The Cake

Admittedly, my cooking skills often have been somewhat questionable (as with other domestic-type skills). While they have progressed and improved immensely, early attempts were, well, unedible. However, some of that was simply misreading directions. Take for example the first meal I ever cooked for a boyfriend. I could have swore the package said cook at 120 degrees for 20 minutes. I did and was pleased to set a lovely plate of food in front of my now ex. Unfortunately, that was definitely not the proper cooking method for . . . um . . . chicken. For the next two years of that relationship, every time I cooked chicken, I was asked the same question: "Are you sure it's done?" Apparently, the threat of salmonella poisoning was probably too much to ever overcome.

Then there were, okay are cookies. I have never gotten a single batch of homemade cookies to turn out properly (as can be seen in an early blog). Besides the lowfat cookie debacle, there was the improper substitution of baking soda for baking powder (or maybe it was vice versa--I still have no idea which one can't be substituted for the other). I believe I made the first ever unleavened cookies that had a molecular combination stronger than steel. No matter what I did, I could not pry the things off the pan. I ended up just throwing the whole pan out. Then there were the the "combination" cookies. I wanted a cookie that was peanut butter chocolate chip carmel. I could not find a recipe anywhere for that type of cookie, so I decided to combine two different recipes. The end result was a sticky, chewy mess that tasted--well, let's just say the taste was indescribable, and not in a good way. On the plus side, I fed a couple to the dogs, which was very entertaining (yes, our dogs will eat anything). It took them roughly 10 minutes to finish chewing and swallowing the things.

The pièce de résistance, though, was a chocolate cake I made for treat day at work. I decided that instead of buying something, I would make an extra effort and actually make a cake for treat day. Now, this was not from scratch, but I anticipated delight at my culinary box cake preparation prowess. The first snafu I encountered was that I did not have the right size pan to bake a cake. No problem, I thought. I'll just use an 8 x 8 square pan and cook it a little longer. So I popped it in the oven and added an extra 10 minutes; I mean really, how much longer could it take to cook a cake in a smaller pan? When the timer went off, I proudly marched over to the oven, ready to pull my delectible cake out and frost it. However, when I opened the oven, the thing had puffed up like a gigantic mushroom, roughly three times as tall as the actual pan! While this definitely was a dilemma, I simply placed it on the counter and walked away. After all, it did need time to cool before I could frost it. I figured in the mean time, I could come up with some sort of solution to this problem.

Roughly half an hour later, I meandered back into the kitchen. Basically, the only solution I had come up with was to just frost the thing and take it to work "as is." After all, it was still a cake. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the cake, and, instead of a huge puff, there was now a crater in the middle of the cake--the thing had collapsed like a soufflé. Yet, this was a rather pleasing development, for I figured it would be far easier to hide a crater than a gigantic balloon of cake. And I had just the thing to do so: Swiss Cake rolls! I was so pleased with myself for having come up with such a brilliant idea! I took out the Swiss Cake rolls and chopped them into small circles, carefully filling in the crater. Then I grabbed a knife to cut the cake. It was the consistancy of pudding. Now what? Back in the oven, of course!

I cooked it for another 20 minutes. I was positive that would be more than long enough. Pulling it out of the oven a second time, I was dismayed to discover all the frosting and cream had melted off the Swiss Cake roll pieces. They were now hard crunchy little shells. And the cake was still like pudding. I had no idea what to do about the Swiss Cake roll problem. I decided I'd tackle that one after the cake finished cooking. 20 minutes later, pudding. 20 minutes after that, pudding. Sighing, I finally decided it was time to abandon the cake. I pulled out a garbage bag and watched it plop out of the pan. By the time I finished scooping it all out, the garbage bag must have weighed about five pounds.

In the end, it was back to the good old stand by for treat day: a bag of chips and a package of cookies. On the plus side, they were edible

Feeling Grinchy

With fundage being a little short this year, I just can't seem to get into the holiday spirit. Jeremy and I now own three houses, and let's just say this was not what we planned when we talked about eventually investing in real estate! We just recently closed on our dream house, a 50k (yes, that's 50k!), 4000+ square foot Victorian built sometime around the turn of the century. We can't move into it, though, until we get a few things fixed, particularly the fact that it has no heating or air even. That brings us to house number 2, the one we need and are currently living in (also the one that, since it is the end of the semester, has become somewhat, um, messy. That might be an understatement considering I walked in the door from work the other night and Jeremy said, "It's the queen of the dump!"). Then, there's the most expensive house, the pain in the butt and wallet house in North Carolina that STILL hasn't sold. Needless to say, it's going to be a rather meager Christmas, and we won't be able to travel back home :( So, I am having a hard time getting in a Christmas mood. And let's just say all the pre-holiday commercialism hasn't helped either. I do not like to buy Halloween candy, turn around in the aisle and then see Christmas candy. And I won't even get into the Christmas commercials airing on tv in the middle of October.

However, all our neighbors seem well into the holiday spirit: houses decorated, lights strung, trees glimmering in the windows. The Christmas penis has made it's appearance again at our next door neighbor's house. Well, it's not really, but that's what I call it. They have this roughly 4 foot tall, 5 inch circumference lamp post in their yard that stands away from the house and the nicely lit shrubberies. The light doesn't work, but for some reason, they always feel the need to string lights up it around the holidays. Consequently, at night, it looks like, well. . .

Sadly, the neighbor across the street was evicted. Last year, right before Christmas, he purchased roughly 20 crappy, old bathtubs (no, that is not an exaggeration) from an apartment complex that was going to be torn down (another one of his brilliant money making plans, you can probably see why he ended up evicted). Yes, all 20 of them ended up scattered across his driveway and yard. It was all I could do to keep myself from stringing lights on them and buying an inflatable doll to stick in one. Sadly, with his eviction, I will not get to see what this year's "Christmas" decorations might have been.

I thought about putting decorations up in our house, but it just seems like so much work. Last night, I was contemplating getting them out of our storage unit after the semester ended and at least making it seem a little more like Christmas. Then I looked around the living room and realized there was nowhere to put the tree. A 90 gallon aquarium and stand now occupy the one spot that was available last year. No, the tank has no water and no fish. In fact, we can't even fill it because we need to order a piece so water doesn't leak out of it. Upon further contemplation, I have decided that this might actually be a good thing. With no water in it, I can cheerfully hang lights and all sorts of Christmas decorations on it. So, I believe this year instead of a Christmas tree, we will have a Christmas aquarium.

This brings us to Christmas gifts. Since we cannot really spend, well, any money on Christmas presents this year, I have decided to take a different approach to gift giving. No I will not be making anything (this should be a relief to most, as my sewing skills are limited to sewing buttons back on clothes, and you already know how cooking things turns out). Since I cannot buy presents that people would actually want, and since I cannot make anything at all (unless you would like a soda can tab necklace), I am going to send people gifts that they would absolutely never want. Below, you will find images of the delightful presents from which you can choose, as well as a lovely description of each gift:

The carrot pen magnet is versatile and multifunctional. It is streamlined and sleek with a lovely orange body. You can stick it on the fridge and watch the crowds gather round to look at this beauty! If you select this gift, you will be the envy of all friends and family!

Ever wondered if Santa pooped? Wonder no more with this delightful candy pooping Santa! Smells and tastes great! It also makes a beautiful addition to your holiday decorations. You will be astonished by the compliments you receive and be the envy of all when you add this ergonomically correct Santa to your mantleplace! Also comes in pooping reindeer, pooping polar bear and pooping frosty the snow man versions. Candy poop refills are sold separately.

I know everyone has asked, "What does a pickle sound like when it yodels?" With this beautifully green gift, all questions are answered! Simply press the button and feel like you've been transported to the Swiss Alps. Want a little variety in music this holiday season? The yodelling pickle is light, compact and portable. Take it with you in the car, take it to the office Christmas party, or even the opera, as it will rival even the best Soprano's vocal quality. You can even add a little flavor to the ho-hum holiday songs and take it carolling. The expressions on homeowner's faces as you carol at their door will not disappoint!

You might recognize this gorgeous item from that timeless holiday classic, A Christmas Story. But this exquisite piece goes far beyond the simplistic model found in the movie. Not only do you get the leg lamp, but also it is an inflatable outdoor decoration! Now, you too can get a leg up on holiday decorating and share this spiritual inspiration with your entire neighborhood!

What could be a more exciting gift to open on Christamas morning than the fabulous meat shower curtain! Hungry when you wake up? Head to the shower and take a deep sniff of the . . . plastic aroma. Better than the real the real thing, the meat shower curtain will not rot. But, if you prefer longer cured meat, just let it age and grow mildew!

Finally, the gift for those who have everything! Search no more, but immediately stake your claim on the this extraordinary collection of Venereal Disease Plushies! Want Chlaymdia or the Clap without the hassle of sex and Dr. visits? Then this is definitely the gift for you! This collection of four beautiful STDs comes with an added benefit: you can even keep one for yourself and share the others with your closest friends! Plush STDs, the gift that keeps on giving!



Now that you've seen the exceptional list of Christmas presents no one would ever want, make your selection carefully! Furthermore, supplies are limited, so make sure you get your request in early! I would hate to disappoint you all this holiday season. Oh! There are only 3 Venereal Disease Plushy sets left now!

Lecture Time

Apparently, Jeremy got tired of my "unconventional" parking methods. When I got home from my conference, there was a bobber hanging from fishing line on my side of the garage. I was told that all I had to do was pull up so that it touched the windshield, and I would be nicely parked.

Just a few days ago, we're driving down the road, and Jeremy decides to discuss my parking problem. Frequently, I don't quite get all the way in the garage, and the door bends as it goes over the tire on the back of my Isuzu. I carefully explained to him that this was not my fault, as the garage is miniscule. I mean really, there's maybe 3 foot of space leftover once I park in it. So this parking problem is obvioulsy not my fault. Of course, I informed him of this fact.

For some reason, he decided to launch into a lecture about my driving skills. First, of course, there was the speeding ticket this summer. I can't help it. I don't like to go slow. I also didn't figure this was the best time to tell him that, while going nearly 70 the other day, a cop turned around and followed me (didn't pull me over, but I was a bit worried!). Then, he decides to critique my driveway problems. He is always irritated that, most of the time, when I'm pulling into the driveway, I drive over the grass. I'm not sure why he even bothers with this one anymore. I've always done this. It will never change. Well, it could, but then I'd have to pull into the driveway slowly. And this I explained to him. You see, I'm a very courteous driver, and I don't want to slow people behind me down. Therefore, I turn rather rapidly into the driveway, which means I drive over grass. I told him this and that there was an easy fix to this problem: just make the ends of the driveway flare out more. He simply looked at me and said "You give me a headache."

So we're driving along again, and I step on the accelerator to speed up. This leads to a brand new lecture about the way I stomp on the accelerator and gas effeciency. Setting him straight, I explained how this was not me, but actually the car. Fortunately for me, the car does need a major tune-up, so he willingly accepted this response and dropped the matter. Well, until he drove it himself a few days later and figured out that it was, in fact, me stomping on the accelerator to speed up. My response: "Well, that excuse worked for a little while."

Continuing our drive, something else came up. I'm sure it was something else he "felt" I was doing wrong (sigh, I have no idea where he comes up with all these ideas that I do things wrong). I made some comment, and he just looked at me. You know that "what the hell goes through your mind" look. So I asked him what the look was for. His response: "It's the same look I've been giving you since the day I met you." Hehe. I think it was better left unsaid that there would never be a need to retire that look.

The Cubs

Growing up in the Midwest, there was only one baseball team for most: The Cubs. Cubs fans are die-hard. We have to be because the Cubs never win. As Bill Bryson says in I'm a Stranger Here Myself, despite the fact that there are a ton of of different divisions and playoff games leading up to the World Series,

• essentially it means that practically every team in baseball except the Chicago Cubs gets a chance to go to the World Series. The Cubs don't get to go because they never manage to qualify even under a system as magnificently accomodating as this. Often they almost qualify, and sometimes they are in such a commanding position that you cannot believe they won't qualify, but always in the end they doggedly manage to come up short. Whatever it takes--losing seventeen games in a row, letting easy balls go through their legs, crashing comically into each other in the outfield--you can be certain the Cubs will manage it. . . .And here's the problem. Nobody deserves to go to the World Series more than the Chicago Cubs. But they can't go because that would spoil their custom of never going. It's an irreconcilable paradox. (25-26, 27)

The Cubs have not won a world series in 99 years. Okay, so the Cubs have managaged, in recent years, to get into the playoffs. But what happens? There was the semi-final playoff series in 2003 against the Marlins. This could finally be our year! The Cubs kept advancing, kept winning. I bought a brand new jersey to replace my old one. My husband bought me a Cubs hat (which he never actually let me wear). Well, we all know how that turned out. Sixth game in the series, top of the 8th inning, Cubs in the lead and a Cubs fan robs Cubs outfielder Moises Alou of an out, catching the ball. It was downhill from there for the Cubs, and the Marlins went on to win the world series. No one even should have blamed the fan; really, wasn't it just "in the cards?"

So this year, when the Cubs made it into the playoffs, I was, once again, elated. Since I'm now in Georgia and far removed from the Cubs, I watched the coverage and celebration in Chicago on WGN that Friday night--All the optimism, excitement, jubilation. I cheered along with the woman, a Cubs fan for 60 years, who screamed at the top of her lungs in a bar that "This will be the Cubs year! They're gonna do it this year!" I believed!

Essentially, there really is a delightful delusion that all Cubs fans have. Every year, we believe they are going to make it, and every year we follow them through the whole season with high hopes. Yet every year, something goes horribly awry. This year, the Diamondbacks easily cleaned the pretty green field with the beloved blue and white and red jerseys. The odd thing is that even when they do lose, we aren't really surprised. I think we bury all the negative thoughts, submerging them in our subconscious. I'm sure psychologists would have something to say about this, possibly even name it the Cubs complex--it might make for a fascinating study.

Well, there's always next year. When the Midwest finally begins unthawing, it ushers in spring training--the Midwest wakes up to the Cubs, waiting for and watching them bloom again. Do we really care if they lose? No. Do we really believe they will win? Yes. So, I'm ready to hibernate for the winter. Nothing much happens anyway until the Cubs come back.

The Green Submarine

So I'm chatting with a friend online last Friday night, and I get this phone call from Jeremy:

"I sunk my boat," he says, rather calmly for a person who's standing on a sandbar in the river watching his boat sink in freezing cold, foggy, dark conditions.

"What!" I exclaim, panicking, for I believe this would be the normal response to learning your husband's boat was sinking.

"Yeah, I sunk my boat," he says again very calmly, "I'm just standing here watching it fill up with water."

"How did you do that! Are you okay!" Of course, I'm still panicking. Admittedly, I was somewhat (he doesn't need to know this) concerned for his safety. Not only is he stuck out in the cold in the river, but also there are a ton of alligators, snakes, bears. . . Considering how calm he was, I figured he was okay. My next concern was the fact that he absolutely loves this boat and fishing on the river (the Ocmulgee is only about 5 miles from our house). Now, to begin with, this was far from any luxury liner. It was the ugliest, green fiberglass boat imagineable, made sometime around the turn of the century (okay, sometime around 1970). So on the one hand, it was probably very lucky it hadn't sunk already. But on the other hand, it is probably his favorite thing that he owns. So, I'm sitting there wondering if he actually is calm or if I needed to prepare for a grieving process later. I have no idea how I'm supposed to react at all, so I respond with a very generic, "Oh dear!" hoping this covers all the bases.

"Oh, look, there goes my wallet." I groan as he snags the wallet out of the river. "Can you get me the number for the bait shop?" he asks. A friend of his owns a bait shop down the road from us and has a boat. So I run to get the number, feeling somewhat relieved that Rich can now deal with this situation. Like I have any clue whatsoever what to do about a husband stuck on a sandbar. I give him the number and hang up.

Meanwhile, I'm relaying this story to my friend, who is rolling with laughter. I'm still not sure how to respond, but it is pretty funny. Especially since he'd been calling me intermitently all night to tell me how cold it was and how nothing was biting. Maybe it's just me, as a woman, but if I'm cold and miserable, I would have quit whatever it was that was making me cold and miserable. It only seems logical, right?

A few minutes later, Jeremy calls back.

"Well, they're (Rich and Kevin) coming to get me," he says. "Wow, the boat's filling really fast." To me, this seemed like a very obvious statement--what else would a boat with a hole in the bottom do? According to him, this was a very important statement because at that point, he realized just how big the hole was.

"What happened," I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer. Did he finally decide that, yes, it was cold and miserable and that he should come in for the night? No. Instead, he had decided to head FURTHER down the river to a different spot. As he was headed downstream, he hit a tree limb under the water, and down the boat went. Fortunately, he was't very far from the landing. In fact, he could see the cars passing on the highway. Unfortunately, he was on the opposite bank of the river from the landing, with no way to get across. He at least still had his little chargeable lantern, so he did have some light. He decides, at this point, that he should probably hang up and save the cell phone battery. I then relay the latest developments in the story to my friend, who is just dying.

A few minutes later, he calls back again. There's a "snag." First, Rich showed up without his boat. Since Jeremy woke him up, it didn't register that Jeremy was actually on the opposite bank of the river. So, they had a lovely conversation shouting at each other across the water. That was when Jeremy discovered Rich's boat battery is nearly dead, and Rich has to figure out how to get over to pick Jeremy up. As we're talking, he suddenly says, "Crap, the handle just came off the lantern!" The lantern has dropped into the water and died. Now he's a cold, wet man standing in the dark and fog on a sandbar.

It was at least half an hour later before Rich finally returned with his boat, still with not much of a charge on the battery. In order to get to Jeremy, Rich had to use his trolling moter and putt down the river. Once he got to where Jeremy was, they spent the next 45 minutes trying to start the big engine (I have no idea why they didn't just use the trolling moter again--I'm sure there's some logical reason that Jeremy will inform me of later; I hope). Finally, they reached under water and pulled the battery of Jeremy's boat. Somehow, it still worked, and they finally headed back to the landing. Two hours after he first called me, Jeremy was finally rescued. At one a.m., in he comes. I had fallen asleep by then, so I think all I managed was, "Oh, you're home."


Jeremy gets up the next day, and now has to figure out how to get the boat out of the water. First he calls DNR to report the boat. There's also a dam up the river that is opened every other weekend, so he needs to find out if that's going to happen. If so, bye-bye boat. The DNR lady tells him the dam isn't scheduled to be opened this weekend (lucky for him!), and that as long as the boat is not worth more than $2000, he doesn't have to file an accident report.

With that done, he sets off to the bait shop. Time to rescue the fiberglass monstrosity. As he's headed there, he sees ambulances, fire trucks and police cars speeding down the road. About an hour after he gets to the baitshop, everyone's ready to head out (time is never of the essence in the south). They get to the boat landing, and there are the ambulances, fire trucks, police and DNR. Apparently, someone had reported an overturned boat in the river, and the DNR office had not relayed Jeremy's earlier call to anyone, much less the local DNR. So, he spent an hour answering questions and trying to explain that yes, he had called the boat in.

They're finally ready to head out and rescue the boat. They have two leaky little john boats (one has pin-sized holes all over the bottom and the other's plug is, well, plugged with a cork), Rich's Bass Tracker, and four people crammed in the Bass Tracker. The two john boats are loaded inside one another, so they only have to pull "one" boat down the river. On top of the the john boats are two 16-foot 2x4s. As Jeremy calls it, they did a bit of redneck engineering once they got to his boat (and yes, he is very proud of this feat). Putting the two john boats in the river as pontoons and placing the 2x4s across them, they lift Jeremy's boat up (still full of water), strapping it to the boards with wratchet ties. They next have to figure out a way to rig the boat so they can haul it back to the landing. They can't tie the rig to the Bass Tracker because if the rig goes down, so does the Bass Tracker. In the end, Rich ends up steering the boat, while the other three hang onto the rope tied to Jeremy's boat and tug it down the river. In the meantime, the two john boats are rapidly filling with water. Somehow, they managed to make it back to the landing, but by the time they did, both john boats were about 1/3 full of water and on the verge of sinking! After slowly cranking the boats out of the water, draining them, they finally get them loaded. Once they got Jeremy's boat out of the water, they also discovered that the bottom section of the boat where the limb hit was actually rotted, so it actually wasn't his fault.

In the end, Jeremy finally arrived home at 3 in the afternoon, after starting out at 9 a.m. Needlesss to say, once he got home, he immediately went to bed. This was after telling me how much fun it was getting the boat out of the river.

FUN? We definitely have two very different ideas of what fun is.

Ready for a vacation!

Okay, so I haven't had a chance to post in a while, but I have a very good reason--sort of!

As an example, this is just the past few days of my fun-filled life (there was some sarcasm intended there).

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I worked on dissertation chapter number four, trying to get all the revisions done so I could mail it to my committee by Monday. As I'm working on it (by Sunday utilizing the aid of a few beers), what comes in the mail? Chapter Three from another committee member with the newest set of feedback. I toss it on top of the pile of papers from students that I need to grade.

Of course, it's not til Sunday night that I realize I haven't done the laundry, and half the clothes I own need washed. Oh, the joy of late nights with laundry and a dissertation.

Monday morning, I'm up by 6 a.m. I still need to prepare the class I teach starting at 8 a.m. Fortunately, I've taught it before, so it's mainly a matter of rereading my notes, lectures and planning a few activities. Then the doorbell rings. It's Dave the bug man come to spray our house. Dave only calls the night before he's coming, so most of the time I have no idea he's coming. This was another one of those times. Once again, the house is a complete mess, and I have bras and underwear scattered throughout. So, as usual, I frantically try to stay ahead of his spraying and discretely pick up all my underwear. Later, I realized I missed a bright red pair in the bathroom. I guess he's getting used to this by now.

So I teach my classes and then comes my office hours. I have the best intentions of getting all sorts of things done. Then I realize just how many little piddly things I have to do. Three hours later, I have finished all the piddly things, and still haven't touched the papers.

So, I head off. I stop by the post office and wait in line for 20 minutes to mail my dissertation chapter. Then I run by the bank. I haven't managed to get there in several months, so I still have uncashed birthday checks. Next stops grocery store and pet store--I need minnows to feed our big fish.

I get home and start draining the water out of the minnow bag so I can dump them in the tank. Somehow, the guy got a whole bunch of little guppies in there (barely appetizers for our fish) and three of them plop into the sink. I prop the bag up and try to get the guppies out of the sink, which is nearly impossible since they are only about a centimeter long. I finally get them and look over at the bag. It has now spilled all over the counter and fish are flopping everywhere! 20 minutes later, I get all the fish off the counter and floor and finally into the tank. 20 minutes after that, they are all gone--barely even a snack for the fish! Time to call it a day.

So, I get up this morning. Our house is looking, well, somewhat similar to a garbage dump, so I try to clean up the house as much as possible, picking up all the garbage and dirty dishes, putting dirty clothes in the laundry baskets, making the bed. . . At least it's somewhat presentable, as long as no one looks at the floors. I water the plants, feed the cat, the dogs, the fish. I go through all my bills and checkbook, catch up on a few emails (sorry, I haven't responded to some of you for weeks, but I leave them all bold until I do!).

I'm about to start on those papers, when I remember several things I've kept "forgetting" to do for, oh, several months. The first was calling the phone company. Our phone hasn't been working right for months. People call, it will ring once, then hang up on them. Last week I tried to call home 16 times and finally gave up. The second thing was calling the garbage company about replacing our garbage can. It's been missing a wheel for a couple of months, which makes dragging it to the curb a whole lot of fun (Jeremy refused to do it anymore until I called to have it replaced--that was roughly a month ago). So, I have an hour left before I have to go to work, and I still have to update all my class schedules and that stack of papers is still sitting there. Oh yay, I get more papers today!

I decided to blog instead :)

Lowfat Cookies

I decided to alter a pudding cookie recipe into a lowfat version. I made all the appropriate substitutions and was very pleased with myself.

I baked the cookies and was anticipating a yummy treat to appease my junk food cravings. Then I took them out of the oven. Somehow, they had a developed an odd, springy, spongy consistency. When you pushed down on one, it sprang right back up, much like you would like your mattress to do. In fact, I'm pretty sure I could market this as a stress reliever tool, for no matter how you squished and mashed them, they seemed to return to their original form.

So, I tried to feed them to Jeremy. Maybe they weren't so bad. He took one bite and just stared at me. Then he stared at the cookie, poked his finger into it, watched it pop back up, and returned to staring at me. I'm not sure he even made any comment this time (yes, I have fed him way too many of my experiments), but just gave it to the dogs.

On the plus side, the dogs found them delicious!

Those who have no blogs. . .

Should not throw stones. Hehe.

Jeremy says I write too much about him in my blog, and I am only giving one side of the story.

Okay, yes, I did leave the basket of easter candy on the coffee table after we got Audrey, despite the fact he might have mentioned it was a bad idea. But it was my first dog, what did I know. . . Besides, he could have been a little more emphatic about it.

Other than that, I'm a perfect angel, and everything he might say (such as if he happens to leave a comment) is completely inaccurate. Everyone knows that, for the sake of household peace, the woman is always right.

Life

Tonight, I sit contemplating the meaning of life. Okay, I'm done.


What? You were expecting some great revelation? You should know better by now!

Having children

As Jeremy and I approach the age of parenthood (okay, so we have long ago and are really just big kids ourselves), I started to think about motherhood and all it entails. Suddenly, I realized that if I looked back on our pets, I could be in some serious trouble with real children:

2000: We get our first dog, Audrey. I leave a basket of Easter candy (mostly chocolate) on a coffee table thinking, "why would a dog want chocolate?" Audrey eats all the candy. We spend over an hour trying to force feed pepto bismol tablets to Audrey, watching as she continually projects them, at a very high velocity, straight into the air. Audrey has a lot of diarreah.

2001: We get the new housetrained dog Jack. Jack doesn't like us. Jack pees on everything in five minute incruments. We put Jack outside for 1 hour. Jack comes in and pees on the chair. We put Jack outside for two hours. Jack comes in and pees on the magazine rack. We put Jack out. . . You get the picture.

2002: A bottle of Ibproferin is left on the end table. Audrey bites it open and eats it all. I call the vet, and they say I must feed her a mixture of hydrogen peroxide mixed with mustard. I hang up and call the vet back in about 3 minutes. They say, "you got it down her already?" I say, "Yes, I just sat the bowl in front of her." They say, "Oh. You must have a lab." I spend the next two days cleaning up dog vomit.

2003: I go to the grocery store and take my dogs for a ride. As usual, I open the back to load my groceries. Jack suddenly decides he should go for a stroll. Jack is a big dog. Jack's weight opens the automatic doors at the grocery store and in he goes. Everyone else is scared of Jack, so no one will help me catch him, as he makes a bee-line for the meat department. Luckily, I snagged him, but then no one will help me get him back in the car. You try getting a stubborn, 1oo pound dog back in a car by yourself! One end in, other end out, push, push. Nothing. 30 minutes and one large snack later, we all finally go home. No more trips to the grocery store for the dogs!

2004: Audrey eats lipstick. Audrey looks at me with her mouth open. Not so pretty on a dog!

2005: Dogs escape! The worst scenario ever! I spend three days frantically searching for the mutts. Where are they? A couple miles down the road begging to get into someone else's house!

2006-7: Pretty tame so far, ecept for the small tub of plumber's putty Jack ate.

So, basically, as long as a child doesn't remember anything before they are six or seven, I think we should be fine!

My sick and twisted sense of humor

I was watching tv the other night, and this commercial came on for "Kids Bop 999" or something like that. Basically, it's a compilation cd of kids singing current top 40 (at least I assume they're top 40--haven't heard most of them before) songs. My thoughts were, if the songs were clean enough for kids to begin with, why not just compile them? What's the point of having kids sing their own version? Nevermind the fact it sounded horrid.

Then of course, my mind turned. Why not record a "Kids Bop Punk" album? Who could resist a chorus of sing-songy kids enchanting adults with such classic tunes as "I Wanna Be Sedated," by the Ramones, or "No Feelings" by the Sex Pistols. Sprinkle with a little Fugazi. Maybe throw in some more commercialized groups/songs like Green Day's "Longview." I say instant hit!

From there, we must do "Kids Bop Metal." This will include such classic metal as Danzig's "Twist of Cain," Slayer's "Season's in the Abyss," and Metallica's "Sanitarium." Of course, not wanting to forget the contemporary, we must throw in some Lincoln Park, Disturbed, and maybe a little Korn. The perfect stocking stuffer!

I realize this is going to create a sensation, so I'm making sure to get my patent/copyright (whatever it is you need to rerecord music with kids) in right now. Those of you who want to stay up to date with productions should definitely make sure you contact me asap--this is one phenomenon you don't want to miss out on!

Also, stay tuned for "Kids Bop Emo" later this year.

Phil Collins

Jeremy and I were watching tv a few nights ago when a commercial for Phil Collins came on. Immediately, in my head, I thought, "Oh my God, Phil Collins sucks (only in much worse language). The best thing about Genesis was Peter Gabriel!" Jeremy turns to me and says, "You should buy me some Phil Collins." Who the hell have I married! Okay, so music has been a longstanding issue in our relationship. I have the good taste, and he has horrible taste. But Phil Collins? We're reaching an all time low here! Yes, with much embarrassment, I went to the store and once bought my mom a Spice Girls cd, but I could never bring myself to buy Phil Collins! I have tried to sway him toward better music over the years, but to no avail. He still persists in calling Radiohead "radish head." I tried to get him to listen to the Pixies and got an "eehh." Are you insane man? I have the ultimate Nirvana collection (thanks to bootlegs and ebay), and he exaults the wonders of Shania Twain. So, maybe I am a bit of a music snob, but Mariah Carey? I had no idea she put out so many cds before she cracked! Oh, and to suffer through just one of those cds--the horror! I put in Bob Mould, and he puts in Faith Hill. I put in Bright Eyes, and he puts in "insert various crap here." So, I have come to the conclusion that he must be deaf. He often doesn't seem to hear what I say, so maybe he isn't pretending. I will say, the worst was when he made me listen to Faith Hill for 8 hours in a row. By the end, when we were stuck in a car in a traffic jam, it was all I could do to keep from screaming out the window! Then again, maybe he is just trying to torture me.

Domestic Skills

Basically, when it comes to anything domestic, I suck at it. Oh, I do not feel bad about this, but rather it has been a source of pride. How many people can say they have messed up rice pudding their first four times trying to make it? I have no idea what I did, but each batch has been inedible (and in some cases crunchy). Jeremy has even taken to calling friends and family to get their recipes. I find that very funny since I've messed up the 4 different recipes I found online. I guess he thinks someone will have the magic recipe that I can actually cook.

But anyway, this is about laundry. I have been doing laundry for many years. For all those many years, I also really haven't bothered to figure out how to actually do laundry. In fact, it was only about two years ago that I started separating whites from colored clothes. Over the years, I have turned whites pink, lime green, lavender, and various vomit-like colors. I probably should have figured out the whole separation thing much earlier, but I kind of figured "what's done is done." So yes, it took me over 10 years to think "gee, I could prevent this from happening to the white clothes." You'll also be happy to know that just a few months ago, I figured out I could add bleach to the whites. Unfortunately, at this point, I'm really not sure it's making any of the clothes whiter.

So, a few weeks ago I took a good look at the washer. Suddenly, I realized I had no idea why it had settings for cold/cold, warm/cold, and hot/cold (these may not even being the settings--I really have no idea other than there were a lot of mixes). I have always set the washer on warm/cold. Why? Because it's in the middle. As I looked at the different settings, I realized I had no idea what they were for.

The following week, I was on vacation. I asked my friends and their husbands what these settings were for. Every person I asked, male and female, knew what the settings were for. Unfortunately, it started to get too complicated. They started talking about separating more colors from colors and whites and a different temperature setting for each group.

Sadly, I tuned out. So, I will happily continue my bad laundering skills. The laundry is either colored or white clothes and it's all warm/cold (or is that cold/warm?). I haven't completely destroyed anything for a while.

One of those days

I was up and ready to go by 7:30 this morning. I had all intentions of having a productive day. First, I was stuck going to court in a county a half hour away for a speeding ticket. Yes, I could have paid ahead of time, but according to many online "sources," if you go to court here and plead guilty, they often reduce the speed on the ticket, which would have meant no points on my record. So, prepared for a lengthy amount of sitting around and waiting (I'm much more used to bigger city traffic courts), I packed up a whole bunch of stuff to work on. Arriving at court, I was immediately shuffled into the office used for traffic court. No actual courtroom, just an office with a secretary. She then proceeded to simply process my ticket without even offering to reduce the speed. So, 2 hours wasted driving to court and dinking around waiting for my appointed court time (which apparently I did not need to do). This should have been a good indication of the rest of my day.

I got home, and decided to call Motorola to see if they could help me with my cell phone. The screen had mysteriously gone from bright to dim to black on Jeremy yesterday while he was fishing. So, I called them, and they guided me through their repair process. This involved simply removing the battery, waiting 10 seconds, then putting it back in. Easier said then done. I spent 10 minutes trying to get the damn battery out of the phone. I finally got it out, waited, then put it back in. Nothing. Then the woman told me I needed to take the battery back out so I could get the serial number off of it for her to verify that it was still under warranty. 1. I had the receipt right in front of me, purchase date of 2-15-07, saying I had a one year warranty, and 2. she couldn't have mentioned getting that the first time I hatcheted the phone to get the battery out? This time she put me on hold so I could find something (a screwdriver) to pry it out. 10 minutes later, I gave her the number and then she told me, yes, it's still under warranty, and here are your three options: mail it in to Motorola, find a local Motorola store, or take it to my service provider. Um, thanks for the help? Time wasted: 30 minutes.

Since Jeremy needed something picked up from interoffice mail at the local bank branch, I figured I might as well go to Verizon, then stop by Office Depot to pick up the ink cartridge for the fax machine. Arriving at Verizon, I had to enter all the info into their little cue system, then wait for the three people ahead of me to finish before I could speak to the tech department. Finally, it was my turn. The guy popped off the back of my phone and showed me little white dot had turned red. Apparently, this means water got in it, and there is nothing they can do (also, why didn't the damn Motorola "help" lady mention this little factor? It would have saved me the entire trip to Verizon). Now, this wouldn't be quite so bad, but in February, I lent him my phone for 3 days when he went back to NC for work. In that three days, he managed to lose it, forcing me to plop down $200 to replace it. Needless to say, when they told me what had occurred and that the warranty was now obsolete, I exited the store mumbling several (or better yet make that a stream) of choice words, most of which started with an f. Time wasted at Verizon: 45 minutes.

By now, it was already 1. I still had not managed to do one productive thing. Since Office Depot was right down the road, I figured I might as well try to find the cartridge. Can I find it? No. Why? Because their lovely computerized self help ink cartridge system only lets you put in the make/model of the fax machine; I only brought the number for the ink cartridge itself. So I have to track somebody down to help me, which is easier said than done. Apparently, nobody works in the store on Monday afternoons. Finally I found someone, and he (I shall refer to him from here on out as putz boy) tries to help me. 10 minutes later, he guided me to the two slots for Sharp ink cartridges, and, of course, the one I needed is the one that is sold out. Putz boy says, "wait just a second, I'll go talk to my manager." I thought maybe they had a new shipment that just hadn't been restocked. So I waited and waited and waited. When he came back, he told me that the manager said they could order one for me and have it shipped for free. I asked how long it would take. "I don't know. We don't know until we put the order in." I'm just shooting for an estimate here, so I asked, "1 week or less?" He hesitated, then responded, "I don't know. Maybe?" I could order it online and have it faster than that. So I left with nothing. Time wasted: 35 minutes.

While headed to my car, I realized that Target was right down from Office Depot. Might as well give it a shot and see if they have the cartridge while I'm there. So I headed into the store. Of course, ink cartridges were not by the office supply section. That would be too easy. Instead, I had to meander through their entire electronics section, which seemed to have aisles going haphazardly in every direction, only to discover that no, they do not carry the cartridge. By this time I was just frustrated. So I looked at shorts and bought a pair of shoes. Time wasted: 1 hour.

Once I get home, I decided I might as well search for the best deal on ink cartridges, as long as I'm ordering it online. After way too much research on my part, I finally decided on Best Buy (they had the cheapest price, plus were offering free shipping on ink cartridges over $20). I went to place my order and quickly discovered that no matter how many times I entered my zipcode for tax purposes, it would tell me the zipcode was invalid. Since this is required for purchases, I couldn't check out. So, I am forced to call Best Buy's help line, wait on hold, get transferred, and wait on hold again before someone finally helped me. Could she fix this problem so I can just place my order? No. Instead, we had to walk through all my information, and she had to place the order for me. She informed me "Oh, there must have just been some little glitch because I got your zipcode to go through no problem." Um, I was still online, and I still couldn't get it to go through. In fact, while waiting for her, I entered five former zipcodes from four different states. All of them put in the tax info when I hit their little go button, then gave me the "invalid" error message when I tried to check out (by the way, Georgia has much higher taxes than either Minnesota, Iowa, or North Carolina). Time wasted in online ink cartridge search and order: 2 hours.

By this time, it was almost 5. Jeremy had somehow managed to break off some piece in his rifle while cleaning it and needed to take it to the gunsmith (my luck was rubbing off on him). I decided I might as well ride along--maybe that would be relaxing. We got there, Jeremy walked up to the door, and it was locked. I just started laughing. Then, the storeowner next door came out and told him the guy has closed down for good. There are no other gunsmiths that we know of in the area. Absolutely nothing went smoothly today, nor has much of anything really gone right. The only thing I actually managed to accomplish the whole day was paying a speeding ticket and ordering an ink cartridge. So what does he suggest doing? Fishing! No, no, no, no, no, no!!! And no!!!

Me, Motor Skills & Fishing

Let's just say, when it comes to any sort of coordination, I am deficient. I could be looking at a wall and walk into it (and, in fact, have done so). Also, if I get flustered, all logic goes out the window; I can make quick decisions while in such a state, but they are the worst possible and most illogical decisions ever made. Finally, while I love being outside, if it involves doing something that involves motor skills, much less while flustered, nothing good will happen. This brings us to my fishing trip last night with Jeremy.

The first problem is that we have entirely different "styles" of fishing. I like to bring a book, relax, look around the river, and if something happens to get stuck on my 1 line, I reel it in. Jeremy, on the other hand stares intently and nonstop at each of 2-4 poles he has in the river and is constantly springing up to reel in. As you can imagine, my style of fishing annoys him. So, last night I decided to try his way, and stared intently at my poles. I got bored. So, I was constantly reeling in, even if it was just a twig hitting the line (you never know, right?). This meant continually utilizing what low levels of coordination I had. Consequently, Jeremy spent a good portion of the evening rebaiting my hook and unsnagging my pole, and, in the meantime, growing more and more irritated and snappy with me.

That's when the first big problem occurred. I go to cast, and somehow my reel handle gets stuck in my hair as I raise the pole over my head, and the bait plops down into the water. So, I'm sitting there with a reel stuck to my head, and Jeremy starts snapping at me to get the bait out of the water before a big fish ends up hitting it. This, of course, makes perfect sense, but he has made me edgy and flustered (not that having a reel stuck in my hair didn't already do that), all thoughts flee my mind, and instinct kicks in. How do you get your line/bait out of the water? Why, reel it in of course. So, now I'm sitting there with a wad of hair wound around and around the reel handle so tight that I have made my entire pole into some sort of new hair accesory, and my bait is still in the water. By this point, I think Jeremy is ready to throw me from the boat (he still won't tell me what he was thinking). He grabs my line, pulls my bait in, turns around and sits down, leaving the pole still stuck in my hair. Not wanting to "bother" him (okay, not wanting to get yelled at), I spent the next 5 minutes fruitlessly trying to get my hair off the reel. Finally, I had to break down and ask him to cut the hair with his fishing knife, which he does while mumbling the whole time--probably about how the hell something like this could happen to me (after 10 years around me, he should just expect things like this to happen to me).

So, fishing resumes, only extremely silent as he tries to pretend I am not there (at least I think that's what he was doing). It's also getting darker and darker. Now, I am the worst person to sit still and do nothing, much less silently in the dark. Needless to say, this was not how I pictured night fishing. I'm bored, restless, and have not gotten a single bite in hours. I can't see much of anything anyway, so I become more and more fidgety, which makes Jeremy more and more irritated. Finally, he decides we should just go. We have about a mile of dark river to navigate back to the dock, and about halway back, the spotlight starts slowly dying. Suddenly, my wimpy flashlight is now the "bright" light, and I am the one in charge of verifying there is nothing in front of the boat that we can run over. This makes me even more tense--you try looking for stumps in the dark in dark water with a ligth little better than a candle! Not to mention I know nothing about boating--as this fishing trip had already illustrated, I can't manage to get an anchor set in a timely fashion or recognize which end of the boat is front or back, so how in the hell am I going to help navigate the damn thing with only dim light in a river filled with alligators!

Needless to say, by the time we got back to the dock, I was more than ready to pack it in. I was tense, edgy, and feeling horrible for having ruined my husband's relaxing fishing trip. I have a feeling similar thoughts were going through his head, otherwise he would never have told me I needed to grab the rope for mooring the boat and jump out before we hit the cement on the landing. You can probably see where this is going already: darkness, no coordination, tense, and jumping from a moving boat. Again, all logic deserts me, and without thinking, I jump. I'm not sure what happened exactly, but what felt like a long downward fall and a lot of bouncing occurred until I finally came to rest on my side on the cement (Later, Jeremy also confirmed that there was some rolling involved too and some mopey sniffling). I laid there silently with no thoughts going through my head. From up above, I hear silence, then "Are you alright?" My knee, shoulder, hand, and wrist on my right side are banged up, as well as my left knee, but I'm more immobilized by the sheer stupidity of the whole situation. "Yes," I reply, still not moving. Soon, he is looking at me over the side of the boat. "Are you sure?"

Limping up, I spend the next 10 minutes ineptly "helping" him get the boat back on the trailer. This pretty much meant I just stood there and did nothing. On the plus side, he felt so bad, he didn't make me try and do anything else, which is probably safer for both of us anyway. I can definitively say, now, that I am done with fishing for a while. I am going to play some lovely, coordination free computer games that do not cause any sort of injury for the rest of the weekend and enjoy my television.

Relapse

I did it, and I'm not proud of myself. Today I went to Super Walmart. I really do have a valid explanation! You see, I had a list of a wide variety of items. Not a long list, but enought different things that I would have had to run to several different stores otherwise. I figured I could shoot in and be done within half an hour. WHAT WAS I THINKING!

The first problem is that we moved, and this "new" Super Walmart not only has a completely different layout than my old, but also a completely asinine layout. Not that this is exciting, but here was my shopping list: dog food, a shower curtain liner, shampoo and conditioner, printer paper, and soda. I spent 15 minutes trying to figure out where the shower curtains were. Near the bath/kitchen aisle? No. Near housewares? No. Near bedding. No. How about toward the front of the store near the seasonal aisle of coolers and picnicware? Yes! On to printer paper. This only took about 10 minutes of searching, and of course, the logical place for all office supplies is near the sporting goods and automotive sections.

Fortunately, the shampoo/conditioner aisle was in the same place. Unforturnately, it was being restocked by some sort of Walmart bouncer. I couldn't get around her, so I had to go back down the aisle and through the next aisle to get to the opposite end. Lucky me, my brand wasn't in this half of the aisle either. Where could it be? Obscured by the Walmart restocker/bouncer woman. I politely said excuse me. She huffed, gave a lovely disgruntled Walmart employee sigh, and snarled "Just a minute," as she continued to put bottles on the shelf. It was obvious that coming down off the little ladder only to get right back up again was more energy than she wished to expend, so she was going to finish what was left. Now, this wasn't a whole lot, but enought when you're stuck in the shampoo aisle. As most of you know, there's not a lot to look at in this aisle, though, for all it's worth, I did notice that White Rain and Herbal Essence Products have new bottles (don't ask me when they might have been redesigned). All said and done, another 10 minutes down the drain locating and waiting to get shampoo and conditioner.

As for the dog food, I could have kicked myself. Searched and searched for a pet aisle and could find no little hangy signs pointing the way. Given this store's layout, for all I new it could be next to the sewing aisles or maybe shoes. Nope, after another 10 minutes of wandering, I found it right down from the hair care products.

Of course, you may be wondering why I didn't just ask a Walmart employee where things were. I may be wrong, but this seems to be true of all large rambly stores: 1) When you need help, all store employees magically disappear or 2) If you finally find someone, they will be helping another person and stubbornly refuse to even acknowledge your presence until they finish speaking to that person (because of this, I once spent 20 minutes waiting to ask someone where plumber's putty was in Lowe's). There was the lovely bouncer woman, but she disappeared immediately after finishing her restocking. Plus, I think she actually would have ejected me from the store if I asked her a question.

I managed to quit smoking a few months ago, and haven't really craved cigarettes for a while. However, by the time I reached the checkout line it was all I could do to keep from buying a pack. Every line was full, every customer had an overflowing cart, and of course, no self check out lines or express lanes open. I finally settled on a line that only had two overflowing carts ahead of me. This just happened to be the line with the slowest checker-outer person ever. Dead people move faster than him. There weren't even any real magazines to look at, just tabloids (by the way, Jennifer Aniston is dating/having a baby/adopting a baby/being stalked by the new man she's dating/drinking water--the drinking water part I deduced on my own).

Finally, after 2o minutes, I am going to check out. Then slow-mo boy starts talking to me. Crap, now he's even slower. Seeing my dog food, he of course wants to know how many and what kind of dogs we have. This was not the problem, as it is the standard formality for people who have/love dogs (and the odd thing is we're always interested in the responses). The problem was the story he proceeded to relay. I will give you the summary version, but basically his dog always tried to play with baby chickens and killed them. What a lovely story with which to regale a perfect stranger in a checkout line!

So finally, I am home free, almost ready to cross into the parking lot, when lo and behold, someone says Ma'am from the side of the entryway. Crap! They're selling something that I don't want, but I tend to be overly polite. So, 10 more minutes wasted listening to the deal Walmart was running on subscriptions to the local paper. I don't want the local paper. It's a piece of crap. Also, why the hell is Walmart selling papers? I wish I could immediately say no to these people, but instead I end up stuck, trying to politely extricate myself. In my head, I'm really telling them to f*** off.

All said and done, my quick, half hour Walmart trip took me nearly two hours. Why did I do it? Why don't I learn? Pavlov had better luck with the dogs.

Home Alone

I realized this week I could be the perfect "bachelor." Jeremy's been gone all week for work, and I have lapsed into some sort of adolescent lethargy when it comes to taking care of myself. I didn't have to make food for the both of us, so I haven't really made any food at all this week. In fact, the closest thing to cooking I've done is macaroni and cheese. Other than that, I've found myself subsisting off of bologna sandwiches and cottage cheese. I did get hungry for something sweet, so I finished off the bag of marshmallows.

To some, this might sound somewhat pathetic, but it's awesome! hehe. I have reclaimed a ton of time usually "wasted" on domestic things. Between Sunday and today, I left the house once (I was out of beer). I went several days without showering, and nobody was here to complain! I did get a bunch of work done on the dissertation, as well as some other writing done, but I worked the hours I wanted--noon to whenever I quit. One night, I stayed up until 7 a.m. playing the stupidest computer game ever. I rewatched a bunch of my favorite movies (ones that Jeremy gets tired of seeing) and read a couple of books.

So, essentially, what I've learned from this whole experience is that when he's gone, I turn into a stinky, slovenly person who cannot feed or set a bedtime for themselves. Also, nobody tells me to quit working, so suddenly, after 10 or 12 hours, I decide I need some relaxation time. The next thing I know I have like 3 hours to sleep. Hmm. And supposedly marriage benefits the man more!

The Grocery Store

I think I've become an express lane nazi. I find myself counting the # of items people have in the express lane because, more often than not, they have twice as many as they should. In the meantime, I am stuck with my two little items, waiting for them to check out 30. Is it wrong of me to think that they should rot in hell? Okay, that's a bit extreme, but I actually will put items back if I want to go through the express lane and have even 1 over! I just have this overwhelmingly guilty feeling if I try to sneak that one extra item through. This is apparently not the case with most people!

Also, I have discovered another pet peeve. Why can't people push their shopping carts nicely into the stalls in the parking lot when they leave? It really doesn't take that much time to snugly fit your cart into the preceding cart in the stall. Instead, carts end up randomly spilling into the parking lot, and then people complain when the carts meander into other parking places and/or cars.

On the other hand, I often wonder what people think when they are stuck in line watching you put your items onto the belt to check out. I had to laugh at the expression on the person's face behind me the other day. We drink a lot of different beverages, most of which we were out of. So my purchases included: Mt. Dew, Diet Dr. Pepper, Orange Juice, Milk, 1 case of Coors Light (for Jeremy), a 6 pack each of Guiness, Harps, Bass, and Hoegarden (I wasn't sure what beer I was in the mood for), two bottles of red wine, two frozen pizzas, and some fat free bologna. Yes, the liquid diet for me!

Why?

Why is ketchup also spelled catsup? I know there's obviously an etymological (if that's not a word it should be) answer, but I'm too lazy to look it up. I've just always found it curious that two different spellings were needed for a condiment (okay, a very popular condiment, but . . .).

Also, what's the difference between mayonaise and miracle whip? I never actually bothered to check that one either.

Pet Peeves: "media" types and politics

The Rosie O'Donnell/Rush Limbaugh type (yes, it comes in both conservative and liberal forms): This is the I believe one thing and one thing only, and you must believe the exact same thing as I, or I will accuse you of having bad hair/berate someone with Parkinson's disease--publically.

Oh please Rosie/Rush, feed me all my thoughts and opinions. I bow down to your superior knowledge on . . . hmm. . . . on Tom Cruise/oxycotin (that also might be a frightening combination).

Then there's those who cannot attempt anything more than a long, overdramaticized, overpublicized, whiny ass emotional plea (the good old pathos for Michael Moore and Laura Ingle). Yes, a never-ending string of unsupported emotional babble will definitely sway my view. Of course I don't need you to support anything you say with actual facts. All you have to say is that Bush is murdering our youth to support big business/Democrats turning America into Upper Mexico and replacing English with Spanish, and I will believe!

Oh crap! I'm being torn asunder (always wanted to use that word)! I must believe both, for they are absolutely, positively 100% right, and if I don't believe both I will be roasted like a marshmallow on a campfire, charred and feathered. . .

I think I will go make some smores now.

This I Believe

NPR does a weekly series called "This I Believe," where people record a short essay that starts off with "I believe" and then fill in the rest. I decided I would do my own, written rather than oral, version of this.

I believe everyone should drive like me. I have long believed this, despite the fact my husband would argue the opposite (okay, so I did just get a speeding ticket [I will save that story for another blog]).

For one, I do not drive slow in the fast lane. I actually pass the person I intend to, and then get over. This also means that I do not slow down when I am passing someone on the interstate, nor do I hover next to the car I am passing, blocking all people behind me.

I do not slow down on an ACCELERATION ramp, nor do I come to a complete stop at the end of said ramp. I actually continually speed up until I merge with traffic.

I do not drive 10 or more miles under the speed limit, blocking all traffic behind me on a two lane road. Additionally, once I get to a place where there is a passing lane or just a place to pass, I do not suddenly speed up 20+ miles per hour (the other day I actually followed a car on a two lane road going 45 miles per hour. When we got to a passing lane, I ended up doing 90 to get around the car!).

I do not suddenly decide at an intersection that, while in the right turn lane, I want to go left, then cut across 3 lanes and 2 turn lanes of traffic to make the left turn.

I believe that certain traffic "phenomenon" are inevitable, no matter how much they annoy the crap out of me. These include:

1. Anyone who drives a small and/or old truck will drive incredibly slow.
2. Anyone who drives a large truck or suv will attemp to run over anyone who is in their
way.
3. The handicap sticker (I probably don't need to say more). The outcomes for this
encounter are bipolar: the driver is either a maniac or believes they are driving a
vehicle that goes no faster than a lawnmower. Ironically, this also goes for the
sports car
4. If it looks like a piece of crap, it will attempt to break all time-space continuum laws,
i.e. no windows, no worries.
5. The Lexus--the "I'm an overpriced, law abiding car. I will not go above the speed limit,
and you are stuck looking at my little Lexus symbol for mile after mile" (Okay, so I
have an odd aversion to the Lexus. I wonder if multiple would be Lexi?).

I could probably go on and on about the whole driving thing, but I'm getting a little sleepy. Anyway, if anyone has any of their own driving insights/complaints to add, feel free!

I Quit

It has now been six months and counting. I quit cold turkey. By the time I did, I was so ready. In fact, there weren't even any withdrawal symptoms--just relief. Everytime I went to that place, time became all distorted. When I would finally emerge into the daylight, what had seemed like five minutes had actually been hours. Huge chunks of my life gone that I could never recover; new wrinkles, gray hairs--I was aging without even knowing where the time went. My marriage suffered as my husband sat at home, waiting and waiting for me to return. I thought it was going to be the easy way out, so convenient and wonderful. Instead, it became a surrealistic nightmare: children screaming everywhere, dead fish floating in soupy green tanks, rows and rows of colored liquids and powders, but never the one I was looking for. Toward the end, I was always in a hurry, but no matter how fast I tried to get my fix and go, I was always caught right before the door, stuck, seeing the way out with no hope of actually exiting. In November, I finally realized I had had enough and it just wasn't worth the pain anymore. So I walked away from Super Wal-Mart forever.

The inagurating noninsightful insight

I really am wealthy. Everyday I get at least one email from some European or African lawyer type saying I have inherited a lot of money. Some even inform me of my nobility. Consequently, if everyone would please refer to me as "your royal highness," I promise to equally dole out my monopoly money (but, I am keeping all the railroads and the utilities--those are the real money makers!). I am positive that I am the only one receiving these emails, so, if you run into me, please bow down. If I have my sword with me, I might knight you (or make you a dame, whichever it's supposed to be). Please make sure you remember my stature when approaching me, for it would be just awful if I had to make you a peon. For those of you who have achieved the same status as I (which I know none of you possibly could have--I mean, really, there are only so many multimillion dollar princess inheritors in the world), we really need to form an alliance. This alliance, from hence forth, shall be known as Wonderful Highness Always Terrific (or WHAT), and will worship Paris Hilton.