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I think I need to live in a state where it's not considered barbaric to eat squirrel. I know, that sounds horrible, but I have absolutely had it with this one particularly aggressive squirrel. Not only is it always trooping around on my roof, sounding like some kind of talon clacking demon, it has now gotten to harassing my dog. I use the term dog lightly, as she's a four pound Yorkie that looks like a fury toy or a misplaced slipper. The other day my dog was on the back porch freaking out--which consisted of scratching the back door and running in circles and scratching the back door again. The moment I opened the door I heard it, this hissing and clicking sound.
I stepped outside, tilted my head to look at my house. There, latched onto my stucco, bobbing up and down, trying to make itself appear larger than it actually was, was that damn roof stomping squirrel. I yelled at it. It wan't intimidated by me, and I weigh considerably more than my dog. It hissed and clicked at me, gave me the stare down, and while I looked for something on the porch small enough to chuck at it, the thing took off. Smart and mean.
Look, I get that my dog should be able to defend herself, but she can't. She's a turd of a dog, and now this thing is hissing at me. Uh,no. Not on my porch. Does anyone have a good recipe for squirrel stew?
My ten year old son had a friend sleepover last night. Conversation at breakfast: Could you use a fork shooting toaster to fend off zombies? Conclusion: The springs of a toaster could be modified to do some serious zombie damage.
Go forth and modify.
This friend is in a job she can't stand. She only does it because it involves minimal contact with people and thus less chance of exposing what she sees as her phenomenal bad breath on people. This friend, who I'll have to say is one of the nicest people you'd ever meet, which you might know if she gathered enough courage to speak with you, decides to play the lottery. Calling forth her ancestral mojo she decides on using numbers that relate to relatives long gone.
Feeling positive about her number choices, even a bit hopeful, my friend, now your friend too, goes into the local min-mart where she is greeted by the man behind the counter. The man behind the counter is boisterous and kind and a bit intimidating for this woman who doesn't want to converse with anyone. Boisterous counter man tells our friend that she's picked a good day to play this lottery, because the jackpot is up to $550,000. The man continues to speak with my friend, who is now getting nervous. She doesn't want to offend him. She responds minimally, backing up now and again, turning her head, etc. I've seen her do this, and yes it's heartbreaking. He finally, perhaps sensing her discomfort, asks her for her numbers. Our friend, instead of saying her numbers, which would involve repetition and perhaps raising her voice and inflicting what she's sure is a potent smell on this innocent and boisterous man, waves at the machine with one hand, covers her face with the other, and says, "Let the machine pick."
Our friend tosses her fate to the computer gods instead of to her ancestors. Bad move. Bad mojo. And you know what's coming. None of the computer numbers comes up, and yes, every one of her should've been played ancestral numbers are chosen. This woman, who is older and has worked hard her entire life, has lost. She's lost her voice. She's lost her way. She's at this very moment in her cold little car driving to a job she hates at 20 cents a mile, because she was afraid to speak. The lesson children: Find your voice. Overcome your fears. Be bold.
That's what she told me this morning, and now, I'm telling you.
Okay, so I didn't write today, but I did get a real laugh out of this link. I pilfered it from a friend on FB. Too funny!
www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/80705666/
I'm trying to write the end of my novel. I've got it all plotted out, so why aren't the words coming? Something is gumming up the works. I'm not sure what it is this kind of off feeling that keeps driving me to do other things, anything but write. Well, at least some of you are out there getting stuff accomplished. Give it up for Dave and Saint Darwin's Spirituals appearing in Triangulation: Dark Glass Anthology!
Here's a link to his short story.www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/tria
My friend, Debbie Lynn Smith, who I met at Stonecoast, and who has entertained me with some pretty dark stories, has released an audio play. If you're looking for something fun and dark, and you know one doesn't exclude the other, then you might want to listen to it. Here's the link:
http://www.bigfinish.com/8-Dark-Sha
If you want a little taste of what it's about:
"I discovered your mind in the darkness and I knew we could help each other."
After being shot outside Maggie Evan's door, Willie Loomis is incarcerated at the Windcliff Institute. Fear and pain cloud his memory, until a golden angel appears and takes him on a journey through past exploits with his friend, Jason. With Jason now gone, Willie must face the evils of Collinwood alone, as he attempts to discover the truth about his old master, Barnabas Collins.
Enjoy!
Last weekend, I had a full house. All seven kids were home. But now I know we're heading into the school year, because the numbers are thinning. My oldest went back to the city on Monday. She's doing rotations in med school, and is now in her OBGYN phase. She is rightfully nervous, but I gave her some pointers. ; )
My fourth oldest started college on Tuesday. I drove her to Duquesne, and was amazed that they had student volunteers to help every freshman family bring in their stuff. The volunteers were dressed in gold and blue t-shirts. We pulled into an assigned parking place. They gave us a number, and we waited for the number to be called. When our number was called a group of happy, too happy considering the line of cars and people they still had to help, volunteer sophomores, juniors and seniors showed up. They had a canvas bin with coaster wheels. They put all our little stuff in it, and the heavy stuff--fridge, microwave, etc... was taken by some boys on golf carts. My daughter and I walked unladened to her dorm room, and her stuff and the happy movers showed up shortly after. It was fantastic, but I felt so bad for these kids at ten at night when they were still hauling things around the school and still had a long line of cars arriving. I left via the stairs, and since my daughter was on the sixth floor, I ran into volunteer after volunteer carrying fridges and microwaves and boxes up. The elevators were packed and slow, so they had started taking the stairs hours ago. These people were covered in sweat, and yes, still cheerful! Excuse me, they'd call as they struggled up the sixth flight of stairs with their burdens. Oh, for that kind of energy. You know, assuming it wasn't drug induced.
It was really hard to leave my fourth oldest. I thought it was supposed to get easier, but it actually gets harder.
That's two down. : (
My third oldest, a girl, heads to Penn State next week. Today we will shop and get sushi and perhaps some chocolate.
My second oldest is going on a walk-about that same week. He has a job in Hawaii, but he's taking a few weeks to backpack before it starts. Oh, that sounds like fun!
That will leave three kids, five, six, seven in birth order, and they go back to school on Sept 8th. I'll have to depend on Fancy Pants for companionship.
The good news is I will soon be more productive.
If you ever have the urge to tell a personal anecdote that you believe is so funny, so hysterical that anyone hearing it will automatically over look the fact that it is littered with TMI...Stop. Take a deep breath. I can assure you that the person listening to your story will not be able to get past picturing you on the toilet, imagining you with your foot behind your head, or seeing you and your spouse wearing spiked collars. They will not hear the funny. They will be replaying that one divergent image of you over and over in their head for the rest of their lives.
I'm reminding you of this, because I love you. And because I had a really funny anecdote to tell you, but I decided against it. : )
www.nytimes.com/2009/08/15/health/15pati
A really interesting article on celiac disease and ways to help with the cost of gluten free groceries.
I caught my daughter putting sugar on her Frosted Flakes this morning--yes you read that right, and I had to give her the bad news.
www.nytimes.com/reuters/2009/08/13/busin
Now, she wants to stockpile.
I asked my doctor where the bone came from that they put in place of my disc, and he told me, "reckless motorcycle drivers."
That explains my desire to buy a Ninja 250R.
I've been meaning to introduce everyone to the somewhat new addition to my family. Her name is Lady Fancy Pants. Fancy Pants for short or Fancy for even shorter. She is a wonderful little girl, but she has a problem with birds. It turns out that my dog is less aggressive than a bird we have living in our backyard. The kids and I are on guard duty each time Fancy goes out. It was recently suggested we all get t-shirts with the motto, "Keep your bird away from my Fancy Pants." The boys refused to wear it. Silly boys.
I think some of the comments that were made on this article were pretty interesting too.
www.nytimes.com/2009/05/12/technology/in
I think Texas Chainsaw Massacre might be a bit too obvious, but I'm looking for something like that--a movie that has reached cult status.
www.facebook.com/groups/edit.php
Chinese food has felt like a dubious choice to me ever since I started going to my local Chinese restaurant. Still, I felt as if I might be being a bit too judgmental of the establishment and the food tasted good and had never made me sick, so I dismissed the little things that might have made me stop going there .
Did it matter that the front of their restaurant sold Chinese trinkets, jade Buddha statues, calendars with rats and horses and monkeys on them, and little beads whose significance I can only guess at? Not to me. I bought a Buddha. I mean, they were just trying to supplement a business that had never had more than two tables full in the whole time I had been going there. I’m not sure why it didn’t have more patrons. The food was okay to pretty good.
Perhaps people were freaked out by the fact that it was always changing its name, and at one time had offered sushi, and then suddenly didn’t. People are finicky. Not me.
Did it matter that they overcharged my daughter and her friend for a drink one day when they went for lunch, impelling my daughter and said friend—who didn’t think they’d be able to explain it to their waitress-- to leave the money they had, minus the extra charge, and sprint out the door? Hmm, not really. They could’ve tried to explain it. Besides, they got away.
Did it matter that someone from the restaurant chased my daughter and her friend down the street after this incident? No. They needed the exercise. Nothings better for asthmatic girls than a sprint home. Besides, the restaurant cashier gave me a free calendar once.
It didn’t even matter to me that the health department closed them down temporarily and they had to open up again under another different name. The people running it seemed nice enough. And they had fast service—no matter how big the order they always had it ready in ten minutes.
Somehow the fact that I had never been made sick or had been seriously inconvenienced by the restaurant gave me a feeling of solidarity with them.
The other night I picked up my Chinese food and tucked in.
It smelled funny. I sniffed at it closely, like a dog with a turd, uncertain if it could really taste as bad as it smelled. I tasted it. It tasted kind of odd, like it had been boiled in not so clean water. Yes, you know where I’m going with this. I put ketchup on it.
I don’t feel so good.
What’s that saying? If it looks like a rancid Peking duck….
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Girl making my coffee: Ew, this water smells really funny.
Cashier girl: Yeah, I know that machine is a mess in there.
Coffee maker: It smells like (inaudible).
Cashier girl: I was going to get some guy to clean it, but he said it would take four hours.
Me: Can I cancel that order?
I know this makes me seem like a Scrooge, and I actually love Christmas and Christmas music, but I have to say that there are some Christmas songs that I would be happy never to hear again. In fact, I can name at least ten.
Top Ten Christmas Songs That I Can't Stand
10. The Little Drummer Boy--I know this is going to bother a lot of you, because this song has a great message, but the tempo makes me want to shoot myself in the head. Pa rum pum pum pum.
9. Dominic the Italian Christmas Donkey--do I really have to explain this choice? Hee-haw, hee-haw.
8. Barking Jingle Bells--I'm already straining not to yell at my neighbors barking like mad dogs, why would I want to have this coming out of my radio? It's not that I'm against dogs, but this song makes me feel the same way I feel when I see art done by elephants--I really don't get it.
7. Last Christmas (I gave you my heart) and the very next day I tore it out and put it on a spit, now leave me the F alone. Yeah, I really don't like this song. Oh, Wham, you had such promise. ; )
6. Santa Baby by Madonna. I can tolerate this song from anyone else, but her version makes me want to do a strip tease with cones on my boobs.
5. Oh Christmas Tree. I don't actually dislike this song, but I only know the words "Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree, how blah-blah-blah your branches. After those lyrics I'm just humming. I like a Christmas song I can actually sing with.
4. Christmas Shoes--do we really need a song that depresses the hell out of us at Christmas time? I mean, I've already got SAD, and now you want me to cry over some imaginary kid who needs shoes for his mom. I get enough of those emails.
3. I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas--Ah, yes, the old spoiled kid asking for impossible things song. That's the ol' Christmas spirit. And, really, you're not getting anything to rhyme with hippopotamus so stop trying.
2. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. Uh, my grandmother's dead. I miss her. This song is not fun for me. The only time I ever enjoyed this song was when my kids sung it to my mother-in-law. Her startled face was priceless. Ah, good times.
1. Happy Christmas (War is Over) by John Lennon and Yoko Ono. It's not John. It's his wife. I'd rather listen to the barking dogs.
I went to the voting booth this morning and was happy to see a line of people around the building. I vote in every election, big and small, so I can say this is unusual. I've never seen a line like that. Hooray for us!
Still, if my voting place is any sign, there might be a problem with this kind of turnout. Our problems weren't bad. It was just too many cars parked on really narrow roads, roads with no sidewalks. People ended up parking on lawns. And then, someone brought in the bus. I watched it roll in and thought, "Uh, there's no way." I was right.
I sat in my car watching as they tried over and over again to get this bus in a position where it could turn a corner without hitting a car. It wasn't happening. The bus got stuck at an odd angle. Cars coming in from the main road couldn't go forward or back. There were just too many cars to turn and a bus as a roadblock. Finally, people left line and started to move their vehicles. Not quick enough. The people who live around there, started coming out of their houses and having angry conversations with their neighbors. I can't blame them. Cars were on their lawns and the road was blocked by a bus. When I left they were talking about calling the police.
The good news is that the line was moving really fast, so it wasn't that the voters weren't being handled. It was the vehicles.
