in a 20 x 16 foot room, with no cubes, no dividers...slightly reminiscent of a sweatshop although I can tell you *I* was kissing the ground my swivel chair sat on....once they finally agreed to get me one. The problem pretty much all revolves around the fact that our organization was torn from the bowels of another. And that OTHER organization, where I had the pleasure of toiling for seven months, has a pretty bad, although well-earned, reputation. Prior to working THERE, I worked outside doing surveying. Actually, to be quite honest, I liked it there. Except for the peeing behind a tree part. That I could have done without. Anyway, when I first started here, the guy who sat behind me, at the time....a diminutive little guy of about 4'10" asked if I'd like to earn some extra cash. Being a cash slut, I naturally agreed. And thus started what has turned into a work-without-pay scheme that would make Martha Stewart proud. The deal was that I would proof and occassionally type papers for his Master's degree program which he was taking online. Verbally we agreed that I would be paid for my work. What has HAPPENED though is that he has weaseled out of it on so many occassions that now I am just convinced that I have to get him to his degree just so he'll leave me alone. The fact that he is the controller and the second in command means everything in this situation. It also means everything that we're an ultra-small company and there's really no one to turn to for help. Currently I am in the twilight of his degree program. I am busy finishing his thesis paper and then I'll be done. When he asked me to do it, he said he would pay me $75 - well, let's just say I am not holding my breath. About all I have gotten out of it is him ratting me out at my last review. I am sure he felt insulated enough between classes that there'd be no retribution from ME and he could defame me all he wanted to my boss without fear that one or more of his papers would become butchered. And I am fairly sure he's confident I won't rat HIM out about it either. The fact of the matter is I am a stooge. And for all my posturing and feather-preening, I do not have the jewels to back up my swagger. When he ratted me out at my review, I vowed that the day he handed me a paper to type, I'd march my sweet little ass right into the head honcho's office and ask if this paper was suddenly on my list of responsibilities. But I didn't. No, when that figure of $75 came up, I relented and started to work. Somehow I realized what a pipe dream it all was - he'd never paid me OR Donna before, why would we even start to think he'd pay us now??? I'll keep you posted but I have to say I am just disappointed in myself. At least it's almost done. And I bet the payoff will come when he rats me out at my review again THIS year.

The Good News Well, I can now officially call off the housewide search for the Boy's hiking boots. As it looks now, he won't be heading to the nether regions of western Pennsylvania for a hike with the Boy Scouts, simply because no Webelo leader wants to go either. I am sure the Boy will be grateful even if he never knows what he is grateful for but for some reason, to me, at least, being relieved of a 4-mile hike in 29 degree weather through snowpack in swampy, flooded marshes around a lake sounds like an excellent reason to be grateful. Of course, this now leaves an entire weekend to find activities to do. He's been watching Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring although he hasn't brought himself to get past the part where they go into the cave and Gandalf falls into the abyss. I am sure he will though. He really is enjoying it and I am actually liking that he's not watching Mr. Deeds for the 111th time. Other than that, not much planned in our end of the world other than watching the water roll down the hill outside of our house and watching our dog skate across the snow-now-ice in our yard when we let him out to pee.

Cabin Fever I am in a mood lately and I really just don't know why. Either everyone is just plain annoying or I really DO have the winter doldrums. Whatever. This weekend, the Boy is going with the Boy Scouts on a 4-mile hiking trip. I am worried sick. He has never walked more than a mile and everytime he does, he whines, bitches and moans about it. Legitimately, he DOES have some physical issues that make walking a pain. For example, he has flat feet and low muscle tone. Both make being a stellar athelete at least a little difficult. Still, he swims and he actually does this rather well even though we missed the last six weeks of classes due to his burst eardrum. He swims the length of the pool three or four times so I would imagine he has the stamina...provided they aren't rushing him and the weather doesn't make it seem like he's in the Iditarod. It's supposed to just be cold - in the 20's this weekend which is a MARKED improvement over the Little Siberia we HAVE been experiencing this past month. And the kids seem to be kind to him even if he IS the youngest by far and more importantly, the leaders like him very much. So tomorrow I'll go out and get little water bottles so he'll have plenty to drink and bags of trail mix so he'll have plenty to munch and some hotdogs so he can cook over the fire with the other boys. And I'll bundle him up on Saturday and hope that the boots he has to wear aren't THAT much too small. And at 9am, I'll wave goodbye and hope they don't wreck coming OR going and that at 7pm, I'll be getting my little guy back safe and sound. By Sunday I am sure, I'll be ready to throttle him. :)