Are there cheap electricity companies in Texas? Do people in Texas have a choice over their electric companies?

Do you have a choice in electric companies where you live?

I don’t know why this interests me or piques my curiosity. I can only say that it is a completely new thought for me because here in Cali we have always lived under the PG&E regime, that would be Pacific Gas and Electric. If you want those light bulbs to light, those Christmas lights to twinkle, that electric stove to boil your pasta… you gotta have yourself chained to the all-seeing-all-knowing-creator-of-questionable-meters.

Well, unless you are one of those lucky hippies living off the grid. Got yourself a windmill? Maybe a little dam whipping up your hydro-electricity thing-a-ma-bob? Solar panels, anyone?

I think eventually I might like to disappear out into the foresty-mountain-ey sort of place and live off the grid. I think that sounds awesome. I’d like to go all Ed Begley and make Mike pedal his buns off on a bicycle to power my toaster. Yes, I think I might like that very much.

I cannot stand clicking on a video of a PREVIEW of an upcoming episode of a show I watch only to find a commercial before the preview. A PREVIEW is a COMMERCIAL. So now, we have commercials FOR commercials? This sends me into whirlwinds of pissed off that I can’t even begin to describe.

For what it’s worth? TV Squad used to be one of my favorite sites to visit daily. I loved the reviews and recaps of my favorite shows. Then, Huffington Post took over and ruined it. It’s a mess. I can’t find anything I like and it looks just like the rest of Huffington Post, which is to say, an ADD sufferers DREAM.

TV Squad isn’t that big of a loss considering it routinely did something else that is a pet peeve of mine… auto loading video clips. If I WANT to watch the video, I know where to find the play button. I don’t need you to play it automatically so it competes with the current Blake Shelton or Billy Currington song I’m playing.

On a mostly unrelated note, ne of the most tedious, boring tasks is photo scanning. I don’t have the patience to screw around with a scanner and wait for it to go back and forth over my picture, document or whatever. I have even been known to just take a picture of a picture just to save myself hassling with that stupid scanner.

No joke.

This brought to you by Friday nothingness. I doubt this will be a regular occurrence around here but… you never know.

It’s taken many years, but I think the girls have finally beaten Mike down almost completely. Three of us in very different life stages makes for a constant, demanding, eye rolling, “if looks could kill”, screaming, “who took my gray eye liner?”, hot mess kind of life.

More than once someone has joked that if Maggie is bad now, no one wants to imagine her with PMS. Kate is probably the most easy going out of the three of us but that is no invitation to cross her. And, let’s just be honest, when the time comes I have a feeling I won’t be the only one in the house searching for menopause relief. (Amberen on twitter. Amberen on Facebook)

It was never more clear than last night. Kate was on her way to a friend’s house and I noticed Mike silently navigating traffic as Kate and I discussed pictures from formal on facebook. We were debating dress lengths and you could actually feel the testosterone draining from the vehicle. I expected to look over at my husband and find a withered husk driving the car any second.

Surrounded by women, Mike always seems to have a grin on his face either from sheer enjoyment or the “never let them see you afraid” strategy. Which, for the record, almost never works because women can smell fear in men and the bead of sweat on his upper lip is always a dead giveaway. In this house he might not always be wrong but he’s certainly never right.

I’ve observed Mike taking great comfort in “A Christmas Story” as the Old Man blusters through the house, making everyone quake in his wake, and proudly displaying a leg lamp in the center of the picture window declaring it, “a MAJOR AWARD!” Mike has no leg lamp. Mike does not bluster through the house, although he has been known to yell at the neighbor’s dogs who are more Bumpus like than Mike can tolerate.

I had a moment of sympathy while we were cleaning the kitchen. I said something about how it must be a difficult life for him, Mike replied, “I don’t even argue anymore…”

The arrival of Mike’s Harley seemed to provide some sort of testosterone boost. He strode about the house with a renewed sense of manliness, we were amused until this new invigoration took on an air of cockiness. We don’t play fair, it was a game of cat and mouse that the girls enjoyed until they got bored. Now the displays of manliness are kept to the garage and an occasional tirade on facebook.

Not that we have him beaten completely. He’s just become sneakier about it, he knows better than to fight the women on open ground. He admits, he’s no match for us. His strategies are subversive and almost ninja-like. The rare moments of defiance are often subtle, like finding a new project in the middle of a current project where his help his needed or fiddling around in the backyard “waiting for the grill to warm up” when we are all starving. Oh! Lest I forget one of his favorites; after quietly waiting for us to be ready to leave the house he leaves us all assembled at the front door to do some last minute chore or to find that one hat that he just has to wear.

More often than not his silent protests are usually performed in the most absurd way possible. Like insisting on leaving the house in cargo shorts, a t-shirt, sandals and a Harley-Davidson beanie… in January.

There was also that moment after Christmas while we took down outdoor decorations and barked orders for Mike to “check this bulb” and “take this apart” when he clearly couldn’t stand it a moment longer. I looked up just long enough to see our car going down the street dragging the Christmas tree behind it. We stopped and stared as he rounded the corner, our 9 foot tall tree bobbing and weaving behind the car silently, Mike behind the wheel, window rolled down and arm hanging out nonchalantly as if degrading the last vestige of our holiday season was just another errand he had been sent on.

In this house, passive aggressive isn’t just a character flaw, it’s become a survival tactic.

Maggie is 8 years old now. I cannot believe it. In fact, I am in denial so deeply that it has taken me over a week to write this post when her birthday is actually on New Year’s Day.

She fell asleep early and didn’t make midnight on New Year’s Eve. The next morning we made breakfast, loaded up in the car and drove up to Glenville, CA to go hiking, eat pizza and watch Maggie enjoy a ginormous piece of home made banana cream pie. I will tell you that no banana cream pie I have ever had comes close to the pie up at Hassano’s in Glenville.

Maggie is a unique combination of Mike and I. Mike likes to say that she has his sense of humor and my temper which = laugh at my jokes or I’ll kill you. It’s mostly true, although my temper really isn’t that bad and rarely do you have to threaten anyone to laugh at one of Mike’s jokes.

Maggie is mostly just her own unique self. While her parents wage a facebook debate on whether or not right or left socks exist (Mike believes in them religiously, Kate and I find it ridiculous and our friends seem to be split down the middle), Maggie hates to wear socks at all and can often be found jamming her feet into her Ugg boots barefoot.

Like her sister, she hates asparagus but loves broccoli. Unlike her sister, she isn’t fond of sushi but will threaten to cut anyone trying to take a bite of her shrimp fried rice. She insists on “salad” (usually fresh spinach) on every sandwich, but isn’t a fan of salads on their own unless we’re out at a restaurant. She’s not a big fan of peanut butter and jelly. She considers it a tragedy not to have a bowl of chicken noodle soup (even in the dead heat of summer) with her sandwiches. And, almost without fail, she insists on a doggy bag every time we go out to eat because “it’s so good I want to have it for breakfast or maybe later tonight for a snack!”

Maggie is the animal activist of the house. When her scorpion died a few months ago she sobbed for most of the day. Weeks and even months later she will tear up remembering Luke. Almost every night of summer vacation was spent chasing her turtle, Joe, around and fishing him out of our pond. Cut to this winter when a field mouse managed to find its way into the house and I discovered a different side of Maggie.

Maggie was very interested in the mouse traps. I was concerned that perhaps she didn’t realize what a mouse trap would really do to the intruder. Maggie overheard me voicing my concern to Mike (who was getting ready to show Maggie how a trap is set and how it works) she flew around the corner and said, “MOM! I’ve watched EVERY FREAKIN’ EPISODE of Billy the Exterminator! I KNOW how a mouse trap works!”

Later that night… “MOM!!! We caught him! He’s dead… he was so cute, I almost feel bad. They are dirty creatures…”

Not too long ago Maggie gave me a nickname, Mother Kadam (KUH-dam) Pooskie, no clue where or how she came up with it, but it cracks me up. She told Katie once, “If you call mom, Mother Kadam Pooskie, she almost always says yes.” Maggie isn’t really manipulative as much as she just calls a spade a spade and works the system to her advantage whenever possible.

Today my little 8 year old is still on Christmas break and managed to come down with a nasty cold to finish off her winter vacation. She has spent her day tucked in quilts on the couch, dozing, sipping hot cider and watching cartoons. Every once in a while I’ll hear, “Mother Kadam Pooskie…” followed by a request of the usual sick child variety. As usual, she’s working the system to her advantage, it’s an enviable life, that’s for sure.