muskadillo * dreaming

2011-04-10T20:58:00.000-07:00

What if—

What if I were to sneak on here...

...

...

...

...

...

...and post this picture:

It would be okay, wouldn't it?

The world wouldn't end. (Or begin, for that matter.)

Shh.

It's Official

2009-06-20T22:02:00.001-07:00

I've been trying to deny the obvious for too long. I probably should've given up the blog a year ago--but I just wasn't able to do it (thanks to all you wonderful people and your blogs I'm addicted to). But now--it's official. My creative energies are being focused in another direction. You can catch me on facebook or by email if you want to chat.

And I'll come back to this again someday.

When the time is right.

The Tooth, The Whole Tooth, and Nothing but the Tooth

2009-02-19T09:54:00.000-08:00

This post has nothing to do with religion, elevators, chocolate, road trips, etc. Yeah, yeah—I'll get to that, sure—but right now, it's time to write about the tooth.

My son recently turned five. On the morning of his birthday, he nonchalantly mentioned while masticating and sprinkling cereal over the tabletop, in equal amounts, that he had a loose tooth.

It clearly wasn't a big deal to him; he knew it would come out and he would leave it under his pillow for the tooth fairy, end of story. For me, it was a little alarming. Isn't this a little...early? The kid's body has been trying to grow up way too fast on me. He's 99^th percentile for his height—he always shocked people when he told them he was four—and now a loose tooth on the MORNING of his fifth birthday? When is the onset of puberty going to be? The morning of his sixth birthday? Then he'll being home his fiancee when he's seven...sheesh.

So he's been carefully nursing his loose tooth, and won't allow anyone to touch it, and has been extremely proud of it, and has been contemplating what the tooth fairy will bring him.

The other morning I was brushing his teeth, and he stopped to swallow the toothpaste (I can't get him to spit it out to save my life), and...the tooth was gone.

He swallowed it.

Yup.

This worried him. How would the tooth fairy get it now? He was also worried about what was going to happen to the tooth.

We told him not to worry: one night while he was fast asleep, the tooth fairy would come into his bedroom and slit open his belly with a blade made from a shark tooth and take the tooth out.

No, we did NOT tell him that*. I don't want to pay that therapy bill. No, we just had him write a note to the tooth fairy explaining what happened, and see what she would do. Turns out the tooth fairy is very understanding and doesn't mind getting her hands dirty. She left him a little note and a dollar.

*Nor did I tell him that the tooth fairy was a rather demented soul who looked like this. I didn't even tell him that the reason the tooth fairy collects children's teeth is because she craves calcium, and though she'd much rather take your entire skull to munch on—or better yet, your entire skeleton—but she's too small to carry away that much. So she just settles for a tooth. (So many golden opportunities to ruin this child, and I keep passing them up.)

Blogging: Why Bother?

2009-01-18T21:23:00.000-08:00

I first started blogging because of Marie. She is one of my favorite people, and her gray matter sparkles and scintillates...honestly. One of the first things I noticed about her when I met her was all the glitter and sparks pouring out her ears.

And Marie started a blog. I started to read it. And I learned all sorts of things about Marie that I didn't know before, and I loved her all the more for it.

So I thought, if this is a way to get to know people better and in different ways than you otherwise would, I'm signing up. I think that's pretty cool.

Of course, I don't know if me blogging really meets that aim for anyone—I have no idea why you people come and read anything here at all, to tell you the truth. And lately—well, I haven't been all that inspired to blog at all. I've been doing other things. I haven't even read any blogs lately (which is super-lame, considering how many wonderful people I'm letting myself get out-of-touch with...just sad. I've got about 200+ unread entries on google reader nagging at me).

I need to inspire myself to get back into this a bit. So, I'm going to let you, the unfortunate reader who has stumbled onto this blog, to choose a post topic. I'll let the first three commenters (if there are any) decide whether you want to read a post about:

my family
a roadtrip
an elevator story
my religious problem
chocolate
or anything you want me to write about?

Thanks. And now, my latest obsession. Click to listen:

Fairy Tale Christmas

2008-12-23T16:26:00.000-08:00

There are a few things that I have learned are not real. The Easter Bunny. The Great Pumpkin. Unicorns. Fairies, elves, and flying reindeer with glowing red noses. Things that make for pretty stories but that you never will encounter in real life.

I thought that snowflakes were one of these myths and legends perpetuated to make people feel just a little better about snow. After all, snowflakes don't look like this, now do they?

Our house is currently under three feet of snow, and a huge storm is expected to bring many more inches tomorrow. It's been snowing all day today, too, but not very seriously. The clouds are just stretching and warming up for the big day tomorrow. But as I was out attacking the glacier that is in our driveway, I noticed this snow looked a little different than any I had seen before. Sorta like instant potato flakes*. Then I looked a little closer.

Holy cow of the ancient milk goddess! THEY REALLY DO EXIST!

Look at these! I was afraid I wasn't going to get a good picture--but LOOK! You can see them in all their six-pointed wonder and delicate gorgeousosity! Here's a long shot:

And a close-up:
Did you SEE THEM?

And they made the teensy little tree we have out front look fabulous, too:

Close-up of tree branch:
Now it makes me wonder--what else is out there that I've taken for granted** is just a nice story we tell to make children's lives a little brighter? If I hear a prowler tomorrow night banging around in the house and attack him with the baseball bat that is under the bed, will I end up apologizing profusely to the Man in Red? Will he throw coal at me? Will he whip out his reindeer whip and go all manga on me?

Hmm. Merry Christmas to you!

*Which I never, EVER use. Oh no. I boil all my potatoes and mash them by hand. I grow the potatoes before I cook them, too. I have a potato field in my back yard, and a potato cellar in the garage.
**Another example of this is windshield washer fluid. It's something that I've always taken for granted, and believed would be there every time I pressed the button. However, it turns out if it gets cold enough, the stuff freezes. I had no idea. Apparently you are supposed to change the windshield washer fluid to a winter formula. Who would've guessed? (Also, if anyone has some really good tips about how to thaw out a washer fluid reservoir that is frozen solid, please let me know, 'kay?)

Blog-Hopping: An Off-Color Adventure

2008-12-11T08:20:00.000-08:00

We've all done this: you get on the Internet with the simple intention of checking your email, and an hour later you find yourself about twenty clicks away looking at a YouTube movie of a cat playing the piano. Or something else much more disturbing, like a piano playing a cat.

This is the story of what I was doing last night. My intentions were simple enough--just five minutes to check on a blog or two I haven't been to in awhile--then I was going to go do the dishes, like I was supposed to've done right after dinner.

Anyway, Millie posted this fabulous Eric Snider link where he mocks Twilight*. Absolutely great stuff. Very funny. It had been awhile since I've read any Eric Snider, so I spent a few minutes poking around his blog, and found a link where a few people were mocking snippets from "Police Beat" in the Daily Universe. (If any of you are graduates of BYU and remember the Daily Universe, this may bring back fond memories.) I greatly enjoyed reading it, but it does start to get a little off-color. (I was not offended, but that doesn't mean much. My favorite bit by far was "Long Juan Silver." Just thinking about it right now is making me choke a little.)

Then I started snooping around that blog, and I found this. And laughed. (By now, my sides are hurting.) After you've clicked on that link, click here for some pictures of the...er...completed recipe. Oh, heavens.

And from there, I found yet another link to here (this one has its own pictures). Worse and worse, but I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard.

And then I went to bed. Right after I hurriedly scrubbed dishes and threw them in the dishwasher, that is.

And now I'd better post this and run off to the kitchen, because I'm already a half hour late starting dinner. (How does that happen? Blasted Internet. Wait--maybe I should just look on ebay for just a minute and see if anyone happens to be selling some self-discipline...)

*For you Twilight fanatics: Elastic posted something awhile back, too, which I enjoyed very much as well: a mock trailer for Twilight. If you haven't seen it yet, now is the time.

gratitude

2008-11-24T20:35:00.000-08:00

I've got an awful lot to be grateful for. For example, did you know that chocolate did not EXIST in the solid bar form prior to 1830? That's right. People just drank it, like coffee. Sad.

I am also extremely grateful for electricity, which makes other wonderful things such as central heat, air conditioning, refrigerators, and computers possible. I mean, where would I be without my electric throw wrapped around me as I type this? And microwaves make hot chocolate just about instant, which is a wonderful thing on a chilly night like this. (It's been below freezing.)

Also, deodorant and toothpaste. Need I say more? Yes. I am grateful for soap. Scented, bubbly soap that does not smell like lard or ash (which is what soap used to be made of...though I don't know if I believe it...)

I'm grateful for great big things, things like health--mine and other family members--and the Gospel, and family, and people who set a world's record by making a gigantic cookie.

I'm grateful for silly things, like knock-knock jokes and presidential elections.

And I'm grateful for you. Thanks for stopping by. Here, some more of what I'm grateful for: my digital camera and the beautiful world we live in:

Happy Thanksgiving!

Our Primary Presentation Was Today

2008-11-16T21:15:00.000-08:00

Yup. It sure was. This was Jake's first time participating.

Well, "participating" doesn't seem to be the right word. He did go up. Eventually. After I asked him, "Do you want to walk up, or do you want me to carry you?" (I carried him up there.) And once he was up there, I had to stay nearby to keep him from bolting.

He didn't sing. He sat when he was supposed to stand, and stood when he was supposed to sit, and he really really worked on giving the crustiest looks possible while he pouted during the songs.

He had one line, something like: "I will follow Jesus because I love Him," which he mumbled as grouchily as he possibly could into the microphone. It was, of course, completely unintelligible.

A little bit later, he found that one of his fingernails was coming off (he's a nail picker and can't leave them alone). It just happened to be his middle finger. So he said, as is his habit, "Mom, I got a fingernail goin' on!" and waved his finger in the air to show me--and flipped off the entire congregation. I sneaked a little closer and removed the fingernail. Five minutes and some picking later, he did it again. Same finger, same obscenity.

And then it was over. I'm just happy he went up there and participated at all! And I just hope that his participation in today's program made some people's sacrament meeting just a little more entertaining.

Happy Halloween!!!!

2008-10-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

I had so many posts planned. I'm not getting any of them done.

Sad, isn't it?

But--I managed to pull myself together for a few minutes and slammed a few things together really quick before my diseased brain noticed what my fingers were doing. So, for your Halloween enjoyment, Some Stuff:

Recently my son has discovered Garfield, and for some reason, he's taken a shine to 'im. So here are two haunted house scavenger hunt games, and they have the warm (and slightly sticky) seal of approval from a 4-year-old:

(Click on the picture to follow the link.)

(...and here's PART TWO):

Does anyone have a favorite movie they like to watch around this time of year? I prefer spooky over gore, and thought-provoking over...well...cheesy dialogue. Here is one of my favs (and it's R, FYI):

Here's a little movie that involves Death and a Kitty. (What's with all the cats around here, anyway?) I liked it. And I promise it has a happy ending:

And the last one is another fun little game that answers the question: What happens if you steal a vampire's teddy bear?

Happy Halloween!!

AROOO! ( <-- that's me howling)

2008-10-29T21:02:00.000-07:00

First of all,

Many of you blog readers have left comments, sent emails, actually called my house, left more emails with your phone numbers in them and some unsubtle hints for me to call you, left other comments, left messages on my answering machine, sent roses and chocolate,* sent wonderful Halloween SOCKS and assorted goodies,** etc.

And here I sit, not one phone call made, not one email returned...well, I may have returned an email to somebody at some point...but not one thank-you note sent.

I'm sorry about that. It's not that I don't love you, it's just that I currently am covered in fur, and the long fangs make it hard to speak intelligibly. And the long claws make it hard to type or dial the phone. I really am trying to pull my head out of my nether-regions, but I think it's gonna take a little more time (it is much more difficult to pull your head out if the long bushy tail gets in the way, you see). I'm okay. Or I will be. Sooner or later. When the medication kicks in. Or when the moon falls out of the sky and stops doing this to me.

Sigh.

The worst bit is that this screwed up my Halloween blog party...oh well. I have to say that I have sent out...5 or 6? packages to people, and I'm not sending any more, so I guess the contests are closed. But I'm still leaving up the links because I like them.

I'll see you soon.

Thanks,
weenie

*Not really, but I wouldn't put it past some of you.
**This part is actually true. It even came with a note written on HAUNTED PAISLEY...oooOOOooo! Man, that paisley was scary.

"Baaaaad Week!" said the sheep.

2008-10-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

I’m having a bad week*. I feel out of control. I’m just so sad, and not for any reason in particular. Oh, and that also means I’m edgy and seething with rage. You know, for no reason whatsoever. I really should have some sort of warning hanging around my neck:

Beware. May Spontaneously Combust, and You Might Get Some On You.

Or:

Do Not Feed. Will Bite. And Butt Will Grow So Large** Its Gravitational Pull Will Drag You Right Into…Well, You Don’t Want to BE There, Trust Us.†

Or:

Insert Prozac Into Slot Mouth.††

So I’ve basically crawled into a hole and am trying to stay in here until it wears off. So sorry if I haven’t—and won’t—be coming by your blog for a bit. I will. But only after I feel a little more…or, rather, a little less…spiky?

This does NOT interrupt contests, by the way. If you're interested in that sort of thing. And my mood rollercoastering does not stop the advent of Halloween:

*Maybe quite a bit longer than that, really, but this week has been worse.

**Serious about this one. You know how I joined a gym recently, and I’ve been going regularly for a month or so now? Guess what? I’ve actually gained weight since going to the gym. Something doesn’t add up here. Or rather, it’s adding up too well and far too fast. What is this? I hit my thirties and my metabolism just gives up on me? COMPLETELY? $#@!&%$‡

†"Us" = Committee for More Explicit Signs. They are mostly trustworthy, but somewhat long-winded.

††The biggest reason I'm where I am right now is 'cause my prescription ran out just after the move--whoops!--and as soon as I sorted out all our new insurance info, I called up the doctor to make an appointment, and the soonest they could get me in was in TWO MONTHS. The good thing about that is that the two months is up next week--or is it the week after? The bad news is that Jeff and Jake have had to live with me like this for too long now, and I think they're considering moving out. Or doing me in. Or at least putting me in a cage in the back room somewhere, but then who would clean the toilets?

‡If you translated this swear out of its censored form and back into English, it would read “Swarthy Mother of Biscuits! Crunch-Worthy!!!” ...just in case you ever wondered what I was trying to hide behind all those ampersands and exclamation points.

Contest the Second

2008-09-29T17:24:00.000-07:00

Y'know I can't stop at just one contest. That's no fun. So, I present to you the second Halloween contest for this year:

Here's the deal with this one. I'll post a picture, YOU write the caption. (And by "caption," I mean a caption, a thought bubble, a title, whatever text you see fit to apply. I'm not picky.) I'll even post more than one picture, so if one doesn't strike you right away, you can try another.

Now, for some pictures:

Picture 1 by artist Joe Olson:

Picture 2 by artist Kevin Keele:

Picture 3 by...oops. I have no idea where I got this one:

Leave your captions in the comment section, or email them to me.

For each entry you submit, I'll put your name in a drawing for a HALLOWEEN PACKAGE!!! So the more you enter, the better your chances, right? (No limit on number or frequency of entries.)

Oh, and if you want to put a link to this contest in your sidebar of your blog, here is the HTML (don't add it as a picture--add it as HTML or the link and the animation won't work):

Have fun. (And if you haven't submitted an entry for the other contest, do that, too.)

Original, untampered-with image of Death by Alex Fleisig;
lame thought bubble by me.

I'm No Economist, but...

2008-09-27T20:36:00.000-07:00

...does anyone else find it scary that the only way the government has to bail out the banks (who are in trouble because of credit problems) is by borrowing 700 billion dollars?

Hmm. Let's see. So because the nation is living on credit, our economy crashes, and we're going to fix this by extending our credit even further?

I don't get it. And it's just too scary to think about.
*shudder*

So, to cheer us all up, here's a trailer for--no, not a Halloween movie--but a good ol' feel-good family favorite:

Hey! It's FAAA-ALL!

2008-09-22T20:57:00.000-07:00

That's right. It is now officially fall. And you know what that means, don't you?

It's only...

More specifically, that means for the next six weeks or so I'm going to be having a little bit of Halloween on my blog, starting with a contest. (Jeff said to wait at least until October 1st, because some people will get sick of it, but this is my blog, and I can do what I want with it. So if you don't care much for Halloween...I don't know. Come back in November?)

Okay--let's get down to THE CONTEST!!!

The Three Fates Need YOU

2008-09-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

Did any of you catch the Three Fates post I did last year?

Do you remember the Three Fates Web Site?
(Click on the picture to go!)

This year, the Fates came to me and complained that their site needed some sprucing up. Actually, they threatened to...well, cut my life short if they didn't get what they wanted. They promised that the end would be uncomfortable and messy, to put it mildly. Part of the conversation went like this:

Clotho: We need some serious attention.
Wynne: AAAAGH! Where did you come from?
Atropos: And more death.
Wynne: You scared the crap outta me. Do you always go sneaking up on people?
Lachesis: And I could use a few more numbers...
Wynne: What are you doing in my house, anyway?
Atropos: And more death.
Clotho: I need more fabric, y'know? The stuff I've got is old and no longer chic.
Wynne: This is really weird.
Lachesis: And I'd like more variety in how I'm able to weave the fabric...
Wynne: I don't get it. Why are you here? What do you want me to do about any of this?
Clotho: Get me more fabric, Lachesis needs different lengths, and Atropos wants more ways for people to die.
Lachesis: Duh.
Atropos: And do it or I'll kill you now.

Yeah. Freaked me out. But what it boils down to is this:

The Fates want more options when assigning Fate to mortals.
I don't want to write any more for them. (I did that last year.)
So I'm asking you to do it for me.

So take a look at their site, and write some text to go in those boxes.
Email it to me, or leave it as a comment on this post.
There will be prize packages* awarded to a lucky few.
I'll update the Fate's Web Site with your text in it.**

****ALSO: I'm not choosing winners by content. Each time you submit an entry, your name goes on a slip or paper and goes into a jar. You can submit as many entries as you want. (So the more you enter, the better your chances of winning.) I will be drawing from that jar at the end of seven days. I'll empty the jar. Then I'll take more entries for the next seven days. So if you don't get something the first time, maybe you will the second time around. Or the third.****

Got it? What are you waiting for, then? My fate is in your hands! (Please don't fumble.)

Oh, and if you want to put a link to this contest in your sidebar, here is the HTML (don't add it as a picture--add it as HTML or the link and the animation won't work):

*At this time, I have no idea what will be in these prize packages. Something Halloweenie, sure--but what? Candy? A severed hand? Week-old toast and toenail clippings? Only the Fates can tell...
**IF I LIKE IT. That's right. You can get a Halloween package for free, but to get your text on the Fate's page, it's gotta be good.

Gettin' Jiggly With It!

2008-09-09T17:05:00.000-07:00

I've never been a girl with many curves. I've always been rather noodle-y, as a matter of fact. Long and thin...and limp. Here, a self-portrait of me as a kid:

See what I mean? And it's never changed much. Here's another portrait updated for when I hit puberty:

There. Not much curvature, is there?

Well, have I got some exciting news for you! After some 30-odd years of stick-straightness, I've got some curves!

Well, okay, just one.

And it's not the desirable kind of curve. It's just belly-fat. Buuuut—it's fun! It's squishy, it refuses to stay within the confines of a waistband, it's wrinkled (thanks to Jake) like a raisin that's been soaked in water overnight, and it jiggles like...well, you know.

So I recently took some preemptive measures: I joined a gym. It's been 5 years since I've had a gym membership, and...I find it just as intimidating and odorous as I ever did. I mean—c'mon, I'm a NOODLE. I've never been athletic to any degree—I've NEVER been able to do a cartwheel (no matter how many lunches I devoted to trying to master them in the fourth grade); I'm more likely to get the ball into the other team's goal then my own; I can't even walk down an empty hallway without running into the walls and injuring myself...seriously. I have a scar on my forehead from tripping over a dog (the dog was unharmed). I have another scar on my lower lip from tripping over a blanket (the blanket was also unharmed). I am a menace to myself and to anything else within twenty feet of me.

And if that isn't enough, I also sweat like a pig on fire. Seriously. The sweat pours like Niagara Falls, or Tammy Faye's mascara—I'll soak a shirt completely through in fifteen minutes.

I feel a little guilty walking into the gym and NOT wearing a Surgeon General's warning on my back.

And not only am I threatening the lives of all those around me, but it's just plain humiliating being a noodle in an aerobics class. First of all, the aerobics teachers are ALWAYS small, compact little people with the only enormous thing about them being their chests and their enthusiasm. Little cheerleaders, bouncing up and down with so much energy and satisfaction in what they are doing it makes me dizzy.

Next, they put mirrors on all the walls, so there is no way I can escape the comparison: a roomful of people, so athletic-looking, powerfully jumping around and kicking the air and smiling—for Jiminy Cricket's sake!—and then there is me, with an expression on my face that looks as if I'm trying to pass a horseshoe, bobbing up and down like a 12-year-old Irish boy in his first Riverdance tryout. Sigh.

I'd just skip the aerobics, but I know I'm too lazy to be trusted to do anything else. (I'd walk for 5 minutes on the Stairmaster, and then say, wow! I'm bushed! and spend 50 more minutes reading a book in the car.)

Anyway, I'll be going back. Again, and again, and again. Please wish me luck, pray for the innocent bystanders, and hope that when I fall down (which is inevitable) I'll be able to take down at least a few overenthusiastic exercise-enthusiasts with me. Curse them.

Puppy Love: A Confession

2008-09-05T20:02:00.000-07:00

This particular post has been sitting in the drafts folder for a few months. I've been reluctant to post it because I know it's going to get me in trouble.

*sigh*

But I'm going to have to tell him the full extent of this sooner or later...

*ahem* (girds her britches)
I may as well do it now.

You know one of the best things about springtime? Besides the slightly warmer weather and flowers coming out and all that?

BABIES.

Baby bunnies, ducklings, kittens, puppies.

Oh, yeah. Sweet fuzzy love...

I have to admit, I really enjoy animals. And baby animals are especially enjoyable (they're too young to stink—have you ever noticed that? A puppy rarely has bad breath, and a kitten is one of the softest bits of fluff ever.)

Back off the digression—> So, back in Centralia, I was friends with an uber-friendly black lab named Jojo. When she heard Jake and I walking by her house on one of our rambles, she'd run out to meet us (there is not a fence that man has built that could keep this dog in her yard) and walk with us for a long way. Usually, she would follow us back to our house and hang out in the yard. Sometimes she would go home after a little while, but sometimes I would go outside a few hours later, and she'd still be sitting on the front porch.

So I got in the habit of giving Jojo a ride home in the car just to get rid of her. (We couldn't just walk her home, because if we did, she'd follow us home again. The car ride was brilliant solution to an overly-friendly dog problem, if I do say so.)

Bonus: She loves car rides.

Wrench in the gears:
Jeff: "You've been doing what?"

Jeff didn't like me giving Jojo a ride home. I guess I can see his point: she sheds, she doesn't exactly smell like she has a bath too often, and it's pretty likely that she has fleas...okay, I get it. Don't give the dog a ride home in the car anymore. Which means, avoid dog because she will follow us home and hang out in front of the house for hours. Okay, got it.

But guess what?

Jojo had puppies.

Making her irresistible.

The good thing about this is that the puppies were too small to go anywhere, so if we went to visit her and her adorably wiggly brood, she would not follow us home. She would stay at home with them like a good mom.

Jake gettin' some puppy love

So this past spring, we went by Jojo's a lot.

(Another thing about the home where Jojo lives: apparently, they like dogs. They have about ten of 'em: a daschund, a chocolate lab, another black dog that looks like a cross between a collie and a lab, two bulldogs, and all the puppies. And all of them are escape artists. Even the puppies had figured out how to worm their way under the fence and come meet us at the side of the road. Very convenient for us. It kept me from hopping the fence and trespassing.)

Anyway, the last time we went to Jojo's, almost all the puppies had been given away. There were only two left. But it's not like we were missing out on doggie love—all the dogs knew us at this point, and ALL the dogs would come out to get a good scratch.

When the time came to go home, we told Jojo goodbye and started to walk away.

But she followed us.

So did her two puppies, who were much older at this point, and ready for an adventure.

The chocolate lab followed us, too.

So did the black lab/collie mix.

So did the daschund.

Mercifully, the bulldogs felt like taking a nap.

What were we to do? You can't shoo them—they just laugh at you with their tongues lolling out. You can't put them back in their yard and close the gate—they just get out again. (I tried that about three times.) No owner was home to distract them. I finally shrugged and went home, hoping that they would get bored and go home.

They didn't.

It was like I was the Pied Piper or something—six dogs and one child trailing me—and I don't even line my pockets with bacon!

As soon as we got home, I loaded them all into the car to take them home again. (What else could I do?)

Once we got them back to their house, I opened the doors and let the dogs flow out into the street...and some poor guy just happened to be jogging past. His mouth dropped open, and a few of the dogs immediately ran at him and started barking. I called the dogs off, and apologized to him, and explained they weren't my dogs—at which point he decided he was dealing with a complete loony and ran away. (I suppose it must have seemed pretty funny to him watching all the dogs come out of the car like clowns in a tiny clown-car at the circus. And he must've thought I was a dog-napper. Or something.)

So we delivered the dogs safely and went home. And I did not tell Jeff about our adventures.

(Honey, if you're reading this, I can safely promise you this will NEVER happen again. See, Jojo lives in Centralia, and we live in Spokane! I'm pretty sure she's not going to follow us home anymore.)

Did you know...?

2008-09-01T18:00:00.000-07:00

...that Michael Phelps will be hosting the season premiere of Saturday Night Live?That's right. He is.

Main questions I want to know: Will they let the poor guy actually wear a shirt? Every time I see him, the kid is nearly naked, and that must get pretty cold.

Also, what kind of skit will they have him in? Maybe something like this?

...that if you rearrange the letters in "Barack Obama" they spell "Maraca Kabob"?

...there are still some people out there who haven't seen Napoleon Dynamite? Namely, OMAR. Omar has not seen Napoleon Dynamite, which is why he doesn't understand what a liger is, and why it is stalking him.
Omar, your only hope is to vote for Pedro. Then Pedro offers you his protection.

...that there are only 61 days until Halloween?
Yessssss.

...that Teletubbies, a show for wee children, has its moments of...well, unintentional humor? Jake and I were watching it long ago, and Jeff walked into the room when the following bit was on. He laughed, and kept laughing.

...that since McCain has announced Sarah Palin as his running mate, Tina Fey is jumping up and down for joy and planning a return to SNL just so she can play her in upcoming skits?

...that I had absolutely nothing to blog about today?

A Muskadillo First

2008-08-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

I admit it. I don't get blog awards. I mean that in both senses of the statement: I neither understand the point of them, nor do I receive them. Except very rarely—like this one that NCS gave me:

When I was awarded this, I was, 1) relieved that I didn't have to make a speech; 2) feelin' warm 'n' fuzzy because I just got an award; and 3) confused. I mean, what was I supposed DO with it? Print it and frame it? Or put it on a t-shirt with the words "I WON THIS!!!" added on the bottom, and if anyone even so much as glanced at my shirt, I could strut about and talk to myself—very loudly—about how cool my blog was 'cause I got an award? And did the award come with a cash prize or anything? (I'm pretty sure it doesn't, because I've been watching the mailbox like a hawk, and so far no cash prize has shown up.) I still don't know about this awards stuff.

However, not knowing about something is hardly a deterrent to blogging about it.

So I decided to create—and award—an award. Just to spread some warm fuzzies around.

(And one thing I decided that was going to be unique about this award: darn it, it was going to have a trophy that went along with it that the recipient could hold and look at, grow misty-eyed over, and possibly bury in the back yard so no one else could steal it.)

The recipient of this Muskadillo First, of this incredibly non-prestigious and pointless award is:

...(drumroll)...

....

....

....(more drumming)....

....

....BOOM! (Some bored sniper in the audience just took out the drummer hoping to make the awards ceremony GET ON WITH IT ALREADY)

....

....*awkward and frightened silence*....

....

Melissa of Mejojac's Memos!

That's right! Melissa, you are officially awarded this:

...quite literally, too. Ask her. She now has a frog of gold sitting on top of her computer.

And here's a small one that may fit in her sidebar (if she's in to that sort of thing):

What about anyone reading this who did not just receive an award? Doesn't NOT winning an award make you feel...well, a little loser-y? Well, HAVE NO FEAR! Another aspect of the Muskadillo Awards Program is that for every award given, there will also be a consolation prize that anyone who reads this is entitled to.

So, here you go, all you other peoples. Here is your award:

Yeah, it won't fit in your sidebar.

Deal with it.

Wisdom from a Lawn Mower Manual

2008-08-25T21:10:00.000-07:00

The other day I got a real treat: I got to mow the lawn.

The best part of the whole thing, though (aside from the sweat and staining some old sneakers green), was perusing through the lawn mower manual. I mean—wow! What fun! I was really excited just to get out there and mow some grass, but that manual was like finding the toy in the Crackerjack box, like finding a $20 bill in the pocket of a jacket you haven't worn in years, like finding a severed finger in your Egg McMuffin!

Um, okay. Not that last one.

But the manual was an interesting read. It had everything! Look at this:

It was fraught with peril!

...there was a great deal of suspense and ACTION...I mean, c'mon, SEVERED FINGERS, people!
There was even some guy who was shooting...something...out of his eyes (I think he was a superhero)...

...and the conclusion was quite shocking!
(So is the suspense killing you? Are you just dying to know if any fingers were severed, or if the eye protection actually saved anybody from the toxic fumes and explosions? And...I probably shouldn't mention this, but the butler didn't do it.)

Of course, it did have its faults. There were one or two unbearably stupid plot twists (yeah—who didn't see that one coming? "STOP" means stop? Really? And why do I need a reminder to read the manual if I'll only ever see it while I'm reading the manual?)
...and there was one part of the plot with genuine WITH CHEESE?!?* factor:

(I mean, really. How are you going to get frostbite from a lawn mower?)

But overall, I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed it. Let me leave you with two of my most favorite quotes from this engrossing read—quotes of such scintillating, brilliant wisdom—that they quite literally took my breath away:

And yet another pearl of wisdom, shimmering on the shores of truth:

"I'd highly recommend this to anyone who is planning to mow a lawn anytime in their future. Gripping and extraordinary!" —Made-Up Big-City Chronicle

*Most people would call this the WTF factor, but I find using "WTF" a little crude (it means "weasels that fart," and I'm tired of jokes about the passing of gas and jokes that disrespect the weasel community). Someone once mentioned that the equivalent to WTF in Spanish is "con queso," which, if I know Spanish, translates back into English as "with cheese." And so, there you have it. Another convoluted wynne-ism.

Finished!!

2008-08-20T08:16:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so we're in Spokane, and we've been here—oh, I don't know. Two and a half weeks now? And, honestly, I really should've posted a week or more ago (this house is VERY different from the last: all I had to do was unpack boxes. No scrubbing, painting, repairing, installing, or crying. It's a nice house.)

So what have I been doing instead of blogging?

There was a certain book that was released right in the middle of our move, and it took me awhile to get things settled enough where I felt like I could read, and then a little while longer to wait for the book to arrive—and to re-read the first three books in the series while I was waiting...WELL, I'M FINISHED NOW!

And, man, what a relief to be finished!

And what book was it?

Oh, I'm sure you can guess.

Here's a hint:

That's right! Breaking Wind—er—Dawn (sorry, that's how my husband has been referring to it, and he's started to rub off on me).

So, what did I think? Hmm. Well, here are a few things that crossed my mind while I was reading:

I knew it!

Finally!

Huh?

Didn't see that coming.

Eww. Really wish I hadn't been eating lunch when I read that. Gross.

Well, if she can't blush, I certainly can. Sheesh.

Okay, I did see that one coming.

Yeah, and that, too.

Sure, sure.

So much for my reaction. Mostly, I'm just glad the whole thing is over so I can stop obsessing. It's exhausting to obsess, my husband laughs at me, and the dishes don't get done*.

*Who am I kidding? They don't get done regardless.

Adieu, Centralia! (Part deux)

2008-07-31T20:05:00.000-07:00

By now, we are driving and on our way to Spokane. I am in the car with Jake. Jeff is in the car with two cats. (Which car would you rather be in? Neither? That is the correct guess! Jasper meows the WHOLE WAY non-stop and we don't know what Chloe will do, but Jake is fine as long as you keep him supplied with movies, toys, books, and food while you drive.)

Somewhere on the road about now, I'm going to get misty-eyed because I am leaving behind GREEN. Lots of it. Now, don't get me wrong—Spokane is a beautiful city with plenty of trees, but I know there are a few things it won't have...like the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus.

So now, a sentimental ode (in the spirit of my son's favorite bedtime-story author) to the things we're leaving behind:

Goodbye, hostas and ferns.

Goodbye, backyard burns.

Goodbye, my dearest sweet Floyd*,
and goodbye to the squirrels who drove you into the void...

Goodbye, moss.

Goodbye, hoss.

Goodbye, wee tree frogs.

Goodbye, misty fall fogs.

Goodbye, bird-eaten cherries.

Goodbye, dandelion-filled prairies.

Goodbye, uh, whatever this is...?

Goodbye forever, lawyering biz.

Goodbye, goodbye to flowers profuse!

(Man, am I sick of reading Dr. Seuss!**)

*A Floyd update—I actually went back to where I found him originally, and he was no longer there! No idea what happened to him, but this time I suspect a young, love-struck black bear who coerced a deer and a marmot into re-building and hotwiring Floyd so the young bear could impress a certain young lady bear by cruising by her cave...I'm just sad I never got to plant flowers on Floyd's hood before he left...
**This post is proof that I've had to read waaaaaaay to much of him lately. You read Dr. Seuss and, like a catchy and horrible song overplayed on the radio, you can't get the rhymes out of your head. Stupid Sneeches. Stupid Horton. Stuuuupid Cat. *sigh*

Adieu, Centralia! (Part 1)

2008-07-29T01:42:00.000-07:00

Right now, my computer is packed away in a box.

And yet, I am still posting.

How is this miracle possible?

OooOOOOooo...

I don't know, but I'm sure there's a ghost involved.

Or maybe a high-tech space virus that hacks into the intersphere* and spews gibberish onto the Internet.

Or lots of tiny blue men with green hair and that smell like cardamom, and whenever they do a dance and spin to the right, it rains, but if they spin to the left, cows give birth to cockatoos.

Or maybe it's actually July 24th when I'm typing this (moving day is still a little less than a week away) and I know how to time-travel. Yup. And if you send me a mere $50, I'll teach you how to do it, too!

I'm at the point right now in packing that I have stopped CARING about what goes in a box. There was a time when I was carefully packing things and padding them with plenty of paper, labeling the boxes with accuracy, planning which things to pack NOW and which could wait a week or 1.5 days...now, I just don't care. Grab a box and shovel in whatever happens to be close to it, whether it be garbage, clothing, kid, or cat. Who cares? I'm thinking that it's fun to kick a sealed box around until something crashes and tinkles around inside, and then I have a fun time trying to guess what I just broke 'cause the box is cleverly labeled "stuff."

Mmm-hmm.

I think that, right now, I'm a little woozy from the fumes rising off of the adhesive on the extra-strength tape...or is it from the fumes from the Sharpy markers? Or, perhaps, the boxes are poisoning the atmosphere with cardboard-derived stress. Whatever it is, I'm feeling a little unstable.

But I did want to say goodbye to this place that's been my home for the past year. While I can still type. So, here it goes:

GOOD RIDDANCE, RENTAL FROM HELL!
GOOD RIDDANCE, CAT PEE SMELL!
GOODBYE, CHEAP-ARSE LANDLORD!
GOODBYE, SPIDER SMORGASBOARD!
FAREWELL, STINKY BROKEN KITCHEN!
FAREWELL, BACKLOGGED SEPTIC SYSTEM!
I HOPE NEVER TO SEE AGAIN
A PLACE AS NASTY AS THIS HAS BEEN!

love, wynne

Here, a portrait:

Well, actually, this is a picture of the house across the street, but it basically looks like the one we were living in, except that ours is blue, and our wading pool does not have dead plants in it.

*Yeah, I have no idea what this is.

Pathetic

2008-07-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

For those of you who haven't guessed by now, we're moving.
At the end of this month.
To Spokane.
I've been making some new friends in the process. Here's one:

I think I shouldn't even bother announcing the fact that I'm going on hiatus anymore. Rather, you should just assume that I am on hiatus unless I mention otherwise.

Really. That's just how pathetic of a blogger I am.

And if you want to hear more about my pathetique (yeah, I know that's not a word, but it SHOULD be), today's my birthday. And these are the guys I get to spend it with.

Boxes.

Hungry, demanding, whiny boxes who bring me no cake and make fun of me.

I deserve it though, I suppose.

I have been horrible with birthdays this year. Nearly every year, really. Think about it: did I send YOU anything for your birthday?

I didn't? What a surprise.

I haven't even been to your blog in six months?

Has it really been that long?

It has?

*wincing*

See? Pathetic.
I suppose I had better get back to stuffing boxes. They are clamoring for more...stuff.

*sigh*

And if you're feeling sorry for me, I guess you can feel better about it by leaving me a virtual present. Costs nothing, and no postage? Does it get better than that?

2008-06-29T20:41:00.000-07:00

Boy Caught with Pants Down, Mother Laughs
Earlier this week, a young 4-year-old was attempting to use the toilet when his mother laughed at him. Fortunately, the boy was too groggy to register the fact, and will not be scarred as an adult as a result of the incident.
"He had been really sick for a day or two with a fever and bad congestion. When he started crying about an hour after we put him down, we were worried that he was going to hurl or something," the father tells reporters. "I went in to see what was wrong, but he was too loopy from the medication to tell me." At this point, the boy's mother guided him to the bathroom to wipe the snot off his face, and the boy (who had been screaming and howling horribly up to this point), automatically pulled down his pants and used the potty, crying the entire time.
"After he was finished, he reached for some toilet paper to...uh, dry the dew from his lily, and it was at that point..." the boy's mother tells us, but she breaks off due to a fit of the giggles. "Well, he was so out of it that he used the same bit of toilet paper to wipe his nose, and then he threw it into the sink instead of the trashcan or toilet," she sputters. "He was very groggy," the boy's father explains, who also laughed at his son. "It is a regrettable incident, of course," the father tells reporters, "and one we hope will never be repeated." "But you should have seen his face," the shameless mother snorts.
Thankfully, once the boy had relieved himself, he quieted immediately and went to bed. As for the laughing parents, justice was served by both mother and father catching the same illness. Both are currently miserable, but the boy is feeling much better and not allowing either of them to rest.

Mormon Missionaries Mocked Again
When LDS missionaries left the church building in Centralia, WA, last Sunday, they were shocked to find that some unknown party had vandalized their car. "You just aren't safe anywhere anymore. If your car isn't safe in a church parking lot, where will it be safe?" one Elder mused.
The vandals had used soap to write such phrases as "Just Married" on the back window, "True Love," on the front, and marked the rest of the windows with hearts and flowers.
When asked whom the Elders thought had vandalized their car, one Elder said, "Now that is a good question!" They have no idea who the perpetrators may have been.
Unfortunately for the missionaries (but rather to the amusement of everyone they passed), they were forced to drive their car home in this condition.
Damage was estimated to be at a loss of 15 minutes for cleaning the film off the windows, but the estimated cost of snickers from passerby, priceless.

Woman Does NOT Meet Other Woman She Met Online
Today Centralia resident Wynne Urien, traveling with her son, returns home from Seattle where they were visiting with family members.
"Originally, we were supposed to be up there for four days, but my son got sick, so we didn't go up until yesterday." Urien's plan had been to meet up with a fellow blogger while she was in the Seattle area, but her plans were further complicated by her contraction of the same illness that her son had. (See related story, "Boy Caught with Pants Down, Mother Laughs") "We came home again on Sunday, and I considered dropping by her [the fellow blogger's] home, but decided not to because I didn't have directions, she would probably have been at church at the time, and snot was raining from my nose. I don't think she would have appreciated me dripping on her children." Urien further explains, "Well, she didn't exactly know I was going to be there. The only notice I gave her was an obnoxious comment on a blog posting, and I don't even know that she read it. I should have emailed her," she sighs.
When questioned about how she felt about this near miss, the online friend, a Mrs. Carrot Jello, replied, "Frankly, I'm quite relieved. When you make a friend online, you never know what you're going to get: a flatulent bean-eating Texan? A tiny shopaholic sushi addict? And then when you meet them in real life, well...the weird only gets weirder. I mean, have you read her blog? The girl is a complete psycho, and she never explains what a muskadillo is. And how did she get my address, anyway? I think she's stalking me."

What I Did During My Last Hiatus

2008-06-25T15:46:00.003-07:00

Question: If you are sitting around in a presidency1 meeting discussing an issue that the Bishop2 is concerned about (in this instance, general cleanliness of ward3 members), and you ask the other presidency members if they've ever heard of FlyLady, and they say, "oh, no—what is that?" do you:

A. Backtrack rapidly with: "Oh, that's too bad, because I don't know what it is either."
B. Attempt a distraction technique: "Hey! Look out the window there! Is that Sheri Dew4 running through the backyard?"
C. Tell the truth: "It's a woman on the Internet who has program that helps you organize your life along with your housekeeping."
D. Break wind.

Correct answer:

A or D would be the most effective, though B might work as well.

What I did:

I took option C, and told them what I knew about the FlyLady and her program. They thought it sounded wonderful. Five minutes later they had made the decision that the ward would host a "De-cluttering and Organization" class (basically "Housekeeping 101" but with a less offensive title), one class a month for the next five months, and I would be teaching it.

Um. Excuse me? What? Who, me?

Anyhoo, I finished the LAST CLASS this month, and it will no longer be eating my time! Hooray! If you would like to see how I happily ripped off FlyLady methodology and re-packaged it for our ward, you can click here to download the documentation for the entire five months' worth of classes! Whee! (No, really. Click. Download it. Really. I put a lot of work into it.)

But that wasn't the only thing that took me away from the computer this past little while. Oh, no. Oddly enough, this other thing also originated in a presidency meeting.

This time, we were talking about Enrichment5. (I am the Enrichment Counselor6, you know.) The idea was we were having a modest Enrichment Night that was going to focus on scripture study, and, since I was in charge of it, I managed to work PIRATES7 into the theme.

Then the Bishop, who happens to be married to the Education Counselor8 whose home we were meeting in, walked in and eavesdropped on the meeting. It just so happened that he was wanting to do something with scripture study for the entire ward. In yet another five minutes' time, I was suddenly in charge of a much more ambitious ward activity.

Sigh.

At least I can say that I thoroughly enjoyed putting this one together, 'cause, hey! Pirates! Cool!

Take a gander at this flyer that went into the Sacrament meeting bulletin:

I made two of these posters to sit outside of the chapel for a few Sundays—because flyers in the bulletin just weren't enough (they were enough for me, but I got outvoted):

(Sorry about the cat. He thought I made the posters just for him to sleep on. Dork.)

And then I got to make my own treasure! This is what a bucketful of pea gravel, a can of gold spray paint, some serious glue, and a few cheap acrylic gems from WalMart will get ya:

...and I made a WHOLE bunch of it, too.

Anyway, the whole thing is now over, and I am relieved. See? I'm lettin' my hair down:

And now that I am free from all of these things, I should be free to come back whole-heartedly into the world of bloggin', right?

Alas, NAY.

An old "friend" of mine has popped up, and he's a pretty demanding fellow.

More about him later.

*sigh*

*****************************************************************************

This blog posting comes with helpful footnotes for the Mormon-impaired. Hooray!!

1. In this case, a Relief Society presidency meeting. Basically, three to four women sitting around plotting how to take over the ward.
2. Busiest guy in the ward. And you never, ever want to babysit his cell phone, believe me.
3. All the LDS folk that live in a geographical area, like three blocks in Utah, or three counties in Kansas.
4. Author of such inspirational books such as "If Life Were Easy, It Wouldn't Be Hard."
5. The bane of my existence. It usually involves food and lots of women and cutesy evenings based around a theme. We always spike the punch with multivitamins, which is where it gets its name.
6. 2nd counselor in the RS presidency, also known as "the workhorse."
7. Pirates have nothing to do with people of the LDS faith. Or Mormons, either. I think some investigators were confused.
8. 1st counselor in the RS presidency, often heard to say, "man, am I glad I'm not the 2nd counselor!"
9. Yeah, these footnotes aren't all that helpful, I know. What are you going to do about it? (Keep in mind, before you respond, I HAVE A SWORD.)

Free Monkey to a Good Home

2008-06-06T19:37:00.001-07:00

Here's the deal: Jake received some goodies in the mail this past week from one of his grandmothers. She sent him some monkey-related items—which Jake adores—but he already has a copy of this particular movie, and this is the second monkey that grandma has sent—how many monkeys does a boy need, anyway?

He has agreed to share the love and send the extraneous monkey paraphernalia to some other kid/adult/canine/parakeet/etc who doesn't have this much monkey love in his or her life.

So, are any of you readers in need of a monkey in your life? Leave a comment if you're interested, and I'll do a random drawing of those interested in...oh, two weeks, then throw the monkey and movie in the mail to you.

And I may not be around much* for the next two weeks or so (I've been procrastinating church projects again).

* When am I ever?

Purty Flowers

2008-05-31T20:37:00.000-07:00

**achoo!!**

I love this time of year.

**cough**

And in NW Washington, it's abso-freakin'-lutely lovely. **sniffle**

I want to share what I've been **achoo** seeing, without the...ah, side effects. **cough**

From my back yard:

I have no idea what these are, but they grow wild ALL over the place up here on these scrubby-looking bushes:

Why do people say violets are blue? They aren't:

I just learned that snails can climb trees. Look:

This is a rhododendron and a Jake. These really are red, red, red, but all the pictures came out making them look like they were pinkish. They're not:

Close-up of a pink rhododendron (isn't "rhododendron" a dreadful name for such an exotic-looking flower? "Rhododendron" sounds a great deal more like a dinosaur than a flower):

Mossy fencepost in the back yard:

Close-up of same post:

There is a huge field on two sides of our yard that is full of flowering grass **ACHOO!!** and wildflowers. The following are all taken in it, but am dissatisfied with all. None really capture it well **achoo, ACHOO!** enough. **sniffle**

And here are a bunch without commentary, because there are SOOOO many pictures, and no one wants to read commentary on each picture. Am I right?

Merry Hay-Fever Season, Everyone!

Mayday! Mayday!*

2008-05-27T22:13:00.000-07:00

*This post was intended for the first of May, but since I was not bloggin' at that time, I missed the day. I would like you, dear reader, to ignore the fact that it is no longer May 1st, and pretend that I actually got a post up in a timely manner. Y'know, for a change.

Jeff and I were married on May 1st NINE years ago. That's right. Nine years ago. I thought in order to celebrate the day, I would share some of my favorite wedding photos with you! That's right! Get ready for some mushy cheese, folks. Weddin' pictures ahead!

This one is a favorite because it captures the mood of the day perfectly. It was taken at the end of a very long day, and yet, you can still see how happy we are! Look, we're almost glowing!

(Actually, I think Jeff may be...what is that look? Ah, yes, exasperated! As in, please don't take another picture of us. As for me, I don't think I'm conscious any longer. I think I may even be drooling.) Oh well. On to the next:

At the reception in Jeff's home town, we had a harpist. Isn't that nice? Yeah. I can still hear the strains of "My Heart Will Go On**" strummed on the harp, echoing in the empty corners of my brain (behind where I keep the boxes labeled Forget About This as Soon as Possible and Nightmares with Dust Bunnies).

Unfortunately, the photo-guy was obsessed with the harp. He just thought it soooo picturesque. He made me pose with it, several times. However, my most favoritest shot of the "Harp Series" was this candid moment that he caught of bride and groom:

The harp and harpist just make the picture, don't they?

And of course, there is always the decor. Most wedding decor is fairly boring and commonplace: flowers and greenery and white fabric and pearls, etc. But I had something truly unique. My mom was entirely in charge of the reception in my hometown, and here is her creative masterpiece of the evening:

Your eyes are not deceiving you. That is, indeed, a tinfoil-swan-watermelon-fruit-basket†. Betcha didn't have one of those at your wedding. Try not to be too jealous.

Here are things I would have liked to have pictures of, but sadly, didn't get a shot of, to my deep and everlasting regret:

The papier-mache butterflies that flocked all over centerpieces and anywhere else my mom could find a place for them to land.
A picture of the cake tipping. (Apparently, the poor thing was slowly sagging on one side, quite like the leaning tower of Pisa. This amused my uncle to no end. He sat there and watched its progress with great delight, and was terribly disappointed that we cut it before it collapsed.)
Brother and cousin sneakin' a doobie in the church parking lot, and then wearing sunglasses to hide the bloodshot eyes.

Good times, good times.

At least the best part of that day I get to see every day. And it doesn't hurt to look at him, either.

I love you, Punk-a-saur. Happy nine years of us, and thanks for not running out the door when my crazy comes on.

**What kind of song is that to play at a wedding, I ask you? "My Heart Will Go On?" We're only just married, but don't worry, my heart will survive this tragic separation? Ah, Celine Dijon, no doubt your career will go on and on and on to my utter dismay.
†There was some debate as to whether it was a tinfoil duck head attached to that watermelon basket, and there was even one small faction that thought it was a platypus, but my mother firmly affirmed it was a swan, thankyouverymuch.

Cultivating My Inner Redneck

2008-05-22T21:12:00.000-07:00

Living in a green state has its advantages. For example: burning. I've never lived in a place where it was acceptable to burn yard waste. So when a neighbor suggested—after I complained at length about what in the world was I supposed to do with the piles of branches, leaves, and logs* that I had amassed from trimming things around the yard—that I just trot on down to the fire station and get myself a burn permit, I was shocked.

"Really? You can do that?"
"Yup. We're outside the city limits here."
"Really?"
"Yeah."

I walked away in a daze that quickly turned into a fervor of excitement. I could BURN stuff—in my own yard—and no one would call the cops? Wow.

So I duly trotted myself down to the fire station.

"I'd like to get a burn permit, please."
"Okay. Hold on, let me get the paper...here it is." She watches as I fill in the address.
"Where is that? I'm not familiar with the street name."
"Oh, it's just around the corner from here."
"Just around the corner?" She's frowning. Uh-oh. "Here, can you point it out on the map, please?" And she plunks down a map of the city. I find our house and point at it.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You're not actually within city limits, but you're still too close to areas of Residential Development for us to allow you to burn." (Yes, she did pronounce the capital letters, just like that.)
I tried not to let it, but I'm pretty sure my face fell about 1,000 ft. Before the altitude drop caused undue precipitation, she continued: "Yeah, the only thing you're allowed to do where you are is recreational burning."
"Excuse me? What?"
"An outdoor fire confined to a small space for recreational purposes only."
"Okay, then."

So Jakey and I went home, sans burn permit, and had ourselves a recreational bonfire. Right on the lawn, all through the month of March, whenever it wasn't raining. (I kept a cooler of hot dogs on ice nearby just in case someone checked up on us.**)

What I learned from this experience:

Dried and dead juniper sure goes up quick—and HOT.
If you don't have an axe to chop up the extremely long branches and logs—no worries! Just throw 'em on the fire and when they burn through the middle, just pick 'em up by the cool end and move 'em back into the middle.
It IS possible to eat Otter Pops in cold weather. Just sit down by a really hot fire, and you'll crave them, I promise.

Things I already knew, but that this experience reaffirmed for me:

I like burning things.
A very hot fire makes a chilly and misty 40-degree-day quite pleasant.
Grass does not like being burned. Neither do insects, spiders, or the eyelashes on my left eye. (Oops.)

Jake's favorite part was getting to play fireman with the hose after I had doused the fire.

Jeff's reaction to the whole thing:

Suspiciously: "You smell like camping. What have you been doing?"
"You did what?"
"Right on the lawn?"
"Why?"
"What are we going to do with a black charred ring on the grass?"
"You're a redneck. You know that, right?"

The end result is that the piles and piles of dead stuff around the yard are gone, I had a lot of fun getting rid of it, and now I have some ash to throw into the compost pile. I had to transplant some grass, but hey—no biggie***!

*I know I've complained about the rental we're living in numerous times, but mostly it's been about the inside. The outside, however, has been equally neglected. I swear no one trimmed that juniper bush for 30 years. The piles of dead branches I got out of that thing alone was as tall as I am.
**No, not really. It wasn't really necessary. Anyone who came by would see how much fun I was having and would be forced to assume this was a purely recreational activity, not yardwork.
***No, the really BIG deal was this threat I received in my comments about this time (because I was too busy doing this sort of thing to blog in the month of March). Here:

If you do not blog soon I will be forced to take my summer road trip to your home and I will CAMP on your front lawn for a week. Can you imagine? Me, Abby, S and the dog all over the grass like a bunch of deranged lawn gnomes...filthy from not bathing. Don't get me started on the smoke from the cooking fire. And, as soon as your back is turned, we will abduct your adorable child and turn him native. You know what 5 natives means, right? It is critical mass for a Lord of the Flies scenario. You have the power to stop this, Wynne. IT'S ALL IN YOUR HANDS!!!

Megan, I was really, really hoping that you would come by. I wanted to surprise you with the fact that I already had the campfire started for you. So I continued not to blog. But...sniff...you never came.

Monkey Beans

2008-05-18T20:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I swear there is more than one of me jammed into my head.

Sometimes we have arguments. Or discussions. Or parties.

Sometimes it gets pretty crowded in my skull.

And sometimes, we get very, very bored, and a conversation like this happens:

persona 1: Monkey beans.
persona 2: Excuse me?
persona 1: Okay, lady, hand 'em over. I need some more monkey beans.
persona 2: You could ask, you know.
persona 1: Okay, HAND 'EM OVER please.
persona 2: Hmph. That barely counts. Why do you want them anyway?
persona 1: Well, I'm fresh out of monkeys and I thought it would be good to grow some more.

persona 2: That's not what monkey beans are. They are for monkeys to eat.
persona 1: Yecch! The cannibals!
persona 3: Did someone say cannibus?
persona 4: No.
And they are called monkey beans because they look like monkeys.
persona 1: No, no—they're perfectly round and pink.
persona 4: Yeah. Like monkeys.

persona 3: No, they are called "monkey beans" because it was a monkey's uncle who discovered them.
persona 1: That's stupid. If that were true, they'd be named after the uncle, not the monkey.
persona 2: But the uncle was a monkey—what else could a monkey's uncle be?
persona 1: Oh, no. You're not going to sidetrack me with that. And plainly, they are called monkey beans because they are toes. Monkey toes.
persona 2: You lost me. Why not call them toes and be done with it?
persona 1: Because their name is "monkey beans."
persona 2: They're probably not monkey toes. They are probably human pinkie toes.
persona 4: Or baby mice.
persona 3: I think you're right. They are human pinkie toes. And pinkie toes from a grown man.
persona 2: So why are they not called "toes" again?
persona 5: AAAAAHH! My toes are missing! Where the &%#@! are my toes?!

Sometimes Jeff interrupts...uh, us in the middle of one of these debates. He immediately regrets it.

Does anyone know how to get the extra people out of my head?
Hey! Who are you calling extra? You're the dead weight around here.

I think I'm going to use the phrase "monkey beans" from now on whenever I find something nutty. I'm tired of saying "crazy" and "nuts" and "insane." "Monkey beans" sounds like fun to say.

Wow, that's monkey beans!
My mother? Yeah, she's certifiably monkey beans.
Did you see that monkey-beans hairdo on that kid?

And just in case you wanted some more beans, click on this:

Huntin' fer Spoort

2008-05-14T07:42:00.000-07:00

My exposure to the hunting community has been very slight. It's true that I did live in Rexburg, Idaho for awhile, and I did live in Utah for several years, but still—I never really knew the people who actually went huntin'. I knew they were there, I made assumptions about them, but I didn't know any of them personally. Like Monster Truck Rallys and Nascar—things I knew were there, but never really took much notice of?

There was always a roommate who admitted that her cousins went, or I used to work as a cashier in a dinky grocery store in Provo and people would come in and buy permits, beer, and orange vests—but somehow, I never really noticed.

It's a little harder not to notice them here. For example, I was driving down a street that I drive down nearly every day and saw this:

My first thought was, aww, how sweet. He got himself a new pet.
My second thought was, why does no one know how to spell?
Third: What a weird thing to put on a sign. Did he give birth to it or something? Like he had a baby. "Don't have a cow, man" has suddenly translated into "cool, you had a moose! Way to go!"
Fourth: Is a moose an award? Is it small-town code for an award from the Elk's Club? Do they have an Elk's Club here? What is an Elk's Club, anyway? Why is an Elk's Club?

In the middle of these musings (by now, across town and far, far away from the sign), I noticed the decal on the back of the truck in front of me.

Fifth thought: Oh no. He killed it.

And now I can't stop noticing it. These huntin' fools are all over this small town.

(Well, actually, that billboard is in Alaska, but still.)

My point is, now that I've begun to notice them, I've begun to notice something very straaaaange about them: I think they are afraid of women. For example, look at this one:

(I did blur out a bit of it—I found it just a wee bit offensive—but if you can rhyme with "ditch" you can probably figure it out.)

And here's yet another:

Um. Well.

But it gets weirder. I saw this decal on the back window of a big ol' Ford one day:

So, what exactly is that sticker trying to say? Deer are sexy? You want to shoot things you are attracted to? What exactly is going on out there in the woods?

I'm afraid. Very afraid.

Treat for You!

2008-05-08T07:59:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have noticed that I've been gone for awhile since I've been working on other projects*. Today, as celebration for completing one of those projects, I'm going to upload an Easter egg from the family DVD I made. So, here you go. Yet another Jasper the Cat Production:

And REALLY—if you have a slow connection—don't bother! It's really silly and not worth waiting for.

And if I haven't been by your blog yet—please, have patience with me! My brain is still pretty fried.

Oh, and new online Balderdash game going on here. Come play!

*If you're interested in how the book for the grandparents turned out, I think this link is still good.

Overheard

2008-05-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

While I was exiting the public library the other day:

"...wouldn't have sold them unless it was an emergency. You know how I feel about my knives. My knives are my babies."

Yeah.

I have to wonder, though, did this guy have to get up in the middle of the night with his knives? Do knives require burping? Sheath changing?

Does he really consider them to be his children? If they are his "babies," what did he...uh, do to conceive them? Is it possible that anyone who watches television these days (and I assume this fellow does watch television) could be this confused about reproduction?

But it's fine by me if this guy is confused. It's better that some individuals from the human species don't reproduce. Umm, in the traditional way, anyway.

Again? Seriously?

2008-02-24T20:10:00.000-08:00

Yes. Seriously. Another blog hiatus.

I kept thinking—oh, tomorrow, maybe tomorrow I can work on the post that's been sitting in draft form for the past two weeks, tomorrow I'll be able to read Silly Saturday and Psychiatric Saturday and, and, and—and I finally realized it's not going to happen.

There are a slew of things going on, and I finally had to admit that something has to give. But hopefully I'll emerge again somewhere around the middle of March. Hopefully in one piece.

But what's going on that is more IMPORTANT than bloggin', you want to know. Well, first of all, I wouldn't say it's more important. Just more...unavoidable. As for what's taking me away this time, it's about three parts Enrichment*, two parts computer projects for family**, and one BIG part of "there is something seriously wrong with the septic system*** in this house."

But I don't want you to come here and go away with nothing, so, allow me to present to you some diversions and ways to waste your time:

First, a dog who can give you BEATBOX lessons! Go ahead and click:

Have you ever wanted to create a modernist work of art with a flick of your mouse? Then click here! (Click mouse button to change color, SPACE to erase.)

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I find this so catchy. And it makes me laugh. I don't know why. Click:

And this one is for those of you who enjoy superhero-y kinds of things now and again. But, please, DON'T WATCH IT WITH YOUR KID. (At least, not unless they're 12+ and have a sick sense of humor.)

And here's a little justification for bad driving (just in case you ever needed it). Clickety:

That's all, folks†!

*No, not vitamin supplements. Church functions for women. I wrote about it once.
**Every year I compile pictures of extended family and set the slideshows to music...awww. I know, I know. This year I'm doing something extra for grandparents: I'm making them a book for Mother's Day and Father's Day with all their grandkids in it. If you want to see the templates I've made so far, you can click here and here and here and here and here and here. (Just imagine that there are pictures of kids in there, and not cats.) Anyway, it's gonna take some time.
***Until just a few days ago, I didn't even know what a septic system was, let alone that we had one. It's one of those things I could've done without knowing about, and DEFINITELY could have done without smelling and seeing. Eww.
†Well, except for the footnotes, that is. But now that the footnotes are finished, I'll say it again, and this time it will be true: That's all, folks!

What's Love Got to Do with It?

2008-02-12T09:17:00.000-08:00

Now, don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't like to feel loved and all that—it's just that this holiday seems to have no meaning other than getting people to spend money, getting plenty of forgetful guys in trouble with their ladies, and making the lonely feel even lonelier. I suppose that, once upon a time, there was cultural significance for this holiday, such as boys dipping slices of goat hide into blood and slapping women and fields with them, all for the sake of fertility. But these days? No bloody goat hide for us, merely a society that equates love with how much junk your honey buys you.

And I don't need to buy some random garbage for my honey to let him know that I love him. Nor do I need him to buy me some crappy singing toy from Hallmark or a stuffed red teddy bear*.

So we've banned Valentine's Day in our house this year.

(Except for the suckers, that is.)

And on that note—that Valentine's is yet another over-marketed holiday that I get annoyed with every time I have to go to the store and see all the TRASH people are trying to sell me—I would like to share with you a poem I wrote for a poetry class in college**. The assignment was to write a Valentine's Day poem. In typical wynne-fashion, the first thing that came to mind wasn't sweet or syrupy. It was perverse and entertained me highly. I snickered to myself, and wrote.

Next time class was in session, the professor asked us to read our love poems to the class. (She was really big on that sort of thing.)

So people did. There were lots of hearts and rainbows and mush, and some people may even have written about their mothers. Eventually my turn came.

Here it is:

Valentine's Day Poem

Someday my prince will come
Someday I'll slam an axe into his
neck and mount his head
above my bedroom door.

If not there, perhaps
in my wallet, folded and pressed
very small, the size of a condom,
Where I can look any time

I need to see him in my
debt, or as one of my assets.
Really, any place dark will do
Where my dream can't slip away again:

In the long dark I will store
him, where he won't turn away when I
swear my devotion or offer
him my face to kiss.

At the time I read this, there may have been a classmate or two that were bugging me for a date†. But for some reason, after I read this, neither of them bothered me again. I wonder why††?

*Bears are forbidden. Chocolate, of course, will always be welcome, but hopefully I won't be limited to receiving it on just ONE DAY A YEAR.
**BYU-Idaho, known as "Ricks" in my day.
† This was the pre-Jeff era.
†† Some people just can't take a joke.

Duct Tape Obsession

2008-02-09T20:37:00.000-08:00

I have a confession. I'm not so sure how I feel about all of this, and I am sure to horrify SOMEONE out there on the Internet—but, hey, there you are. I can be horrifying.

I've been preoccupied with duct tape. Because it works so well. The obsession began when I incorporated it into a parenting strategy without even thinking about it. I had sent Jake to time-out for hitting, and as soon as he was in his corner, he started hitting the walls, the floors, etc. Y'know, just being a mad little turd in general (I should do a sketch of that: "mad lil' turd." Okay: done—see below). And I knew I couldn't allow it. (The hitting, not the sketch.)

So I thought for just a second—and maybe I didn't think it through at all—then retrieved the roll of duct tape from the garage, and approached him very calmly.

Me: Jake, do you know why I put you on time out?
Jake: I hit.
Me: That's right. Hitting is not okay.
Jake: But I don't stop hitting! I hit and hit if you put me on time out!
Me: No, you won't. Because hitting is not okay, and if you can't use your hands wisely and politely, then you won't be allowed to use your hands at all.

And then I duct-taped his arms to his body, and reset the timer for more time out.

He was furious. He thrashed about, but was unable to free his arms, and unable to squirm out of his shirt (the tape was only attached to his shirt, and if he could have only gotten his arms out, he would've been free!). He was very sad (eventually) and apologized, and hasn't hit a thing since.

And since, I can't stop fantasizing about duct tape.

Kid too noisy for you? I know something that will fix that.

Can't hold still? I know of something that will help!

Won't stay in his chair during Sunbeams? Oh, I have the answer!

Every time I turn around, I think of another use for the stuff. Why, just today after he pooped in his underwear again, I fantasized about taping him to the toilet seat and letting him stay there all day.

It's true that he hasn't hit anyone lately, but I've still managed to create a monster.

Me.

Today is Someone's Birthday

2008-01-27T21:04:00.000-08:00

...but I don't want to say whose. I mean, some people are really touchy about birthdays. As if being touchy about your age will actually change something? Take Jake, for example. He made this comment in Sunbeams last week: "I will turn 100 and all my teeth will fall out and I won't know what to do!" Isn't he a little young to be worrying about aging?

And, you know, if I was at liberty to say whose birthday it is today, perhaps I would also be able to share with you what this mysterious person's dream cake would look like. A dream cake that I may have made myself. And that doesn't look at all like the amount of work that went into it. No, instead it looks like a big pile of mud. (At least I can say, in my defense, that it was supposed to look like that.)

And now, for some reason, I am completely worn out. I can't imagine why, though. Isn't a birthday supposed to be a joyous event, and Fun For All?

Maybe. But I would like to say to the makers of the following product:

...may you all rot in hell, you miserable #@!#@!!!!

Hope everyone is having a wonderful Sunday. See you in a week when I'm rested again.

Why I Haven't Been to Your* Blog Lately**

2008-01-18T15:56:00.000-08:00

(Contest still on, by the way.)

It's all Jeff's fault. See, he got me some books for Christmas. It surprised me, because I remember telling him that even though I enjoyed these particular books, I didn't have any particular desire to own them.

The books are actually a boxed set of three—the first two books I had already read, but I hadn't read the last yet—and I set them in the back bedroom and pretended they weren't there.

My husband noticed. He wanted to know why, after having them for a month, I hadn't read them yet. Did I want him to take them back?

Sigh.

No, see, I was avoiding them for a reason. These particular books are DANGEROUS. Once you pick them up, you can't put them down again. But to appease the poor husband, I started with the third book—the one I hadn't read—devoured it in two days, and then I went back and started with the first book again, then on to the second. Then the third book, again.

Dangerous Books

Then I went into mourning because I had read them all and there was nothing more to read, and I kinda...skimmed through them all again.

Pathetic. Now you know where I've been.

But wait, it gets worse.

I went online. Did you know that there are HUNDREDS of web sites dedicated to this set of novels? There are forums, chat rooms, fan-art sites, graphics, debates—it's everywhere. I still couldn't get the dumb story out of my head that I (cringe) did something I never thought I would do, ever: I made some (wince) fan art. I really, really can't believe I did that.

See? (Click for the full-size version. Actually, now that I see it uploaded here in the small version, it looks lousy. Please click for the better-looking version. Please?) And oh, there are more!

The worst part about all of this is I soooo don't have the time to be wasting on this sort of thing. But I couldn't help it! It was taking over my life!

I think that I'm finally coming out of it. The haze has lifted from my eyes. And I have decided that something needs to be done for society at large. These books are extremely addictive and cause people to obsess over them to an unhealthy degree. (Seriously. Go google the main character's names and see what you find.) The Surgeon General has been ignoring my phone calls and the petition I sent in to get these books classified as controlled substances (that S.G. is pretty hoity-toity, if you ask me), and so I have decided it was necessary to take the next step by myself. I have established an organization for those who wish to recover from the adverse effects of reading these books. See:

Please check in. No one here will bite you***. Or phase into any sort of beast. Together, we can recover from this debilitating addiction. Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, and in the words of *sigh* Edward Cullen: "Be safe."

*Meaning, quite specifically: the lady with the waistband of elastic, melissa the mejojac, insane kim (but she says it's temporary), carrottiest of all jell-os, NCS!!! ("nifty craft sack"), jean knee-jerk reaction, grateful to be kathleen, the dorkelina formerly known as pandy, the dread pirate...chloe?, and kristine. There. Now you know exactly who I have links to in my nav bar. Whee.

**Actually, if you hadn't noticed by now, I'm rather miserable about blogging consistently. Life constantly gets in the way, and I let it, because I'm like that, and so is life, and blogging is just a hobby, after all. So my attendance on your blog will ALWAYS be sketchy. But it's not because you aren't loved. 'Cause you are loved. So take that and like it.

***Well, if they are really into the books, they might. But I promise that sort of activity will NOT be tolerated, and the bite-ees will promptly be bitten back by yours truly.

Do You Need a Hero?

2008-01-15T12:28:00.000-08:00

Every once in awhile, we all need a superhero. But Batman is so hard to get a hold of, Superman's secretary won't return my calls, and Spiderman grosses me out with his snacking habits (insects should NOT be a part of trail mix).

For those of you that find themselves in the same bind as I do, I'd like to introduce a new superhero with some very special abilities:

Another Contest

2008-01-04T09:31:00.000-08:00

*CONTEST OFFICIALLY OVER*

Have you ever found yourself pestered by insensitive family members, neighbors, or even strangers asking impertinent questions, such as, "So, when are you going to get married?" when you don't even have a prospective spouse on the radar?

Or, once you are married, "So, when are you going to start a family?"

Or, once you have at least one child, "So, when are you going to have another?"

Or, once you have several, "So, are all these kids yours?"

Are you tired of people not being able to mind their own business? Well, I've decided to host another contest here at my blog to help. Proudly presenting:

All you have to do is add your favorite comeback to any of the above situations* to the comments section**. You can enter as many as you like, you can say whatever you want to say—really, there are no rules. Heck, I don't even want to put a deadline on the contest—let's just see how far it goes until it peters out, shall we?

There will be prizes, however. (Can you say "gift certificate" and "chocolate"*** without drooling?) All you have to do is make me laugh hard enough that I wet myself.

And if you want to put a link on your blog for this contest (like the one I have in my sidebar), here is HTML copy-and-paste so you can add it in a snap:

*Or any other annoying situations you have encountered. I'm not gonna be picky.
**Since this contest was inspired by the comments of Elizabeth W, Jill, and Marie on the Also Not About Flooding post, you three can already consider yourselves entered in this contest. However, feel free to enter again, and again, and again, if it amuses you.
**For those of you with New Year's Resolutions to "be good" as pertaining to food, I promise that a choice of a more...er, healthy reward will be yours, should you win.

CONTEST WINNERS:
Lindy
Mammajam
Elizabeth W

You will be contacted; prizes will be sent.
love,
wynne

How Many Ways Do I Need to Say It?

2007-12-23T22:06:00.002-08:00

Feel free to snag one of these if you'd like, and do whatever you want with it.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Also Not About Flooding

2007-12-20T14:51:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, I had some pet mice. (We also had a tortoise, a rabbit, one cat, four dogs, a couple of parakeets, a boa constrictor named Daisy, a flock of chickens, and a wild iguana living in the bushes. That’s right, I grew up in a frickin’ menagerie. Back to the mice.)

At first, there were only two mice. Snowflake and Licorice.

Then we got a few more, like Raccoon, VW, Cinnamon, Pipsqueak, and about twenty more.

But this is about Snowflake and Raccoon.

Snowflake had babies. She didn’t much care for them, and didn’t really want to sit and nurse them. Raccoon, who had no babies, seemed as if she was constantly trying to convince Snowflake to feed her children. When Snowflake was absent, Raccoon would be in the nest cleaning the babies and taking care of them. Except feeding them. She tried, but she had no milk.

One day, Snowflake ate her babies. We were disgusted, and fed her to Daisy.

Raccoon later had a litter of her own and was an excellent mother. She cleaned them, she fed them, she cuddled them, she did not eat them, and they all grew to adulthood. She had more children, too. Her progeny were given to each classroom in my elementary school so each classroom could have a class pet (until a few broke out of their cages, escaped into the heating ducts which connected all classrooms, infested the school with mice, and occasionally would get cooked in the heaters so there was a very nasty smell when the heat came on in winter and then the principal outlawed mice as classroom pets—but that’s another post).

What was the difference between the two mice? Temperament? Insanity? A craving for tender baby flesh?

It’s a question that has troubled me, especially since the birth of my own son. Not that I ever had the desire to eat him, exactly, but I did have a nastily severe case of postpartum depression after he was born. And I thought about those two dumb mice, and I couldn't help wondering if I were a Snowflake: either genetically programmed to be a mess of a mother, or something in me saw my offspring and craved him dripping in barbecue sauce...

However, I do feed him, cuddle him, and clean him, and so far I haven't marinated him and popped him in the oven, so I figure I must be doing okay. But the thought of having more children...it seems like a really bad idea. Really. Experience number 1 was so intense and miserable and terrifying that I think it would be stupidity (and hazardous to the health of our family) to go through it again.

And yet, it’s hard to let go of that possibility of more kids, even though common sense, personal revelation, and reality have proved the necessity of not having any more... Is my biological clock really so strong and stupid as that? Isn't there supposed to be an emergency self-preservation button on the dumb thing somewhere? To turn it off?

It's also very hard to explain the situation to people around me (who will, of course, ask when the next child will be coming along). Especially you mormon freaks—"oh, don't worry, you’ll have another! Sure you will! You know, multiply and replenish the earth! Mate on! More Mormons, more mormons!"

No. Probably not. It is unwise.

I keep thinking something will change—Jake will go off to school, I'll suddenly find myself in a permanent emotional state so stable you could build a house on it, and magically, I’ll be able to manange another child. Not gonna happen.

So what is a woman to do? Denial? Delusion? A combination of both culminating in herding your husband to the local animal shelter to adopt a new ~~child~~ pet?

Apparently, the latter. Proudly announcing the new member of our family:

Clicky-click if you want to see it in its full glory.

And before you leave a comment, please remember to take this posting with this. Or, perhaps, with this. Oh, heck, you may as well take this, too.

I'm Not Gonna

2007-12-16T22:18:00.000-08:00

I suppose I could write about the flood aftermath today. Heaven knows I have enough material for 15 posts. I could.

But I will not.

Because I don’t want to. There is so much seriousness in it, and I am so tired of the seriousness and the overwhelming and depressing magnitude of it all. We need more levity. (Did you know that I keep a blog primarily to have a place for my Sense of the Silly to range free? To give it a place where it is at liberty to frolic and play in any way it so desires? Look at it now: it has donned a glittery tutu, vampire fangs, and has a creamsicle stuck to its head. Look at it pirouette, leap, and guzzle bacon fat! Oh, the joy! Oh the warm fuzzies!)

See, seriousness can wear you out if you have to do it too much. My alter-ego, Woman-Who- Induces-Coma- in-Random-Passerby-with-Her-Super- Seriousness-and-Monosyllabicity, has had the reins the past week or so, and I'm worn out. She has served her purpose, and is absolutely necessary as I've been out trying to serve the community, but it is time to draw her in, lock her up for the night*, and let the muskadillo roam.

Commentator: There: look! The muskadillo has tied up Super-serious woman with her own tongue and is spraying her with its noxious scent! What a bold move for the muskadillo! What's this? What's this? Super-serious woman is trying to lecture the muskadillo, but is prevented because of her own tongue being wrapped around her body! The muskadillo knows it and dancing a jig on her head. I do believe this is a clear victory for the muskadillo. Yes—yes—look! He is beginning to sing his wild musky song!

Muskadillo:
Oh, say have you heard
Where the muskrat leaves turds
There roams the wild muskadillo

It may sound absurd
But the lines are all blurred
Between it and a pad of brillo

Oh, dillo, dillo, oh-dey, dillo-dillo!
The call of the wild muskadillo!
It cries
La-di-freakin'-da!
And
Just five more minutes, ma!
And
Get your arse away from my pillow!

More non-flood-related posting to immediately follow this bit of randomness. Read on.

*Super-serious woman will be back to write more about the flood and the wonderful positive experiences that have come from it, blah blah blah, but not today. She’ll probably come back when everyone has stopped caring about the flood. But, after all, that is why she is who she is.

A Deep and Troubling Question

2007-12-16T21:25:00.001-08:00

Today I would like to pose a deep and troubling question:

As is typical for this time of year, we've been sick.

Jake, the lucky duck, got conjunctivitis in both eyes along with his cold.

Ever given eye drops to a toddler? Boy, is it fun! It took a little practice, but I can proudly say that I am an expert at the strategy know as the “toddler straddle.”

Instructions for toddler straddle:
Catch child.
Put him on his back on the floor. Avoid teeth and flailing limbs.
Straddle child by sitting on your heels (so as not to crush the child), and pin his arms under your legs. Pin his head between knees, so he can’t move his head.
Pry open one eye with one hand and administer the eye drop with the other. Ignore all screaming, and quell all bucking of legs and lower body with bum.
Repeat 3-4 times daily.

Fortunately, a few episodes of this, and he was willing to try and hold still all on his own. To his credit, he did very well. Eyes are now healthy, though he still has a sniffle and a cough.

Jasper, now…he’s got leprosy. Well, okay, maybe he doesn’t have leprosy, exactly, but the word fits the bill: open sores, anyone? Apparently he has a common condition amongst cats: an abscess at the base of his tail caused by another cat biting and/or scratching him, the scratch getting infected, the skin healing over the infection, sealing a world of nastiness inside which…well, swelled and filled with fluid and…er…ruptured (gag) right in the vet’s office.

I will not attempt to describe the disgusting nature of the sore any longer: Jeff was obsessed with it for some time, and kept saying: “it reminds me of peeling a blood orange, when you start to peel the skin back. It seems like you could just grab the edge of the wound and pull back his skin…” at which point I start screaming, “No! Stop! Disgusting!” and then I vomit on him.

The vet cleaned him up and gave him some medicine to take (a wash for the open sore and an antibiotic taken orally), so now he is feeling much better, but he’s walking around the house with an unsightly shaved rump with an open sore on it, he’s been oozing all over everything, and he hates to take his medicine.

Unfortunately for him, I’ve had plenty of practice administering medicine to unwilling patients; unfortunately for me, Jasper’s teeth are much sharper than Jake’s, and Jake doesn’t have claws.

So what do you think? Who would you rather medicate?

ANOTHER NEW POST BELOW (after all, who knows when I'll have the time to come back again? I know I'm killing the posts, but oh well. I must write when I CAN!)

A Novel Concept

2007-12-16T20:14:00.000-08:00

I intended to post this as the first post of December. But, you know, that was before I saw Noah and his floating zoo taking a spin down main street...

Some friends have been asking me how the pipe dream of writing a novel went. Well:

I did it. I wrote my obligatory 50,000 words, and look! I have a nifty lil' badge to show for it! Wahoo! Now for a Q&A session:

Q: So, you wrote a book in one month?
A: No. The novel is not finished. 50,000 words really isn't very much, but it's plenty for 30 days and for a lazy person like yours truly. Wish you could see me right now. I'm still glowing with pride! I mean, I MADE it! I'm really proud of myself!

Q: Can I read it?
A: Whoa. Hold on there. Are you nuts? You have no idea what it's about. It may bore you to tears. You may no longer want to be my friend. Friends don't ask friends to read rough-draft manuscripts. It's unkind. Besides, it's not finished. Perhaps if you promise to be brutally honest, and want to help edit it, well...perhaps. And then only when it's ready for editing.

Q: What is it about?
A: I won't say. I'm not done writing it, you see, and I honestly believe the more you tell about your book instead of writing it down, you are killing your story. And, if you are a low-energy person like myself, all possible energy needs to be corralled into writing the book. All I will say about it is that your head sure can produce some surprising stuff after you have lowered your standards and have flushed all expectations down the toilet. Whatever you think it is about, I promise, that won't be it.

Q: So, are you going to finish it, or what?
A: Oh, yes! I haven't come this far for nothing! And I discovered that I really, really like writing fiction. I can't stop now. But—where am I going to find the time? I have a slice of two hours I can use in the evenings to write, and I want to blog as well. And there is the family, the church-stuff, the cat...something is going to have to give. This is a common theme out there in blogland, isn't it? But I have come up with a brilliant plan—I'm going to turn off my comments!

Q: What? Why?
A: I have a theory that the most time-consuming part and addicting bit of blogging is the comments. I care about getting them too much. Way too much. I fuss over them, I count them, I go out and leave comments all over the blogosphere like mouse droppings hoping that people will then feel obligated to leave me more comments, also like mouse droppings, on my own blog. It must stop. Especially since mouse droppings are gross. And unsanitary. Don't mice have toilets?

So, if I turn mine off, at least for a little while, it will do several things: Free up some time; tone down (cure me of?) my obsession; and leave you comment-addicted folk like myself one blog less where you feel obligated to leave a comment.

At least, that was the plan. But people complained. I was shocked. (Why can't you just lurk quietly and be satisfied, like the majority of people who come here?) So if anyone has a brilliant idea to get more time in my life, let me know.

Q: What is the meaning of life?
A: Well, Douglas Adams postulated in one of his writings that it was "42." Works for me.

ONE MORE NEW POST BELOW (if I haven't already lost you, that is)

Something I'm Happy About

2007-12-16T20:00:00.000-08:00

For those of you who have reading about my house-sprucing adventures (i.e., Me vs. The Rental From HELL), I would like to show you evidence of a brilliant stoke on my part to beat at least a portion of this house into submission. I present to you a before-and-after picture set:

BEFORE

This isn't a true before picture: after all, the walls are already painted and the carpet was replaced. You should have SEEN the walls. Yellowish-brown with smoke. And you could see exactly where pictures had been hanging.

AFTER

And now I'm going to bed. Write in another...who knows? two weeks? (sniff)

She Beat Me to It!

2007-12-12T13:49:00.000-08:00

Hey bloggers—I need your help. I've been trying to set up a fund for donations to help relieve the need of people around here, just to find, today, that someone else has already done it!

So, click on the picture to go to her site to donate. And if you haven't created your own post to spread the word, please do it now!

Thanks so much!

Overwhelmed

2007-12-06T21:08:00.001-08:00

It rained last night.

Which is completely normal for this time of year.

What is not normal—for this time of year or for any other time of year—are the dead cows in the trees.*

Yesterday Jake and I spent some time at the local LDS chapel, which is serving as a shelter for people who have been flooded out of their homes. We were there to make sandwiches and serve them to the hungry people. (Jeff wasn't with us because he managed to get to work by trading his usual 10-minute commute via the I-5 for an hour-and-a-half meandering drive through the foothills.)

After that, we came home and I spent (*sigh*) about two more hours on the !@#$% telephone trying to check on people and trying to get more help for the church/shelter kitchen. (Aside: Hmm... "church/shelter" is not going to work. Too bulky. How 'bout..."churlter," or "shelch"?)

Like I was saying, I've been talking to a lot of people in the past few days, and have heard a lot of their stories, and have even seen a thing or two myself.

For example, while I was at the shelch, somehow I ended up babysitting the Bishop's cell phone.** While I was performing this sad and regrettable service, I intercepted a phone call from the Red Cross.

"Oh, hey. We wanted to let you know we have received a report of a man armed with a rifle in an LDS building, but we don't know which one. Is he in yours?"

Yikes.

Bishop went around and, thankfully, he didn't find anyone with a rifle. What I want to know is what the guy needed a rifle indoors for? Hunting dust bunnies? Didn't he know they aren't actual bunnies?

Another story: We have here in Centralia a pleasant couple who hang out near exit 82, frequently bearing signs that say things like, "Everyone needs help at some time in their lives." Very eloquent, don't you think? Anyway, they've been at that exit since I've moved here, and I've often seen them chasing away other mendicants from their corner. For convenience's sake, I shall call the one "Beauregard," and his lovely female consort, "Barfy."

Anyway, Beau and Barfy showed up at the door of the shelch claiming to have been flooded out of their home. Bishop, who was not born yesterday (or even within fifty years of it), recognized darling Beau and Barfy and asked them, "What's your address?"
Whereupon Beau sweetly replied, "F*** off!"
Beau and Barfy were escorted out of the building, no matter how many compliments they let fly, and were told that the shelch was for flood victims, not for folk looking for free food.

Story Three: There are about 10 (or 15? somewhere around there...) residents of the shelch that were brought from a flooded convalescent home. These folks are scootin' around in wheelchairs, not really noticing much of what's going on around them, probably not being able to tell the difference between the shelch and the convalescent home. But they do know when it's time to eat.

One of the older gentlemen who was not in a wheelchair—we'll call him Tim—was wandering around trying to use a stick of gum as a key to get into his house (which was a utility closet) and he broke a fire alarm trying to use it as a telephone. He also had a very aged and sick dog who was throwing up...and doing other, nastier things...all over the floor. Before too long, Tim got shipped off to the hospital, and his dog to the vet, but not before he made an impression on a lot of people, and his dog made a several impressions on the carpet.

Tim-ness that my husband witnessed: Tim is tucked away on a cot under the jackets in the hall, and he is still sleeping (it's 5am). Another fellow opens the door and comes out of a classroom (his temporary suite) and passes Tim with the amount of noise a mouse would make.
Tim sits up in his cot and yells, "G** d*** it all to hell! What is going ON?!"
Poor guy just whispers back to him, "I'm just walking to the bathroom. Sheesh."

Short cow story: One woman told me that although she was okay, since her house was on a hill, all the property around her was under water. This included a large pasture where a neighbor had his cattle graze. She spent part of her day tearing down part of the fence and herding the cattle up on her land because they were starting to drown.

Sad cow story: It was a woman at the veterinarian's who told me about the drowned cows that were left stranded in trees when the river started to recede. (I am grateful I did not see these.)

General note: There are 14 families (at least, by my count so far) in our ward whose homes are uninhabitable at this point. Many, many more have sustained minor water damage. And somehow, my family came through unscathed. The stupid, broken rental from hell has survived untouched. Ironic, that.

Plans: Today was more phone calls and babysitting another woman's children so she could help out at the shelch. Tomorrow, I'm going out with Jake to distribute...er, disaster clean-up kits? Don't know exactly what is in them, but supposedly, it's everything you would need to clean up your home from a diaster such as this, neatly sardined into a 25-lb plastic barrel. And Saturday will be marathon-cleaning day where the ward splits up and tackles clean-up jobs. So I'm going to bed. (I'm so, so thankful I have one, and that it is warm and dry.)

Signing off,
One Soggy Muskadillo

*Aren't you grateful that I don't have pictures of them? I am. I'd feel obligated to...ewww...post them.
**This is something you NEVER want to do, but especially in the face of a disaster, because the dumb thing never stops going off.

In the News

2007-12-06T20:37:00.000-08:00

Would you believe it? Our soggy little town made it onto CNN News. The first four photos are our town, and starting from about frame 1:02 in the video "Washington State Storm"—well, that's our town they're talking about! And that stretch of I-5 that's under 10 feet of water? That's Centralia! The second video that plays, "Floods Swamp Washington"—that's ALL Centralia, and that's the Wal-Mart I...uh, used to shop at. I don't think it will be open anytime soon.

What is wrong with me that I'm excited to find this on national news?

Did You Hear about It on the News?

2007-12-04T16:05:00.000-08:00

We've been wet. Just a little bit.

A little bit of winter rain, and the silly Chehalis River overflowed all over the I-5. Looks like it will be closed a few days, huh?

So Jeff is at home, not being able to drive to work, and I have spent a good portion of my morning on the telephone going down the ward list, calling people to see who is flooded and in need of assistance, and who is okay. Most of the names I am unfamiliar with, because most of the people on the list don't come to church at all.

Me: Hello, is this Ms. Jones?
M. Jones: Yeah. Who is this?
Me: This is Sister Urien from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I'm just calling to see if you are flooded.
M. Jones: Damn right we're flooded. What church did you say you're from?
Me: (Repeat church name, then:) If you need a place to stay, the church building on Mt. Vista has been set up as an evacuation site, and you can get a warm meal there...
M. Jones: Where is the church?
Me: (give directions)
M. Jones: (laughs) Sure, we'll be there! That is, if you have a boat to come pick us up in! How do you spell your name?

(Who cares? Your house is flooded and you're asking me how to spell my name? People sure are odd.)

At any rate, it's been an interesting day.

Us? Oh, we're fine. In a way, it's weird: look outside the window of our dear home crap home, and things look normal: wet, many puddles, but no big deal. Most of the people I've talked to are just fine. Some people I've talked to today have described told me about mild water invasion in their homes. And, of course, the people with serious water issues I haven't even talked to, because the phone lines are down and/or the electricity is shut off.

So. It looks as though we're going to be plenty busy for the next few months digging mud out of people's homes and working on general clean-up. Wish us luck.

And if you say prayers, shoot a few off in this direction tonight, would ya?

Off to Pursue a Pipe Dream

2007-11-01T09:29:00.000-07:00

Hope everyone had a great Halloween and ate lots of stuff that was bad for you. What? It's time to go visit the dentist? Good luck with that.

This post is basically a notice that I will not be around for the month of November. That's right. I've given up my blog time to attempt to write a novel. (snicker) I know, I know, hence the title of the post. But I have to try, you know? Life isn't exactly slowing down, and I've realized it never will, so if I'm ever going to do this, it may as well be now.

Want to do it, too? Check out National Novel Writing Month online and sign up to write a novel in a month with the rest of us insane, dorky, wanna-be writers.

See you in December.

Because Costumes Are Fun

2007-10-28T21:42:00.001-07:00

How about some pictures today?
I just found out through Melissa's blog about an online costume contest, and I thought--why not? I was meaning to post a bunch of pictures of Jake in costume anyway.

First up, Jake as a rap artist:
(Yeah, I know I've posted this one before, but I have to do it again. And yes, that is my YW medallion. What else was I gonna do with it? Wear it?)

Or if pirates are more your thing, but you're tired of seeing kids dressed up as Captain Jack Sparrow...
...how about this? Ever seen a kid dressed up as a treasure chest yet?

I really like this one, though I think the picture would have been better if somehow I'd managed to get him to swing on a vine:

Who knew Tarzan had fat rolls?

And here is one of my very first sewing experiments (I am by no means a seamstress--heavens, no! but I found I could thread a needle and stick in in cloth with a desireable result):

Oh, and I can't leave out the cat. Not my wonderful, super cat:

Another sewing experiment:
I wanted to dress Jake up as Draco Malfoy.
Everything worked pretty well except his hair, which, to my dismay, I found would NOT slick back no matter what I put in it:

No sewing on this one at all:

Et tu, Brute?

And last, Jake as a traffic light:

And yeah, it does light up. Those are tap-lights in there, so he can turn 'em on and off himself. Best part? NO SEWING. Just a glue gun, felt, and scissors. That's my kind of costume!

It's My Potty and I'll Cry if I Want To

2007-10-24T20:22:00.003-07:00

Dearest of all Carrot-flavored Gelatin,

I do have reason for being absent from the blog, and it's not to make all you wieners feel like losers. Oh, no. See, I'm the big loser here. Why? Well, you see, it's this house again. The toilet was broken past flushability, you see, and there has been an emergency scramble to have it repaired. Since there is only one bathroom in this dear, dear house, this means that I had to...er, get creative about how to relieve myself. I will not go into details*, but I am a loser.

However, the toilet gods** have smiled upon us, and rewarded us with a shiny new toilet. Hooray.

There are a few more things that are swallowing my blog time this week. This formula should be sufficient:

If
Me = Enrichment Counselor
and
This Saturday = SUPER SATURDAY!!!***
then
Me presently = Panicked, Annoyed, and Stressed

However, I DID manage to get all the links for the contests in their proper places. Go ahead--scroll down and see.

And your Halloween fix for today:

You may download one of these charming lil' desktop companions who will float around your desktop, constantly reminding you that Halloween is on its way. Click on the one you like to go to the page to download him.

*I was serious. I will NOT go into details. And if you're down here looking for them, maybe you're a sicko.
**This is not official Mormon doctrine. Just mine.
***If you don't know what this is, consider yourself extremely fortunate.

2007-10-24T20:22:00.001-07:00

Grand prize awarded to elasticwaistbandlady for this great link:

Other links that were entered, in no particular order:

From kristine, an interactive haunted house game (which means you just click a lot, and eventually you'll get to the next room):

From hollywood:

From melissa, Ben & Jerry's Halloween site:

Danielle sent me not one, not two, but three games (and Jen sent the last one, too):

Here's another from elastic:

And several more that didn't lend themselves to a cool screenshot link:

Jean knee directs us to the Travel Channel's special on POSSESSIONS BY SPIRITS (you can watch the whole show).
Carrot sends this, this, and what the heck IS this, carrot?
Would you like to read about the history of the jack-o-lantern or some Halloween superstitions? I do. Thanks, Summer.
Lisa sent a link so you can learn how to throw your very own Wanda Witch Party (and you probably need this link, too; start from the bottom to go in order), another link in case you are in the Midwest and would like to attend a Halloween convention, and yet another for a haunted cemetary. Whew, Lisa!
Jennifer B sent her favorite Halloween greeting ecard. It's a scream.
Christina sent a link that all you old Waterford-ians will enjoy: The Gallery of Terror! (Long live the Art Department!)
Lesley sent instructions for how to mold false ears out of gelatin.
And Dallas Meow sent an idea that's fun for the whole family.

Thanks for playing, everyone!

2007-10-24T20:21:00.000-07:00

Grand prize awarded to Marie for this fabulous entry:

Stopping by the Dungeon on a Full-Mooned Midnight

Whose moans those are I think I know
He's strapped upon the rack, and so
He will not see me pausing here
While my back hair begins to grow.

My boyfriend, he must think it queer
To see the tufts upon my ear
He thinks this dungeon is a fake
A place to stir romantic fear.

But to this castle by the lake
I asked to go just for the sake
Of breaking up with Lying Creep
And then I'll eat some boyfriend steak

The forest's murky, dark, and deep
But I have havoc still to wreak
And wiles to try before I leap
Then miles to drive home in his jeep.

...and then there is this, too--a beautifully mutilated version of The Beatles' song "Yesterday:"

Leprosy

Leprosy
I'm not half the man I used to be
There are pieces falling off of me
Oh, I believe I've leprosy

Suddenly
Roller coasters are an agony
Lost my lips on Death Loop #3
The man behind me wasn't pleased

My left
leg escaped down the slope
on my left ski
Eyeballs
rolled away with my kneecaps
and my spleen...

Ironically
There's one part that still clings close to me
and that's my flabby little tummy
A cruel joke, this leprosy

Bring the
duct tape quick
My big toe
is trying to flee
If you need a chin
Take my spare ones;
I've got three...

I can see
the sad end that lies ahead of me
when my head falls off into my tea
don't laugh at me, it's leprosy

don't laugh at me, it's leprosy

You can listen to her perform it, too.

Runner-up prize awarded to Sharon-the-blogless for this entry:

Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a Hallow's 'een?
Thou are more creepy and more fully decked.
Sunny days do break the darkning skies so mean
And autumn's geese by vultures all be pecked.

Sometime too hot the wench or bunny dress,
And often is her caked complexion trite,
And every hair, so like a Playboy tress,
By chance? or year-long planning for this night?

But thy infernal ghoulishness shall reign,
Nor lose obsession, thou wouldst never do,
For Death and Gore are fibers of thy mane,
And in eternal hauntings, thou art true.

So long as men can scream, and wounds can bleed
So long lives Wynne, and she has done her deed.

More entries, in no particular order:

Elastic did a great Halloweenish prank post. Click here to read.

More poetry:

Baa Baa Grim Reaper,
Have you any souls?
Yes sir, yes sir,
Three bags full;

One for my master,
one for my dame,
and one for my mummy
that lives on my lane.

-Jen (also blogless)

Jack and Jill crept up the hill
to steal the banker's daughter.
The banker wouldn't pay
so Jack let her pray
as Jill held the girl under water.

-April

And since I promised I would post the rest when the contest was over, here's one of mine, in its disgusting entirety:

Mary Had Some Leprosy

Mary had some leprosy, leprosy, leprosy
Mary had some leprosy
Her sores were white as snow

Every time that Mary tripped, Mary tripped, Mary tripped,
Every time that Mary tripped
Off would fall a toe

Today Mary starts to bleed, starts to bleed, starts to bleed
Today Mary starts to bleed
We cannot staunch the flow

She bled until she turned so white, turned so white, turned so white
She bled until she turned so white
Now she's six feet below

and the very last, also mine:

The Hallowieners!

2007-10-16T09:25:00.000-07:00

Who won the contests, you want to know.

First, let me say that I am a lousy judge. What was I thinking having a contest? Was I hoping that you would fall all over yourselves trying to impress me?

Maaaaaybe.

After all, how often does a girl get a chance to watch people fall all over themselves? (This was a first for me. Not that anyone fell all over themselves, but I have a good imagination, and
I can pretend you did.)

Enough digression.

The weiners:

Grand-prize wieners* are

Marie

and

Elastic.

I have grand plans to put up all the entries soon--some of these were just brilliant** (Sharon, you are getting a runner-up prize, I swear, and Jen, Baa Baa Grim Reaper made me laugh aloud, that's quite a feat, and did anyone see Kristine's link to that haunted house?)--so be looking for it.

Right now is not the time, however. There are closet doors to be painted; a broken fireplace to...er, "etch" is the term, I suppose; a child to play with and to get dressed; and a cat--well, I have no idea what he wants, but he won't stop meowing. He may be spending the day in the garage.

Oh, and here's a Halloween fix for the day:

*If you didn't win the grand-wiener prize, don't sweat it. The last thing I want to do is make somebody's day crappy because they didn't win some dumb contest by some dumb wynne. I'm still going to try and send you something. I may not be able to send EVERYONE something--Jeff just might pass out if I tried to do that--but I'm gonna do my best to spread Halloween cheer.
**And Jean Knee had a link that will keep you busy for a looong time, and carrot send some links that scared the crapouttame, and Danielle went out of her way to send me games, and...and...and...I'm gonna stop now, but they all were great.

Another Halloween Fix

2007-10-12T08:45:00.000-07:00

Okey-dokey. More Halloween just-for-fun links. Now with 25% less fat!

If you post this one on your blog, please link it so I can see it:

A classic (it's safe, Melissa, I promise):

If someone can find a better Halloween-related Strongbad email that this, let me know:

A waste of time. Utterly. But I really like the design of the game:

And I loooove this one (NCS, after you click, the very last picture on the bottom right is for YOU):

Also, you only have this weekend plus a Monday to get your contest entries in! Would it help if I said just by entering you may get something*? Does it help to know you can enter as much as you like? That anonymous entries are accepted via email**? That you would really make my Halloween if you do enter something? Please?

*Supplies limited, act now.
** For all you lurkers out there. My email is muskadillo at hotmail dot com, by the way.

I'm Jammin' Now!

2007-10-10T08:35:00.000-07:00

Guess what I did yesterday?

That's right. Finally put all those blackberries I picked in their proper place: a jar.

Was it "easy"? Was it "fun"?

Well, it would have been a heck of a lot more enjoyable if one toddler wasn't sobbing inconsolably because he had been jumping on the couch (an illegal activity) and had a pillow smack him in the eye, another vomiting on the carpet, and another growling like a bear with poo streaming down his leg.*

That's right. If you have a toddler, DON'T CAN.

Besides that, there was an awful lot of boiling water (I burned myself plenty of times), stickiness, bubbling cauldrons, and cackling.

Will I do it again? Super Mormon Mom, who was my guide through this whole process, says that when I open that first can of jam and enjoy the satisfaction of knowing I canned it myself, I will probably want to do this again.

Yeah, FAT, HAIRY CHANCE.

*It didn't start out this way. Oh, no. It was serene and peaceful, the children quiet and docile, when we started. It wasn't until we were at the end--y'know, throwing the actual bubbling stuff into jars as quickly as we could, like you're supposed to--that all hell broke loose. Of course.

So, We Meet Again

2007-10-05T22:15:00.000-07:00

The first time I met this tree, I fell head-over-heels in love with it.

Simply gorgeous tree. Look at those broad green leaves! Look at the graceful overall shape! Look at the FLOWERS!

When I first met it, I remember lying on my back and staring up into its leaves and flowers, practically hypnotized by it. And for some reason, no one could tell me what its name was (which was ridiculously ironic, seeing how I was working as a "gardener" for BYU Grounds at the time, and none of the head "gardeners" could tell me the name of one tree). It took me nine years before I finally learned that it is called the Indian Bean Tree or Catalpa (the name is misleading: it is not a transplant from India--it is native to the US).

Here's a close-up of the flowers:
I mean, really, could a tree be any more beautiful? I was enthralled.

Until I had a dream about it.

See, my subconscious regularly produces a carnival of odd and flashy images for my nighttime enjoyment. Take, for example, the Barbie Wheel o' Destruction1, the Magical Flying Church Pew2, The Time-Traveling Tent of Whiteness3, or Elisa versus the 1000 Legolases4. It even messes up the simple exercise of counting sheep5.

My subconscious also has a nasty habit of taking things that I find beautiful and wonderful and changing them into something that is horrible and terrifying6. (Why it plays such a mean trick is between me and my subconscious, but I'm getting wise to that sucker.)

It took this beautiful tree and had each flower dipped in blood and burning with a flame that consumed nothing. That's it. Just a really freaky symbol7. Oh, and did I mention the overwhelming sense of EVIL I felt in my dream?

Thanks a lot, subconscious. I've never been able to look at this tree the same way since. *shudder*

P.S. Oct 10: I just found a contest for "things that scare you" and I just entered this post. Maybe you should post something, too! (Just don't neglect my contests...)

Yes, I'm serious. Picture a monster truck arena, spotlights flashing all over the place, and the announcer booms, "AND NOW PRESENTING THE BARBIE WHEEL O' DESTRUCTION!!!" And it appears: something like a tractor with a humongous hamster wheel attached to the front, and inside the wheel are trapped many scantily-clad, heavily-makeuped women. Angry women. Then more gates open up in the sides of the arena, and many terrified young men named Ken are released into the arena. And the Barbie Wheel o' Destruction chases after each, and the women rip him to shreds while shouting rather lewd and degrading things at him. Yes, I did have some huge issues with feminism and men in my life; yes, I have been to therapy; and no, I am not making this dream up.
I had a dream about being bored at church. And I found two buttons under the seat. I pressed one, and the pew shot straight up through the ceiling and flew me all the way to my grandma's house in Peru. I don't have a grandmother who lives in Peru, but that's dreams for ya.
Yup. You went in to the tent. It was very white. When you came out again, you were in a different time. No biggie.
I really enjoyed this one. My friend Elisa (hi, dear! I see you lurking!!), like so many others, was smitten by the loveliness that is Orlando Bloom. I had a dream that was populated with nothing but Legolases: there were good ones, mean ones, punk ones (mohawks and all), rogue ones (buzzed heads), cowards and heroes, even a female version of Legolas: but they were all Legolas. And poor Elisa was sitting in a corner wringing her hands because she couldn't decide which one she wanted.
You'd think counting sheep would be simple. Sheep jump over a fence, one by one, and they each have a number on them. No big deal, right? But sheep #8 did a backflip, and sheep #9 levitated right over. Which surprised me so much I laughed myself right out of my near-sleep state.
Don't ask me about my dreams about carnivals or grandfather clocks. Eek.
And I've tried looking it up, too. But I never did find out what it was supposed to mean. Maybe in another nine years?

Halloween Fix for Today*

2007-10-04T09:36:00.000-07:00

I fully intended to get online today to post, to respond to posts, to go blogsurfing, etc., but instead, I got sidetracked. Very. Would you like to see what sidetracked me?

Go ahead and click on 'em. (Clarification dedicated to Marie: Or, in other words, each of the pictures below is a link, and if you click on it, it will take you to what I really wanted you to see.)

A great...uh...children's...? book:

Melissa, this one won't scare even you, I promise. Go ahead and click:

And this is definitely for the "what in the weird?" stack:

By the way,

HAVE YOU ENTERED ONE OF MY CONTESTS YET?
(Or both. And there is no limit to how many times you enter. And there is no reason not to enter. C'mon, it's not like anyone has entered anything anyway (except for just a few links, and I NEED MORE. And aren't you dying to know what's in the prize package?)

*I'd like to say that I could post something Halloweenie every day, but I can't. So maybe a better post title would've been "Halloween Fix for the Week." Whatever.

Another Way to Waste Your Time

2007-09-28T12:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, so this isn't strictly Halloween-esque, but it's still a great way to waste your time. Click on the site's link (PICTAPS) and draw your own critter that will dance around for you. Send me a link, etc.

Halloween Reads

2007-09-27T14:55:00.001-07:00

Do you like Halloween, but you're having trouble getting into that spooky spirit? Do what I do, and pick up a good book to read. Here are some classics, and some favorites, that are bound to get you in the mooooooooood.

Tales of Mystery and Madness
by Edgar Allen Poe
illustrated by Gris Grimly

Yeah, yeah, you know about Poe already--he is standard Halloween fare. Yes. But go find this version. The illustrations are SO worth it! It includes two of my favorite Poe stories: Fall of the House of Usher and The Masque of the Red Death, and two favorites since I received this book (Rebecca, thank you again and again for this, I LOVE IT), The Black Cat and Hop-Frog.

The Magic Circle
by Donna Jo Napoli

Napoli is quickly becoming one of my favorite authors. The more I read of her, the more I love her. She tells beautiful stories.

This one is about a witch. Not just about a witch, but how she came to be a witch. And how and why she built a house of candy in the woods, and what really happened when Hansel and Gretel found it. Wonderful book about good versus evil, beautiful story about redemption. Oh, just go and read it already!

Something Wicked This Way Comes
by Ray Bradbury

Another classic. If you have never read this one before, perhaps this year is the year to go and pick it up from the library. It's a good read, plenty spooky, and though the ending falls a wee bit flat for some, it works for me.

Tamsin
by Peter S. Beagle

This is one of my favorite books of all time, but I feel I need to recommend it with a warning: people either love Beagle, or they can't stand him. I don't know why. But if you hated The Last Unicorn, probably skip this one. Also, the heroine is a thirteen-year-old snot who changes drastically throughout the book, in a good way. However, she starts off as a thirteen-year-old snot, and her actions and language reflect that. So be warned. Also, it takes a long time to actually get to the spooky stuff, 100 pages or so? Just so you know.

And now that the warning is out of the way--I LOVE THIS BOOK! You want ghosts? English folklore of things that go bump in the night? Ever heard of the Wild Hunt? Interested in a bit of darker English history? You can't read a book that will get you more in the mood, I don't think (I just finished it again).

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
by Washington Irving
(or any number of folk that have retold it)

Always a classic. Even if you prefer to watch it on film, there are a large variety of films to choose from (though I would stick to either the Disney version or the Tim Burton version, myself).

Why are you still here? Go to the library, already!

I Made You Something

2007-09-26T13:29:00.001-07:00

Once Upon a Time...
Wynne was a dork who managed to coerce two coworkers into dressing up together for Halloween. They were the Three Fates. (There they are--aren't they adorable? That's Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. See how they very thoughtfully wore name tags so that all the illiterate would know who they were dressed up as?)

The Three Fates had a wonderful time decorating their office, passing out pamphlets to every person who worked in the building, and during their lunch hour, told any mortal who wanted to know THEIR FATE.

Much fun was had by all.

The End.

Or is it? I was thinking about how much fun I had this particular Halloween, and I thought, that perhaps, I could find a way to do something similar over the Internet.

And so, if you'd like to waste just a few minutes of your time, please click on the link below. (Please. Remember, I made it just for you.)

Would you like to add this link to your site?

Copy the text below the link you want, add an HTML element to your sidebar, and paste text into box. OR paste into a post using the "Edit HTML" tab (Blogger directions only):

Fall Is Here!

2007-09-23T13:57:00.005-07:00

Do you know what that means? That's right...I am a Halloween junkie, and I am going to be celebrating Halloween here on my blog, because I can. Why Halloween? Why not, say, Christmas or Groundhog Day? What's so great about Halloween, you want to know. Okay, I'll tell you.

My Top Ten Reasons for Why I Love Halloween:

10. It's finally okay to have spiderwebs in the undustable corners of your home.
9. Free chocolate.
8. I love pranks*. Halloween is a great excuse to do them.
7. Socially, it's great fun to watch**.
6. It's a day to let creativity run completely loose (i.e., you have a kleenex, a rubber band, a bunch of markers, and 15 minutes to come up with a costume. Go!)
5. I can dress my kid up any way I want, and even he won't complain, because he knows he's gonna get something sweet out of the deal.
4. I love it because it's solidly FALL at that point: it's cold and there are bright colors everywhere (unless you live somewhere like Vegas, I mean. That is nothing but dirt, year round.) I get an urge to break out the hot chocolate and get snuggly with a blanket and a book when the wind is howling outside.
3. It is a perfect time of year for things like candied apples (or at least, dipping apple slices in melted caramel) and apple crisp...love, love, love it.
2. Scary stories.
1. Kids can extort candy from adults. Does it get any better than that?

To share my joy, I am going to be hosting two contests here on my blog! The winner of each will receive a bit of Halloween from me, the Queen Dork of Halloween. I can't promise that these packages will be ultra-cool or anything (more than likely, they will be just plain stupid) but at least you'll be getting a surprise in the mail. Now, who wouldn't want that?

Contest winners will be announced on October 16th (this way, I have time to mail you your treats so you get them before the 31st).

Would you like to add a contest link to your site?

Copy the text below the link you want, add an HTML element to your sidebar, and paste text into box. OR paste into a post using the "Edit HTML" tab (Blogger directions only):

*I'm not talking about vandalism or anything mean-spirited, I'm talking about surprising people. Putting a sound-activated spider in the doorway of your office where it couldn't be seen, and a sign out: Clap for Candy. Sitting by the front door dressed as a scarecrow and when the kids get close, suddenly coming to life. Or, my favorite, to pass out candy to the trick-or-treaters, I dressed all in black, wore a black cape and a Scream mask, and (here's the prank part) stood on a chair and put a black skirt on the front of it. That way I looked about 7.5 feet tall. When I opened the door for the trick-or-treaters, I didn't say a word. Just bent down over them at the oddest angle and dropped candy in their bags. Most of them completely forgot to say "trick or treat" and just stared. But as soon as I closed the door, there was an eruption of laughter and chattering. What could be better than that?
**It's a holiday with really no significance at all: there is nothing historical or religious that we celebrate about it (don't go off about the origins of Halloween and All Hallow's Eve, the Night When Dead Walk, the Harvest Holidays or anything like that; in America, superstitions as a way of life is DEAD, and there is nothing historical we are celebrating), so why does it continue to be such a popular holiday that we celebrate?
I think it's a way for society in general to let off steam. It is a day for kids (of all ages) to face their fears in a safe environment—they can face something scary and be brave about it—conquering fears of all kinds; or it is a day for some to be able to live out a fantasy and not get ridiculed for it. Say, loads of glitter and wings. It's so fun to watch what different people choose to do with this holiday.

2007-09-23T13:57:00.003-07:00

THE CONTEST IS OVER! Click here to see the winners.

Original post as follows:

The idea is to give me your BEST Halloween-related links.

For example, here are a few that I have found over the years:
Carve a virtual pumpkin
Make a scarecrow
Site dedicated to all things Halloween
Ghost stories

And I know there are a lot more out there, and much better sites. (And if someone can find a link to a decent virtual haunted house that isn't cheese-ball or just stupid, I'd be eternally grateful.)

The winner will get a special Halloween package in the mail. From me. And it might even be worth getting, but then again, no, not really. But at least you'll be getting mail, right? Anonymous entries accepted, though if you win, you'll have to 'fess up sooner or later if you want your prize.

All you have to do is put your link in the comments section. How does one create links in the comments? Copy and paste this text into the comment space, and make sure to put your text and your link in.

Contest winner will be announced on midnight* of October 15th!

*No, not really. I won't be staying up that late. But I'm sure I'll get around to it sometime on the 16th. Maybe.

2007-09-23T13:57:00.001-07:00

THE CONTEST IS OVER! Click here to see the winners.

Original post as follows:

The point of this contest is to write something...Halloweenie. I suppose I can give you some examples...let's see.... One fairly easy thing to do is take something that already exists and change it a bit. Like a nursery rhyme:

Mary had some leprosy, leprosy, leprosy
Mary had some leprosy
Her sores were white as snow

Every time that Mary tripped, Mary tripped, Mary tripped
Every time that Mary tripped,
Off would fall a toe

Or you could try a Halloween haiku, a limerick, original free verse, prose, fiction, a leprosy-rich perversion of the the Beatles "Yesterday" (I hope you're reading, Marie)—whatever floats your ghost. You can send it through the comments for others to enjoy, or you may email me your entry at muskadillo at hotmail dot com.

The winner will get a special Halloween package in the mail. From me. And it might even be worth getting, but then again, no, not really. But at least you'll be getting mail, right? Anonymous entries accepted, though if you win, you'll have to 'fess up sooner or later if you want your prize.

Contest ends at midnight, October 15th*!

*No, not really. I won't be staying up that late. But I'm not going to accept anything sent on or after the 16th, okay? The prize package needs to be there by Halloween, see.

Dress Barn

2007-09-20T11:09:00.001-07:00

The first time I heard of it, it was on an episode of the Simpson's. I thought they were mocking the titles of discount stores. I laughed.

Then I saw one.

Are you kidding me?

Really, what were they thinking when they named this store? Who marketed this thing? I mean, really.

"The Dress Barn...Where the Cows Go to Shop. Moo."
"Were you raised in a barn? Then you'll love to buy a dress here!"
"The Dress Barn. 100% authentic chicken crap, all the time!"
"Manure is a girl's best friend."
"Who let the dogs out, who, who, who? Who knows. But you can find them all at The Dress Barn, gettin' their clothes on!"

Yeah. Just doesn't send the right message, if you know what I mean.

I Am Not a Berry Lover

2007-09-16T17:10:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. How can I not love berries? How is it possible that I moved to Washington state, capitol of the Berry World, and not care for berries?

Yeah, yeah. So what? The fact is strawberries leave me cold; raspberries leave me lukewarm; blueberries I've never even eaten, and I don't have a desire to. And a marionberry? What the crap is that?

But I can't ignore the blackberry, as much as I've tried. I can't even take a walk outside without tripping over a blackberry bush; see flocks of birds flying out of the bushes startled from their blackberry feast; take a drive without spotting a blackberry bramble so huge it could swallow a three-story building in a single gulp. This time of year, the berries are just falling off the bushes in juicy clumps, begging you to take them home and eat them. No, no, they leap off the bushes, straight into your hands, and plead, "oh, pleeeeease eat me! Look how luscious I am! Look at my deep color, how I am oozing with juice! Please! If you don't eat me, that nasty starling will, and his beak is sooo sharp!" Okay, fine. What have I got to lose? They are free berries, after all.

So a week or so ago the child and I marched out in our backyard, over the broken fence, and into the weedy wilderness behind our house. There are blackberry brambles growing in legion out there, and fortunately, they are relatively small brambles. Which means you can actually pick the berries without impaling yourself.

(The first thing that I learned about blackberries is they are dangerous. The juice stains like mad, and as you're picking them, you can't tell if that's juice on your finger or if that last thorn really got you good...and what is with all the thorns?

I rather think that the blackberry bushes are man-eating. See, they lure you inside their prickly innards, tempting you along with sweet and juicy fruity goodness, until suddenly you find you can't turn back. There are thorns on all sides of you, you can no longer see your way out, and then you hear the bramble surrounding you cackle evilly. Then the brambles close in to feed on you, until there is nothing left but a pile of bones and more juicy berries... (yes, I have read Gaiman's Stardust. Why do you ask?))

Once I picked them, I wasn't really sure what to do with them. So I did with them what any sensible woman would do: I tossed them in the blender and tried to make a shake out of them. (The second thing I learned about blackberries is that they are seedy. Very. Did you know this about blackberries? I didn't. Seedy shakes are not good, so I strained the blackberry pulp, threw them back in the blender, then added the ice cream.) Here, a picture of the lovely shakes I made:

Well, it would have been a picture of a shake, but I didn't get the camera out in time. They went pretty fast. Even Jake, the pickiest eater in three counties, had a shake and then asked for more. They were very, very good.

Now that I've had a taste of success, I have over-enthusiastically allowed myself to be talked into making jam with a woman I know. I've never done this, ever. But she says it's easy* and fun*, so I guess I'm going to bite the housewifely bullet and sugar me up some berries and can 'em. I'll let you know how it turns out. (Elizabeth~w, Marie—are you still wanting some blackberry jam badly enough that you would want some I made?)

*The same woman has used the same words to describe emergency preparedness, quilting, genealogy, and food storage. I must be an idiot.

Why I'm Going to Hell

2007-09-10T20:46:00.000-07:00

I make too many jokes about my religion. The fact is, I'm very grateful to be a member of the church and dutifully live the gospel to the best of my imperfect abilities.

But I break commandments like an elephant sitting on a bench made of glued-together popsicle sticks: easily and completely. (Which is why I'm grateful for repentance.)

But that's not the reason I'm going to Hades. Oh no. See, I watch rated-R movies*. And I keep doing it.

I mean, how did Shawshank Redemption lose the Oscar to Forrest Gump? Cinema Paradiso is the best foreign flick I think I've seen, Memento is really one of my all-time favorite movies, despite the violence. Usually, I don't go in for the noir thing, but I loved Kiss Kiss Bang Bang even more than L.A. Confidential, but that's just because I like to laugh. Generally, I hate crime movies, horror flicks, and kung-fu, but The Usual Suspects, Shaun of the Dead , and Kung-Fu Hustle are all grand exceptions. Donnie Darko is yet another of my favorites of all time, and we actually own Minority Report and Vanilla Sky, even if Tom Cruise is a prat. And of course, Saving Private Ryan is the best war movie I've ever seen.

Though I have enjoyed all these movies immensely, it wouldn't be a big deal for me to never watch another movie again in my life. I could give them up. I could even toss my window out the TV and not even wince (though the guy walking under the window when I tossed it out probably would do more than that), even if that means no more Lost, The Office, or 30 Rock. Big deal.

The problem is the husband.

That's right. I'm passing the buck. See, it's him who keeps bringing the dumb things home.

Why—you say—do you simply not watch them? After all, you could be on the computer instead.

Indeed. I mostly am. I can't tell you how many movies I've missed in the years that I've known this man, and how much time I spend on the computer instead. But, darn it, I miss him. And if I'm not watching, and he is, does this mean in the long run we're going to end up in different places anyway? An R movie is such a silly thing to lose your best friend over. So...if he's gonna roast, let me rub the barbecue sauce on myself and jump in with him. I really love that guy.

But, can you picture us on Judgment Day? Like Adam and Eve, standing before our Maker to be held accountable for our actions:

God: Jeff, why hast thou partaken of the forbidden R-rated movies?
Jeff: (points at me) The woman thou gavest me, she brought home the movies and I did partake!

WHAT?!? My own husband will play the pass-the-buck card against me? I should have guessed this was coming. What recourse is left to me?

God: Wynne? What hast thou to say for thyself?
Me: (Points at Jasper the cat) The creature beguiled me, and I did partake!
Jasper: Oh crap. There go my legs.***

*Are you a no-Mo?
Then you might not know
that rated-R movies are a no-no
for those of us who are mo's.**
**Jake has really been in to Dr. Seuss lately. Curse that Cat in the Hat.
***Jasper is of course, thinking this, not speaking it. Even if he is a remarkable cat, he cannot speak.

The Neverending Meme

2007-09-07T09:17:00.001-07:00

Falcor says: End it already, you dork.
And enough with the copyright infringement already.

Am I ever going to finish this dumb thing? Maybe never. Here are the first two parts, just in case you are ridiculous enough to want to see them: Part the First, Part the Second.

And here we go with Part the Third:

Five snacks you enjoy:

Chocolate dipped in chocolate with a chocolate center
Hot chocolate
Chocolate to dip in chocolate fondue
Do I really have to continue? I LIKE CHOCOLATE A LOT.
See previous answers.

Five songs that you know all the lyrics:

I don't think there is one song in the world that meets this description. See, I am horrid with lyrics. When I cannot remember how a song goes, I inevitably make it up as I go. Let's take a few hymns out of the hymn book for example:

High on the mountain top, a badger chased a squirrel.
He ate up the squirrel, and belched to all the world:
Now I ate that squirrel, I think I'm gonna hurl,
So BLEEUUCHH!! BARRRFF! (etc.)

Or how about:

Where can I turn for...peas?
Where is my salad?
Where, when my hunger gnaws,
where can I turn?"

(Here comes the lightning. You better duck, or it will get you, too.)

OH! Wait! I thought of one! "I like Traffic Lights" by Monty Python! (Okay, not really, but it's really easy to make it up as you go, because that's kind of the point of the song.)

Wait, I can think of one more. I worked at Aspen Grove* for one summer, and anytime there was a birthday (which was every day) we sang this song to the person unfortunate enough to be born on that day:

HappyBirthday, happy,HappyBirthday Thisisyourdaysohavealotoffun(boomboomboom) We'reallwaitingforthecelebration, forthecelebrationtobegin soblowoutthecandleonyourcakeandmakeawish serveeverybody'sfavoritedish(favoritefishboomboomboom) HappyBirthday,happy,HappyBirthday, HappyBirthdaytoyooooooooouuuuuu!

And we sang it just like that, loud as possible, and as fast as possible, and I think that there were probably 6 different versions that were all sung at the same time. In other words, no one who ever heard it (the victims whose birthday it was, and anyone else in the vicinity, I mean) actually understood what it was that we were singing. I think that might have been the unspoken goal between us staffers forced to sing it.

That's only four songs, but I'm moving on.

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire billionaire gazillionaire:

Oh, I am already sick of this today. I don't know—pay off school loans? Buy a house? Buy Disneyland? How about buying a nature preserve on an island somewhere and bring dinosaurs back to life? I'm sure I could think of many frivolous things to do with that much money, I just don't want to.

Matter of fact, I think Falco is right. I need to end this right now. Hold on, I'm going to go grab something blunt...

Five bad habits:

Blogging. [THUD] Take that, you ridiculous meme! [THUMP] Die, die!

Five things you like doing:

I don't think I even dented it. Let me go get some explosive.

[KABOOM.]

FivE tHinGs yoU wOUld nEveR wEaR agAIn:

Wow. This doesn't want to die. Maybe I can kill it with sarcasm?

Any item of clothing that got fish guts smeared on it.
Any item of clothing that had any part of any dead animal smeared on it. Especially if I had been rolling in said dead animal. Why I would be doing that, and how I could stand it, I'm not sure, but I'd burn those clothes.
Diapers.
Um...how about more explosive?

BOOMKABOOM

...F1v3 f*v0r1te t#$s:

I think I got it. That'll teach memes to mess with me.

Perhaps I should have put a warning at the top of this post warning about untoward violence? Hmm...

*Brigham Young University's Family Camp, Aspen Grove. A lot of families, a lot of mormons, plenty of trees, and mountains. Need I say more? Possibly, but I'll save it for another post.

Old Love

2007-09-04T14:30:00.000-07:00

At the end of August, I got to go somewhere I haven't been in 8 FREAKIN' YEARS! No, not the dentist, you smart alec. No, it wasn't a shower, either—my personal hygeine is just fine, quit mocking me—no, it was the Pacific Ocean.

Carpinteria, California

My heavens, I love that place.

We went somewhere off the Washington coast, some place with "Gray" in the name—and it was, too: it was overcast, and the ocean was the color of lead—and quite frankly, I've never seen the color gray looking so beautiful.

It was Jake's first time digging his toes in the sand of the Pacific, and I dare say he enjoyed himself. Especially the jumping-up-and-down-and-splashing-all-passerby part.

My husband, the dear soul, does not understand why I love the ocean so much. "It's dirty, it stinks, you get sand all over you and in your food, and the water is too cold." (He just doesn't like the thought of sharing swimming space with seaweed, sand sharks, and human sewage.)

I love it because it's magic. The sound of the surf, the salty smell (as long as there are no beached seals or otherwise dead things rotting on the beach—very stinky), the vastness of so much water, and how much life it produces...and how much of that life is absolutely bizzare!

Have you ever heard of the sea cucumber, sort of like an enormous slug, that defends itself from a curious and/or hungry fish by vomiting its innards and scootin' away, leaving its digestive tract for the fish to nibble? (It regenerates its innards later.)

Or how about the starfish (or, rather, if you are going for the new fad in oceanic political correctness, "sea star"), which, in order to eat a shellfish actually pries open the shell and then injects its stomach inside the hole to digest the poor shellfish inside?

How about a "dinoflagellate?" If you are ever fortunate enough to take a walk down the beach at night, you might just look out at the breaking waves and see them GLOW a magical silvery color. Dinoflagellates are tiny lil' buggers that are capable of bioluminescence when disturbed (usually when the wave breaks). Absolutely gorgeous, and surreal to swim out in them: every stroke churns up silver light. And, of course, when there are that many of them, there is bound to be a red tide in a few days afterward that poisons all the shellfish in the area.

How about grunion? Grunion are a small silver fish that wait for a high tide at night, then whole schools of them ride the largest waves up onto the beach to spawn and lay their eggs in the sand. They have to work fast, of course, because the next big wave that comes in will take them all back out to sea. (It is, of course, a free-for-all feeding frenzy for anything that happens to be awake and hungry, because the fish, making the whole beach wriggling and silver, are rather defenseless and...er...preoccupied.) I've only seen them run once. So far.

The ocean is just awe-inspiring. I could sit and stare at it forever.

Not that Jake let me, of course. So we tried our hand at making dribble-castles* (these Jake immediately knocked over as soon as I got a decent number up), splashing in water, and keeping sand out of our picnic lunch. Oh, how I've missed the ocean!

Carpinteria again

And just because I'm feeling so sentimental about it, and because I am a big enough dork to do this**, I present you with another muska-delish bit o' poetry:

Gills and Lungs

There comes a time at twilight
when the sea
and the shore
have no difference between them.
The air is thick with water; the water
is smooth with air.
A wave cradling grunion sighs
ashore. The silvery fish flip onto the sand
in silence, and the beach is
alive with gills drinking air.
If a man swims into the water then
he would breathe the ocean.
His lungs would fill with the dark
tide and glow under his skin
until the heavens reflect him
in stars.

Carpinteria at sunset

*If you don't know what a dribble castle is...how can I describe them? You pick up a handful of the wettest sand possible, and let it dribble in a single stream out of your hand, and if it is the right consistency, it looks like this. I guess some people call them "sand trees," but those people are silly.
**Did you know only dorks write poetry and then publish it on their blogs? And I am the Queen of the Dorks, I truly am.

Fall Swap, Anyone?

2007-08-21T22:01:00.000-07:00

Click and look.

If you're interested, you've got til...er, Friday to email my friend Lindy.

Who knows? You might get to be my swap partner and get the totally stupid things I'll be sending...

I Miss My Grandma

2007-08-20T14:10:00.001-07:00

I do, I really do. It is beyond my means to visit her now; I haven't sent a letter in awhile because my aunt told me not to bother since she can't really read anymore because of dementia; I've sent pictures before, but I'm sure she doesn't know who the pictures are of; she doesn't know who you are when you call, but she'll still talk to you.

I just wish I could be there with her. And I wonder, how much time do we have left? And what can I possibly do for her?

A letter from her
smells like her: coffee
grounds and yellow
roses, the smell of
a bird's first note in Spring.
But in between the words
(about the dog having fleas and how
big the Mr. Lincolns are this year)
is a void like the vacant
half of her bed.

Mornings, she cracks eggs
in the frying pan and
twitches the white curtain
wide, coaxing in sunshine,
looking for the mailman.
The house if full of the sound
of the phone not ringing.

Later she stands in her garden
her skin folding like the
bark of a tree, staring into a rose.
There is a secret inside
about the bittersweet dance
of blooming
and wilting.

My House Is Attempting to Eat Me Alive

2007-08-12T21:19:00.001-07:00

"Where have you been?" the masses* want to know.

Well, I've been busy. It's not like I want to be this busy, it just happened.

My house is trying to eat me alive and I am attempting to ward it off. Or, perhaps, I keep thinking if I ignore it, it will go away. (Note my stance in the picture I took today: I am very calmly puffing on my pipe, giving no heed to the roaring beast behind me.)

Our "handyman" has been MIA** since July, and things have been sitting around and remaining broken. They refuse to fix themselves, I don't know why. The interior walls are painted, perhaps, but not the trim. Jeff washed the yellow window in the back room, but the room still smells like the Public Restroom for 100 Cats That Had Too Much To Drink. The yard is still a Dandelion Jungle, even though I have pulled my own weight in weeds.

And every day, the house has more new complaints.

"Wow, you're not done painting yet?"
"My carpet is dirty. You'd better vacuum me again." (And since it's new, cheap carpet, it gives the vacuum hairballs every five minutes.)
"You know, all those unpacked boxes in the garage aren't going anywhere. I mean, they're just sitting there. Aren't you going to unpack them sometime?"
"Did you know my fireplace hasn't been cleaned in twenty years?"
"Oooh, the dishes are dirty again! I know, I know, put them in the dishwasher that sort of works! (snicker)"

And life goes on. The cat needs someone to trip, the boy wants food and walks and trips to the park, Jeff still expects to be fed, and then there is that new calling-thing...there just isn't room for it all. And so I'm sitting at my computer in a state of FIRM REBELLION and attempting to thumb my nose at the house (when it's looking the other way, anyway).

*I flatter myself. A lot.
** "Mutton-like inebriated ape." Or was it "murky in attendance"? I can't recall what this initialism means, actually.

LDS* Overdose

2007-08-06T21:08:00.000-07:00

*No, that's not a typo. If you have no idea what it could mean, perhaps you are not LDS?

When I started this blog, I had no idea that All Things Mormon were going to seep out of me. I mean, hey, I know that I'm housebound, my contact to other adults is a little limited, and those I do see are mostly from church, but really—doesn't my life extend beyond the boundaries of my church's social system?

Apparently not.

Since I do not wish to alienate any of my non-LDS readers (assuming I have any at all, that is) I have thought about constructing a glossary of LDS-related terms to explain strange concepts such as "enrichment" and "LDS." It would probably only succeed in confusing people, but that might be fun in and of itself. Whee.

I had this really cool idea that all you would have to do is roll your cursor over a bit of bold text like this: Relief Society
...and presto! The definition would pop up in a little box for your enlightenment!

Or, rather, I was going to. I had some different ideas, but every time I found some code that would work, blogger shot it down. Why, blogger, why? So I just have to use footnotes, like always. Boo-hoo.

I recently received a new calling1 from the Bishop2. He asked me if I would be willing to be lead guitarist3 for our ward4 Christian Rock band. Since I don't play guitar, and there is no Christian Rock band that performs in any ward I ever heard of, I told him he might've made a mistake. He said he didn't, so I said okay.

While I was up on the stand strumming my guitar, watching the congregation wince and plug their ears with their fingers, I really, really wished I had accepted his first offer: to be the Enrichment Counselor5 in the Relief Society Presidency6. Which just goes to show you how desperate this particular ward is. Me? In a position of responsibility? In a position in which other women look up at you either as a role model or a subject for criticism? Something seriously wrong with this picture. And to think, I thought I could leave Enrichment7 behind in Vegas.

1. Temporary job in the church. Of course, I have known someone to have the same calling for over 20 years (as a member of the choir). I kept wondering why someone so tone-deaf and who had no enthusiasm for music kept showing up week after week...
2. A man who has far too much to do. At least he only has to do it for 5 years or so (he hopes).
3. Okay, I made it up. As far as I know, this is not a real calling, and hopefully, will never be.
4. A congregation that lives within certain boundaries. The whole world is mapped out into ward boundaries at this point, so if you are not a member of this church, do you know what ward you're living in? Beware! They are knocking on doors to find you!
5. My current calling (I'm not really ward guitarist).
6. Three women who have far too much to do. At least they only have to do it for 5 years or so (sigh).
7. The Bane of My Existence, because it will not leave me alone. If you want to know more about it, I've posted about it before.
8. Ha! There is no 8! Just checking to see if you were paying attention.

Potty Training Pointers

2007-08-03T21:41:00.000-07:00

The other day, Jake and I were having a discussion about underpants.

Jake: I 4! (He's 3 and a half, actually. Some days he prefers to be 2, other days, 16.)
Me: Did you know that when you turn 4, you are no longer allowed to wear diapers? You wear underpants instead.
Jake: No!
Me: Really, it's true. Ask Taylor. Taylor, how old are you? (We are outside, playing with some of our neighbors.)
T: 7. And I don't wear diapers, I wear underpants. Neither does Riah. Ask him.
(Jake turns to Riah)
Me: Riah, how old are you?
R: 5.
R's Mom: Do you wear diapers or underpants, Riah?
R: Underpants!
Me: See?
Jake thinks about all of this for a minute, then: I not turn 4. I will turn 20 and wear nuthin' at all!

About a year ago now, I made the first attempt to potty-train my son. I was a fool to try. It did not go well. But I did learn a few things about potty-training, and I thought I would pass them on to you. Just in case you ever have this problem.

GOOD IDEA:
A cushy toilet seat, preferably with something friendly on it: Elmo, for instance.
BAD IDEA:
This.

GOOD IDEA:
Giving a little boy something to aim for to prevent leakage on the floor. My mother-in-law suggested cheerios. Or, you could go the expensive route and get these.

BAD IDEA:
Keeping pirahna in the toilet.

GOOD IDEA :
Keeping a small basket of books and toys within easy reach of the toilet to encourage your little person to stay there, and to have a happy experience.
BAD IDEA:
Keeping a small basket of firecrackers and matches within easy reach of the toilet.

GOOD IDEA:
Since wiping is difficult for little hands, sometimes a product like this helps.

BAD IDEA:
Flypaper.

GOOD IDEA:
Making it easier to wash hands at the sink: i.e., a step stool, inviting soap, and a hand towel within easy reach.
BAD IDEA:
If they forget to wash, the medicine cabinet springs open and the Reminder Monkey leaps out, lands on the offender's head, and proceeds to jump up and down, screech, and pull hair.

Some days I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be a mom.

Trying Again: "Meme" Continued

2007-08-01T09:51:00.000-07:00

Let's see...now where was I?

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Moonlighting as "Rachellette the Pineapple Head" on a Strip G-rated revue down in Vegas.

You're not buying that? Well, how about...

Celestina

Queen of the Peacock People

appearing nightly at Sigfried and Roy's Secret Garden?

No?

Well, how about...

...Elvis?

No?

Of course not.

One year ago I was merely battling a cat and a child in a daily battle of wits and wills, struggling with the stifling Las Vegas heat, and playing on a computer. Almost what I'm doing today, minus the stifling heat and adding a heck of a lot of house repair.

Can we talk about 4 years ago? That may make for a better story. And it's a story that I've already written up. (A bonus, being short on time as I am.)

So. 4 years ago.

We had recently moved to Las Vegas, I was pregnant, and I was searching for a job. I finally found one working out at Nellis Air Force Base for a civilian-contract company that prepares lessons for the Air Force's Weapons School (the Weapons School is where they send their hot-shot pilots to learn how to use their hot-shot equipment properly, blah, blah, blahblahblah).

This is what I wrote to a friend about it:

The work environment is interesting. A bunch of the employees are retired AF pilots, and many of them have really REALLY big egos. I have a hard time taking any of them the slightest bit seriously. For example, they post a sign on a cubicle...wait, I have to back up.
For this job, they get everyone a security clearance. They go to all your old homes and knock on doors to make sure you really lived there. They talk to your neighbors. They ask questions like “Is it true that she liked to consume large quantities of chocolate when her husband wasn’t looking? Because that sounds like an addictive personality, and we’re afraid the Enemy may try to bribe her with chocolates to tell Top Government Secrets.”
Yeah.
It takes a year to do all this, and it’s an incredibly expensive process. And they do it so that I can edit some highly-jargonized material that I don’t even understand for a make-believe consistency*...Very, very silly.
Okay, so they get you a clearance, and that means that you can look at classified, secret, and top secret lessons. Since I don’t have my security clearance yet, I can only work on unclassified garbage. So, when someone is working on something that is classified, secret, or top secret, they hang a little sign on the outside of their cubicle, and I am supposed to stop at that sign and not progress any further into the mess of cubicles. If I need to talk to someone in there, I have to shout for them, clap, or something equally ridiculous. It feels for all the world like I’m back in the second grade playing secret agent with a bunch of other second graders. Very, very silly. Do you know what makes it even worse? Most of the people around here prefer to be called by their AF code names, like “Buzz” or “Thug.” How can I take my boss seriously when he insists that I call him “Taco”?

And wait—there's more! As long as I only have to copy and paste this stuff, why not? Here's some from another bit of correspondence:

The folks at work sometimes tell me stories about what Air Force life is like. For example, up until a few years ago, there were no such things as coffee breaks, or any sort of break at all, unless you smoked. If you smoked, you were entitled to a ten-minute break. However, if you did not smoke, no break for you. What this resulted in were an awful lot of people pretending to smoke or starting the habit who really weren’t interested in it. (This rule was only changed in the past few years because some officer’s wife was tired of her husband smoking, and apparently he fell back on this bizarre rule as an excuse. So she had it removed.)
Another thing is that if you live on base, you can be ticketed for leaving your porch light on after a certain time because it wastes energy (but you can have your A/C going full blast with your windows and front door wide open, and they won’t say a thing). You can also be ticketed for your grass being too long, or your bushes being too tall (they actually have people that go around and measure your grass, apparently on Tuesdays, and since they have a quota for how many tickets they are supposed to give out, you could get a ticket even if your grass is an appropriate length).
Rank is another weird thing. The difference between and officer and an enlisted man was something I never even considered—I never knew there was a difference, honestly. But apparently, if you are enlisted, you are a second-rate citizen. However, if you are an officer, you must have the perfect wife to attain rank, and at least one perfect child. If you are that perfect officer’s wife or child, other officers’ wives and children don’t like you if their officer outranks your officer. If your officer outranks theirs, they don’t like you then, either. I had no idea such strict social strata even existed in America.
Now I almost regret never having been associated with the military, because it affords such rich material for satire. (It turns out that Catch-22 is pretty close to the truth, if any of you have ever read that.)

And one more, just because I can:

I have a little anecdote for you on the importance of usability testing**! (Hooray! Just what you were all wanting to hear!)
It involves the bathroom situation here. (A bathroom situation may seem like a strange choice, but you must remember that I spend quite a bit of time in them. I can’t help it. Baby likes to kick/lean on?/poke?/jab with fiendish delight? My bladder, and so I feel more comfortable if I can keep it on the empty side. Of course, I drink so much there really isn’t an empty side. Hence, obsession with bathroom. On to anecdote.) There is only one women’s bathroom—and it’s just a bathroom: one toilet, one sink, no stalls—so it’s difficult to find it empty. Installed on the sink and the toilet are those lovely water-saving motion-detection sensors, only, they are installed poorly. When they are installed correctly, you just put your hands under the faucet and the water turns on; withdraw your hands, and the water turns off. Efficient. However, instead of buying a new faucet with the sensor in it, they tried to make the existing one work by installing a sensor on the wall. As a result, every time you walk into the restroom, you are greeted by the water enthusiastically turning on, and remaining on for about a minute (‘cause the sensor is the wrong type, and keeps the water on for awhile after the sensor has been activated, like motion-activated lighting). The toilet is even better. There is a motion sensor for the toilet as well, mounted on the wall even with the back of your neck. The toilet paper is where it starts to get good. Some genius installed an industrial-sized toilet paper dispenser—the kind you see in truck-stop restrooms—on the wall just low enough that you have to lean over and reach to get any toilet paper (try doing this with a bulging belly). So what do you think happens when you lean over to get some toilet paper? The motion sensor on the toilet, unlike the one on the sink, reacts immediately to your “absence,” resulting in several flushes before you can finish your business.
The best part about all of this is that Nevada is in a severe state of drought and the military probably installed these things in order to save water. I love the way the government works! They’re so cute with all their misapplied principles!

Five snacks you enjoy:

I THINK THAT'S ENOUGH MEME FOR ONE DAY, DON'T YOU?

*My official job title was "Word Processor." I checked Power Point presentations for typos. Really glamorous, huh?
**Don't worry about it. I'm still not sure what that phrase means.

Why I LOVE Washington

2007-07-25T20:45:00.000-07:00

I have to face the fact that I can't get on the computer as much as I'd like. I can scrape together an hour here and forty minutes there, but it just isn't enough for what I'd like to do: I'd like to write more. But Jake is napless, the house is still a huge time-drain, and the church people caught up with me and gave me a new job to do. (Sigh. I thought I was done with Enrichment when we moved. No, I'm not Enrichment Leader again. It's actually worse, and it proves the desperation of this ward...can you guess?)

So if I'm not coming by your blog very often—heck, if I rarely come by my own blog—now you know why. Oh well.

And now, some random pictures of things I have seen while out in the yard. Or close enough, anyway.

There is Jasper pretending that he isn't a declawed housecat (we didn't do that to him, he came that way). Poor thing. I've never seen anything sadder than him trying to climb a tree (leaps up on it, holds on for a second, then falls off and walks away, embarrassed, pretending nothing happened). Also, whenever he finds something to hunt, he announces himself to his prey by meowing at it. Somehow, this technique isn't working out very well for him.

Jasper's been ordering things out of mail catalogs again, it seems.

My newest friend. Think I'll call him Waldo.

I so wasn't kidding about the spiders trying to take over this house. When you step outside in the morning, the lawn (ahem—the dandelion jungle) is draped from one end to the other with dew-filled spiderwebs. The spiders don't seem to care about anyone else's lawn on our street; just ours.

I have my own private stock of bumblebees that hang out in my backyard. This one is trying to impress me by doing the splits.

What a pretty weed! So many things grow here—things that in other places you would actually have to plant—it's incredible. So here, blackberry bushes, ivy, ferns, pine trees, sweet peas, daisies—they're all considered weeds. How crazy is that?

Capitol building in Olympia, taken from the car window.
I swear, you can't get a bad picture in this place.

Tag, You're It! (huh?)

2007-07-18T13:31:00.001-07:00

Melissa tagged me (two months ago, but whatever). Apparently, this is a "meme" (which is similar to a "mimi," yet not so French). Okay. And there are rules...

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.
1) CuriosityKiller
2) Doggy Mama
3) Eve
4) Melissa
5) wynne

Okay, done.

NEXT select five people to tag:

No.

If someone wants to do this, then, by all means, have at it. But I'm not going to tag anyone. I hope I never get tagged again. If I am, I just may pretend not to see it.

What were you doing 10 years ago?

What?!? I have to answer questions? What the crap is this? An interrogation? what if I can't remember where I was ten years ago, huh? (Let's see...that would be 1997, right?) Umm, college. And ten years ago in May I think I had just moved down to Provo from Ricks...and...yeah? Ten years ago July...

I remember! It was a dark and stormy night, and my roommate decided that I was ready to be inducted into the twisted and darkly pink world of Mary Kay...

Can you believe I had never even heard of Mary Kay? Why, what is a Mary Kay party? Cosmetics, my friend told me. It seemed innocent enough. I am not afraid of a little lipstick or a free facial.

How very wrong I was.

The Mary Kay Consultant who was throwing this...er, party, was a Mary Kay Nazi. She lived in a pink house, drove a pink car, and had a pink kiss stamp with which she stamped anything she possibly could. She wore her makeup like armor (I imagine she needed a jackhammer to get it off each night), and flew her sexism like a flourescent pink banner: hard to miss.

Some of the things she told us that night as she tried to sell us her makeup:

"If you don't wear your makeup, you'll lose your man!" (She was divorced, a single mom, and was supporting her family by selling cosmetics. I wanted to ask her if she "lost her man" before or after she started selling makeup, but I refrained.)

"My son says that he doesn't like girls who don't wear makeup. He told me, 'Mom, they just don't attract me.' See? Wear your makeup!" (Her son was thirteen at the time, I believe.)

She said many other things, but I can't remember what they were because it was, you know, ten years ago. She probably did say things along these lines, however:

"The only thing that will attract a man is beauty, and you girls could sure use some work! Look at you—barely any makeup on you at all! Wow, you're all hideous!"

"Makeup is the sole reason why women were placed on this planet! We are meant to wear it and sell it and worship it with all our hearts!"

"I know that Mary Kay is true, and that her cosmetics are the only true cosmetics on the face of the earth today!"

"Would anyone like to see the Mary-Kay-signature tattoo on my bum?"I was offended. Completely. I was so mad I could have shoved lipstick up her nose.

Unfortunately for this fine specimen of Mary-Kay saleslady, I was a rabid feminist at the time, with some major issues I had still not dealt with. (Picture me at this time, if you can: hair was about an inch long all over my head, wearing boys' clothing, itching for a fight.) That poor woman.

Too bad I can't remember how it all ended. Did I blow up her pink house? Punch her in the nose? Douse her with makeup remover and laugh as she dissolved into a chemical puddle, screaming, "I'm melting, I'm melting! AAAaaaaaaaa..."

However it ended, I'm sure it wasn't pretty, even if it did have makeup all over it.

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Drat. Ran out of time. I'll have to finish this another day...

Happy Birthday to Me

2007-07-12T13:45:00.001-07:00

That's right. Today (okay, tomorrow, but I probably won't get a chance to get on here tomorrow) is the day that I hit a new decade. I am now

Yip-a-freakin-yee.

Really, thirty isn't that bad. Mathematically*, it's a smaller number than 29. Watch:

[3 + 0 = 3] < [2 + 9 = 11]

[3 x 0 = 0] < [2 x 9 = 18]

[(3)⁰ =0] < [ (2)⁹ = 512]

And here, 30 manages to stay positive when 29 folds in to the pressure and goes all negative on you:

[3 - 0 = 3] vs. [2 - 9 = -7]

See? 30 wins every time!
I feel younger already.

What I normally would do on a day like today is make a big batch of something chocolate and make friends eat it with me, but since that’s not working out this year (I tried shoving the chocolate muffins into the computer, and though I have chocolate smears all over the screen, I still can’t get the darned things to upload—and now Jeff just walked in and is wondering why I’m licking the computer screen. I also tried to stuff them into envelopes and mail them, but they just wouldn’t FIT, and the mailman threatened to call Homeland Security if I tried to make him deliver them), I had to think of something else.

So, I’m going to share with you some of my favorite ways to waste time on the Internet.

The first site, speaking of muffins, is an old favorite of mine, and now Jake loves it, too.
Or if muffins aren't your thing—perhaps you prefer chickens—you may enjoy reading about Mike the Headless Chicken.
I go here anytime I need to laugh. You don't have to know who homestarrunner is, or what strongbad is—it just doesn't matter. Just click and enjoy.
If you are a Simpsons fan, this is a huge waste of time and mostly stupid, but I put it on anyway because of the telephone in the living room.
Have you ever wanted to play God? I mean, have you ever wanted to create a creature and then screw up gravity and see what it does to your created creature? Then this site is for you. (Click "soda constructor.")
Do you use Chapstick? How 'bout Carmex? Natural Ice? Any kind of lip balm at all? There’s something you need to know…
Or play a round of "guess that dictator…or sitcom character" with a computer. Huge waste of time, and yet, I always play more than once.
If you are a Harry Potter fan, and just can't stop squealing for joy anytime someone says "Deathly Hallows," perhaps you'd enjoy this little movie.
If you are a Monty Python fan and you enjoyed the Silly Walks sketch, do waste about fifteen minutes here and send me what you create (muskadillo at hotmail yadayadayada).
If you are interested in freshening up your insult skills, visit this site.
And if you just want to stare at weird and freaky interactive eye candy, try this site. Weirds me out every time.

There. That's more than enough ways to waste your time. Really wish you could be here to enjoy these muffins, though...

*I may never have mentioned this, but math wasn't exactly...er, my best subject. I hate that there was only one right answer. Life isn't like that, so what gives math the right to be so priggish? One right answer, indeed!

No, I Am Not Dead

2007-06-30T21:29:00.000-07:00

I am now one of the UNDEAD. Anyone ever see Evil Dead*? Remember the cabin from that movie?
Oh—you haven't seen that movie? Hmm. Did you ever see the Disney flick from the 70s, Snowball Express?
No? Well, perhaps that one was a little vague. All I can say for myself is that I saw it on daytime tv a bunch of times as a kid (and I have never forgotten the cobwebs or the raccoon in the...oven? of the old hotel).

Let me try one more: Have you seen The Money Pit with Tom Hanks?

What's with all the movies? I am trying to make a point. Poorly, but what the hey. I'm tired.

What all of these movies have in common is a wreck of a house. And that is the same thing that has been keeping me off the Internet. See, the place we've moved into is a bit of a wreck. Trainwreck. Shipwreck. Imagine the Titanic vs. the Hindenburg at a demolition derby.

Yep. But that's what happens when you take a place sight unseen because the rent is cheap.

Don't feel sorry for me, though. I've been enjoying it. Every day is a new adventure. For example, I found a spider in Jake's toy box yesterday. The silly little thing thought he and his ten thousand buddies could live in any and every corner of this house. Um, no. Even if I do feel sorry for them because they all have hacking coughs (former tenants were three-pack-a-day smokers), and even though a spider with a hacking cough is pretty pathetic, I have been killing them by the truckload. Jeff warns me that the Spider Godmother may try to seek revenge, but I don't believe in Spider Godmothers (though sometimes I can hear something large bumping around in the crawlspace under the house, and sometimes I feel as if something is...behind me?...nah).

One of my favorite things about this place is the doorbell. When you ring it, instead of the ubiquitous "ding-dong," we only get the "ding." Jake loves to ring it, and then I like to ask him, "Jake, where did the 'dong' go?" He thinks about it for awhile and doesn't say much until his dad gets home, then loudly announces, "Daddy, I got no dong!"

(Sorry for the lowbrow humor tonight—I'm tired and somewhat loopy. Between painting, weeding, and corralling a now-napless Jake, I've lost a sense of what may or may not be appropriate. Like telling my landlord he really ought to shove a @#$#*& up his @#!!#@ and then #$#@$#@ the @#$#@ monkey's @#$@#! with a #@$#@ @#$#@$ %^&^*!!! Well, I know that is inappropriate.)

The thing that worries me is that there is a hole somewhere in this house that is sucking up all my free time. How am I supposed to have computer time with a time leak in the house? Sooner or later I'm bound to patch it up with all the other holes. Someday.

And Happy Fourth of July.

*I'm not a fan of horror movies. At all. But there are a few exceptions, though Evil Dead isn't really one of them. Now, the third movie in the series, Army of Darkness? Yeah. I enjoyed that one. Long live Bruce Campbell! But if you really want humor + horror flick, try Shaun of the Dead. I really enjoyed it (though there was one part that made me a wee bit nauseous). And for those of you who are Evil Dead cult classic purists, did you know that there is now a musical production of Evil Dead for the stage? I'm not kidding. Really. Go and see.

Facing Reality

2007-05-21T13:21:00.000-07:00

It is time for me to admit the truth. The boxes in the garage have come to life and have taken me hostage. As I type this, one of them is holding a tape gun to the back of my head. They tell me I do not have time to "play" on the computer. "Moving Day is only a week and four days away!" they shriek. I am helpless against them. They are even more demanding than my son, and their appetites are unending. "More, more, MORE!" they screech.

And so, I must face the fact that sooner or later (the boxes say sooner) I must actually pack up my computer in a box. I will not see my computer again until somewhere mid-June (or, at least, when June calendar dates hit the double-digits: 10, 11, 12, etc.). So, please, come back then. I (obviously) won't be able to blog for awhile.

Now I must go and feed more of these ridiculously voracious cardboard boxes from hell. (Ouch. Apparently, Cisco didn't like me calling him "from hell." "I'm from Cincinnati," he snivels. Whatever, you dumb box. Ouch.)