Lost In The Woods!!!!!

......... and yeah, it pretty much sucks as much as you'd think it would. Hey, I do this stuff so you guys don't have to!

I was going to take my Mom out to lunch yesterday, but TIB and TIB's hubby took her up to the lake for the day. So, I decided to go for a walk instead. I decided on a state forest I had never been to before, grabbed my map, and off I went (insert ominous music here).

I drove out in the boonies for several miles, and the road went from paved, to oiled gravel, to dirt. I finally reached the turnoff for the forest and had to drive another mile down a dirt access road to get to the turn-around where the trails started.

It was not a good sign that I was sharing the turn-around with a rotting deer carcass, a "no target shooting in this area" sign that had the obligatory bullet holes in it, and not one other car. Hey! More room for me! 500 acres all to myself!

My guide book said the trails were marked, but ...... yeah ........ not so much. Not one trail marker. But the trail I elected to take was actually an old logging road, so it was nice and wide. Hard to miss. Now let me say, I started off down this trail and got a creepy vibe. A Pet Cemetery kind of vibe. Like the banjo-playing kid from Deliverance was going to pop out around the next corner. But it was a beautiful day, and I elected to keep walking. I walked and walked and walked, and then started back. Except ...... after a while I was passing stuff I was sure I had not passed before. Like a creepy, tarpaulin-covered lean-to. (insert Deliverance banjo music here.) Oops! So I started backtracking. And then I got pissed off.

Let me say this: I have been doing weekend walks for over ten years, oftentimes in large, isolated areas, and this is the first time I've ever gotten lost. And it really sucks, and I was mad at myself. Not too scared, because hey, this place was only 500 acres. There is a limit to how lost you can get yourself in 500 acres. And the trail I had been on originally had ended at a paved road, so I knew that if worse came to worst, I could just walk back until I got to the road and then take the road back to my car. And yes, I do carry a cell phone, which was actually picking up a signal out there (you bet I checked).

I started marking the trails which I knew were the wrong ones, and pretty soon, I was back on the access road and heading for my car. Which I was never so glad to see in my life. It turns out that on the way back, I had gone wrong at a trail intersection not more than 100 yards from my car.

So! That was my big idiotic adventure yesterday. Will I be going back there? Not on your life. Or at least, not until they mark the damn trails. And probably not then. Because that place? Was creepy.

Here On The African Plains

As soon as it got light out this morning, Momma and Baby starting tearing around the apartment. (Oh yes! The Baby, she is running now! Also climbing up on furniture and eee-eee-EEE-ing when she can't figure out how to get back down.) And for one seven-pound cat and one tiny kitten, they sure can make a lot of noise. It sounded like a herd of elephants running back and forth.

Now, my apartment is small. Basically, if you are running around in it, as soon as you get up a good head of steam, you have to come to a screeching halt, or you're going to run into something. Now Momma is pretty good at that. Baby? Not so much. While her body is finally growing to match her ginormous head, and her tail is finally growing enough to give her some rudder control, she is still kind of unsteady on her feet.

So this morning, I am lying in bed, and I am hearing this: runrunrunrunrun(thud). runrunrunrunrun(thud). runrunrunrunrun(thud). And I laid there and giggled.

Garden Stuff - Feel Free To Skip This One

The peony has shot up to almost a foot tall in the last week. And it has buds! I just put this peony in last year, and everybody was like, "oh, peonies are hard, if you plant them too deep they'll never bloom, and if you plant them too shallow they'll croak." Hah! I have peony buds!

The bleeding heart that I separated is huge, as usual. I swear, I divided out at least half of that thing, and it's still almost as big as it was last year. I gave some to my sister Ditzy, and the rest I planted along the sides of the yard - now I've got three bleeding hearts instead of one. And I've got lilies of the valley all over the place - they keep spreading, and spreading, and spreading.

The tiger lilies that I dug up from the side yard at my sister Alabama's summer place are coming up. It's a good thing I got 'em last summer, seeing as how she sold the place this spring. She also gave me a "bubblegum lily" that she had at her place, and that's coming up as well.

The white lilac is starting to bloom, but it seems to be a couple of weeks behind everybody else's lilacs. I can't remember if it was late last year as well. That, my friends, is why I'm writing all this stuff down.

The rose-of-sharons are starting to green up, as are the hydrangeas. I sulfated the hydrangeas a few weeks ago; last year they were starting to go from blue to pink, and I'd like to keep them blue if possible. The cinnamon fern is starting to uncurl its way up; it's about 8" tall now. The eastern fern, which I thought was dead, was actually just struggling to send up new growth through all of last year's fronds. When I cut all the old stuff back, there was quite a bit coming up underneath. Note to self: Cut that thing way back next fall. The honeysuckle is back with a vengeance; one of these days I'm afraid it's going to topple the garden arch right over. The turks-cap lilies are coming up (yay! they were an experiment), and the asiatic lily I divided a couple of weeks ago is huge again. The phlox that I dug up down by the creek (shhh!) is doing good, as is my store-bought phlox. The poppy and daylilies are doing good. The azaleas don't look so hot, but they do have buds. Maybe I'll move them this fall. The catnip's back. The hosta and sedum are looking good. You know, actually, I DO NOT LIKE either hosta or sedum, but my Mom gave them to me, and so I let them live. Big of me. The teeny rose bush that she gave me is leafing out as well. Every year I think that poor thing is gonna croak, and every year it surprises me by going nuts at the tail end of the summer. The jacob's ladder has mysteriously disappeared.

On a sucky note, someone stole my copper flamingo out of the garden! I had a three-foot-tall flamingo that was made out of copper tubing (tacky much?), and someone stole it this past week! I'm sure it was probably the neighborhood kids (darn whippersnappers!).

First viewing of a hummingbird at the feeder was Wednesday night. First goldfinches were last night. The goldfinches are late this year.

If you see a copper-tube flamingo laying around anywhere, it's mine.

Too Stunned To Swear

Or, "BEWARE THE RECYCLABLES!"

Warning to squeamish people: Squeams ahead.

Last night, I was being Miss Good Do-Bee, washing out the recyclable cans before I took them down to the bin, when I reached the dishcloth into a Progresso soup can (Yes, Progresso, I BLAME YOU! It's all your fault!) and cut the holy living shit out of my hand. The big knuckle on my right hand, to be specific.

And I just kind of looked down at it, and it had not yet started to bleed, but I could tell that the cut was pretty deep, and I swear, the first thing I thought of was that old Julia Child skit on SNL. You know, the one where one of the guys (I think it was Dan Akroyd) was playing Julia Child, and she was, like, de-boning a turkey or something, and she cut the shit out of herself? And Julia/Dan's voice ran through my head last night as I looked down at the cut - "Ohhhhh, you've gone and done it this time! You've cut the dickens out of yourself!"

And the cut still wasn't bleeding much, and I was thinking, "I reaallllly don't want to have to go to the emergency room." Because if I had ended up at the emergency room last night, I would quite possibly still be there. So I decided to try and see how deep the cut was, and to see if any tendons or bones or anything were visible, so I kind of ..... spread the cut apart a little.

And the blood, it was spectacular. Rivers of blood flowing out of my knuckle and into the dishwater. And all I could think was, "well, if I have to go get stitches, I won't be able to get this hand wet for a while, so I guess I better finish up washing these cans." Because I am an idiot. So I'm trying to finish the last few cans, and the blood it is flowing all through the water, and it looked like Shark Week on TBS in my kitchen sink.

Cans washed (with BLOOD!), I grabbed a kitchen towel, wrapped it around my hand, and headed for the bathroom for some bandages. And here is one of the few things that suck about living alone: It is hard as hell to open up a box of bandages when one of your hands is bleeding like a stuck pig. Seriously, I had to press the towel-wrapped knuckle up against my flippin' CHIN to keep applying pressure and bring the box of bandages up with my other hand in order to use both hands to get the box open. Suck!

Finally, bandages were opened, adhesive tape was found (because adhesive bandages WILL NOT STICK to me. Seriously. It's like my lame superpower or something: No bandage will adhere to my skin. I have to take adhesive tape and, like, wrap it around and around the bandage and any nearby skin to have any hope of the bandage staying on for more than five minutes or so before it gives up and falls off. Duct tape actually works really well, but it looks a little white-trashy for my tastes.

ANYHOW, I washed off more blood, and took another look at the cut, and while it was still bleeding like holy hell and probably could have used a couple of stitches, I threw some gauze on it and covered it with a bandage and covered the bandage and my hand with adhesive tape and called it a day. And this morning, while that knuckle is really sore, the cut is not gaping open and apparently will heal, so I guess I'll live. The end.

And the moral of the story? Throw those fucking Progresso soup cans in the garbage. Because they will gut you like a fish. Oh, and as a side note? Do not ever, ever, let your pets eat directly out of cans. I had read that somewhere once before, and now I totally understand.

You Sneeze Like a Girl

You know how some women, when they sneeze, kind of like suppress the sneeze, so instead of coming out "achoo!", it's more like, "squeak!"

That drives me crazy.

On the other end of the spectrum are the histrionic sneezers, who instead of going "achoo!", go, like, "ah-ah-ah-ah-AH-CHHHOOOOOOOO-oo-oo-*snort**sniffle**coughcoughcough*-loudly-blow-nose-then-sigh."

Give me a break. Unless you are suffering from swine flu, you do not need to sneeze like that. And if you are suffering from swine flu, go home and get the fuck away from me.

Hack-Em-Up-Ed, one of my coworkers, sneezes like a girl. Which is mystifying to me, because he has absolutely no compunction whatsoever about coughing up his lungs, LOUDLY, on a regular basis. But every time he sneezes, it's that little "squeak!" And then I want to punch him. Oh, and also, every time I walk behind him, I want to grab a pair of scissors and cut off his ponytail. (Seriously, dude? You're in your thirties. You have a wife and two kids. It's time to lose the freaking ponytail.)

Now, some would say I'm being judgmental. Lately, it seems, that word is all over the internet. "He's so judgmental." "Don't be so judgmental."

You know what? Damn right, I'm judgmental. I judge people all the time, every single day. And frankly, I don't know what's wrong with that. How are we to form our own moral compasses without judging the actions of others? Tell me, what's wrong with being judgmental?! Oh, and plus, it's fun!

Phew. That's out. I feel better now. And judgmental.

And seriously? I really feel like that word needs another "e". It should totally be spelled "judgemental". Shouldn't it? Doesn't it look better that way? You be the judge.

D.A.L.

I was talking to my sister Texas last night, and she was talking about a golf tournament she was in, and she said, "Well, at least we didn't come in D.A.L."

And I said, "What's D.A.L.?"

And she said, "Dead Ass Last!"

Hahahahahaha! You learn something new every day.

In other initial-related news, I was switching through the radio stations on my way to work this morning, and the "oldies" station was playing an ELO song. ELO songs are now "oldies"? Really? Sigh.

Poor Jesus House

-
I wrote earlier about the Jesus House. It turns out that the guy who decorated it was a renter and did not own the house.

The City has ordered that the Jesus House and the house next to it have to come down. Supposedly, the house next door is supposed to come down right away, and the owner of the Jesus House has up to a month to have it demolished. I say "supposedly" because in that part of town, the (usually out-of-town) landlords of burned-up houses tend to just stop paying their property taxes and answering notices from the City, so that the City has to take them to court and the whole thing drags on for years and years until the City finally takes ownership of the buildings and tears them down. Although things might go a little quicker with the blue house on the right, because it is so badly structurally damaged that the entire building is actually leaning, the Jesus House could be standing for quite a while longer.

Last week I swung by the neighborhood to get a couple of pictures.

Poor Jesus House. I'll miss you.

This Is What Happens When You Die ....

-
......... and nobody gives a shit.

Your neighbors leave food and water on your gross, dirt-encrusted windowsill for your cat, because nobody will come and pick her up for over a week:



Your son, the landlord, can't be bothered to clean your place out. So he sends over a maintenance guy to do it. The maintenance guy is pissed off/skeeved out over having to clean out a dead guy's apartment, so he takes your beat-up, crud-encrusted furniture and throws it out into the parking lot, where it will sit for over a week until yet another maintenance man shows up with a pickup to haul it to the dump:



Nobody wants any of your gross stuff, so extra-large trash bags are brought in to handle the situation:

Some of the stuff is so gross that the maintenance guy doesn't really want to touch it, so it gets left on the closet floor:

Your rented medical equipment waits to be picked up:

Hmmm .... what is that mysterious light? I was not using the flash on my camera for that picture. Also, can you believe all those oxygen canisters?! It's a wonder the place didn't blow sky high, what with your chain smoking.

So, that's what happens when you die and nobody cares. They pay somebody to clean out your apartment, and all your stuff goes to the landfill. And then they pay somebody to come in and paint your place and replace the carpeting, because your son, the landlord, wants to get it rented out again as soon as possible.

The end.

Suck It, Dooce

Has anyone besides me noticed that dooce, who was always a sporadic poster at best, is all of a sudden posting up a storm, now that she's got a book to sell?

And she's on TV shows! And doing radio interviews! And she's posting all of the relevant info on her blog, lest her readers miss one moment of her bloggy goodness!

Last night I dreamt that I went to the store to buy groceries, and dooce was my cashier.

STAY OUT OF MY DREAMS, DOOCE. NOW YOU'VE GONE TOO FAR.

Duh-Rama!

I had dinner with my sister Alabama last week. She was in town because she sold her summer place up at the lake, and needed to clean the campers out.

And I'll bet my sister TIB and her family are fuh-reaking out over the sale, because they have been using Alabama's place (for free, natch) during the summer for the last several years.

So the other night, my niece AM (TIB's daughter) called my sister Texas to see if she and her husband could buy HER summer place up at the lake! It's like musical chairs, except with summer places!

And on top of all this, I heard that the marina property on which the family cottage is located is up for sale.

And everybody's all, like, "Ohh, noes!" And I'm all, like, "heh, heh, heh". Because after the bullshit that went on last Labor Day weekend, when TIB threw a full on hissy-fit rage about things I DID NOT DO and then demanded that I apologize to HER, I made my decision to pull away from the dysfunctional soap opera that is my family and just watch from a distance.

Best decision I've ever made.

Plus? Alabama sold her place at the lake to buy a summer place on a lake in Georgia. I've never been to Georgia. I'll bet it's nice.


Updated to Add: My sister Texas came up with a fair price for her camper. My niece offered her 30% less. What nerve! Obviously, the deal is off.

This Shit Will Break Your Heart

So, last night I was at the animal shelter to pick up the de-worming meds for the kittays. And while I was there, waiting for the meds, a woman came in with three little girls and a shih-tzu on a leash. The woman went up to the counter and said that she had called earlier about dropping off a dog. And the worker gave her a form to fill out. I figured that the dog was a stray that the family had found.

Now, this shih-tzu was not a puppy, but it was not an old dog either. Maybe middle-aged. And it was all perky and bright-eyed and wagging its tail. Friendly little thing.

But then I noticed that the dog was wearing a collar. And there were tags on the collar. And I thought, why didn't the family just call the phone number on the tags and contact the owner? Why are they bringing it to the shelter?

By this time, Mom had the form filled out, so they handed the leash over to a shelter worker and off they went - Mom and the three little girls, back out into the sunny day.

And one shelter worker said to another: "Do you even believe this shit?"

And I said, "Wait a minute. Um...... was that their dog?" And the shelter worker said, "Yep."

Mom and her three little girls had just dropped the family dog off at the animal shelter and left without a backward glance. Without a hug or a tearful goodbye. Nothing - just out the door they went.

Jeezus Christ.

Breaking News!

1. The Jesus House has to come down. This makes me sad. I hope the guy who lived there finds a new house to pretty up with scripture.

2. The cats have been successfully wormed! I feel so much better! (And shortly, so will they!) When I stopped at the shelter last night, the vet tech gave me liquid meds for roundworms, which was fine, but then she gave me PILLS for tapeworms. Now, I can pill an adult cat with no problem whatsoever. I dosed Rocky with various meds for years and years, and I can pill a cat like a pro. But a three-week-old kitten? I asked the vet tech if the procedure was the same with kittens as it was with cats, and she assured me that it was. Then I asked if the kitten would actually be able to SWALLOW a pill, seeing as how it had never eaten anything solid in its entire life, and she assured me that the kitten would.

SO! I could not wait to get home and start the de-worming procedure. I did the kitten first, and she swallowed the pill like a champ (after a brief struggle). I got almost all of the liquid into her, too, until she shook her head and sprayed bright pink meds all over my shirt. Sigh. Momma's turn was next, and she did just fine. Maybe I should start a professional cat-pilling business!

They will get another dose two weeks from now, and possibly again two weeks after that, and hopefully at some point in time, I will stop shuddering at the very thought of worms. Because worms are GROSS. (shiver.)

3. The apartment building in which I live is up for sale again. When Joe, my landlord, bought it a few years ago, he paid sixty grand for it. Which is a fair price, because around here, in the apartment building market, you can plan on paying 15 grand per one-bedroom unit. The building I live in has four one-bedroom units x 15 grand = $60,000.00. And prices have not gone up much, if at all, in the last few years. And Joe has performed absolutely no upkeep on the building since he bought it.

So what is Joe asking for the building now? ONE HUNDRED GRAND. Hahahahahahahaa!!!! Good luck with that, Joe.

4. The blond girl got booted off American Idol, but that skeezy stoner with the disgusting hair gets to stay? I don't get it.

5. I took this pic up at State Park a few weeks ago:

Coming soon: Another "This shit will break your heart" story, courtesy of the local shelter.

And Then She Ate Her Baby

Yum! Delicious kitten!

'

Momma likes to wrestle with the kitten, who is now three and a half weeks old. Momma can get pretty rough, but I haven't seen any blood yet and Baby doesn't seem to mind, so I guess it's ok.

What's NOT ok is that Momma came from the shelter with an added special feature, i.e., worms. Guh-rosss! It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. I've got to go to the shelter after work and pick up worm meds for the both of them. Gross! (shiver.)

'

I've been busy baby-proofing the apartment, now that Baby is out and about. I put up a window screen across the doorway to the kitchen so she can't get in there, and I'm trying to block off any other spaces where she might get in a jam. Both cats love to scratch the carpeting, so I got a cat scratch post, but so far the carpeting is the far-preferred option. Sigh.

'

Momma is eating like there's no tomorrow, but I think the worms might be involved in that. Hopefully once I get her de-wormed, she'll no longer be eating FOUR CANS of cat food a day. Truly, it's amazing. She can polish off an entire (3 oz.) can in about sixty seconds. Baby licked some food off my finger the other night, but that's about the end of her interest in solid food so far.

'

So, other than the worm situation (gross) (shiver), all is well in foster land.

"Bye, Momma! See you later!"

'

They grow up so fast. (heh)

Jesus House

Last Friday, the Jesus House caught on fire, and it may have to be demolished. The Jesus House is a house in one of the worst parts of town. Its owner is evidently a very religious man, and he covered the front porch and side of the house in scripture. He also decorated with garlands, fake flowers, and tinsel. Last spring I took a bunch of photos of the house and made them into a collage.

Here's the side porch:



Here's the front porch:



He even painted the bricks in the sidewalk along the side of the building:




Needless to say, I love this house. And I feel so bad for the owner. I hope he had homeowner's insurance so he can afford to buy another house. And I hope he makes it as beautiful and original as this one was.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

Yesterday, a maintenance guy came over to start hoeing out Jabba's apartment. We got to talking, and I asked him what happened to Jabba's cat. It turns out that Jabba's cat has quite a back story.

Originally, Jabba's cat belonged to a guy the next town over who lived in the same apartment building as Jabba. This guy, who was in his early twenties if memory serves, was beaten to death in what was evidently a drug deal gone bad. Then the perpetrator set his body on fire to try and cover up the crime. I remember when this happened, a couple of years ago. I guess it was the "setting the body on fire" part that made it memorable.

Anyhow, after that guy met his untimely demise, Jabba took the cat. Then he moved into the apartment building I live in. Then, a year later, he dropped dead, and the landlord, Jabba's son, left the cat in the apartment by itself for a week. Nice guy.

I asked where the cat was now, and the maintenance guy said he didn't know; he just knew that Joe (the landlord) had taken the cat.

I sure hope it finds a good home this time.

Finally

Jabba the Hutt died last Wednesday. Last night, over a week later, someone finally came by and got his cat.

That's right. The landlord, Jabba's son, who knew he had a pet cat, left it all by itself for over a week. Nice guy.

Because it was an indoor/outdoor cat, Jabba sometimes left his bathroom window open so the cat could go in and out. Luckily, the window was open when Jabba keeled over, so that I and the guys downstairs could leave food and water for the cat on the windowsill. I hate to think what would have happened otherwise.

I just don't understand some people. Although, the past week was probably like a vacation for that poor cat - no more LOUD NOISE and chain-smoking owner.

I wonder what will happen to her now.

Momma and Baby Update

Momma and Baby are doing fine. Momma is very small; she's hardly more than a kitten herself. She almost never meows, which surprises me, since Rocky was a meow-er and that's what I was used to, but she does purr on occasion. I don't know how much she had been around people before this, because she's very shy, and when you pick her up, she's all stiff and angle-y, like she doesn't know how to be held. Or maybe she just doesn't want to be held. She doesn't really seem to "get" cat toys, although she does like the catnip pillow. Although she took to the litterbox right away, she flung litter around very enthusiastically at first, as if she had never used one before. Hey, that's ok; that's what vacuum cleaners are for.

'

Momma is interested in the fish tank, and every day when I come home from work I expect to find it on the floor, but so far she has limited herself to watching the fish and sometimes sitting on the coffee table and batting at the tank with her paws. Overall, she is being amazingly good; no overturned houseplants or anything! Momma actually spends about 95% of her time under the couch with Baby, and jeezus, it's gotta be getting boring under there by now. I'd slip her a video game if I thought she'd play it. (If, that is, I had any video games, which I do not, because I am ancient. I would, however, happily buy her a video game, although I imagine that her lack of opposable thumbs might be a problem in that regard.)

'

On Sunday, while I was raking leaves, I happened to look up to my apartment, and Momma was sitting in a windowsill watching me. So I waved to her and called out, "Hey, Momma!", and then looked around to see if any of the neighbors saw me acting like an idiot.

'

Baby is now two and a half weeks old. Her ears have unfolded almost all the way, and while she still mostly crawls instead of walks, she is definitely getting stronger. She can hold her head up and track Momma with her eyes. I had the two of them out on the living room carpet last night, and Baby was crawling all over Momma and batting at Momma's head with her tiny little paws. I defy you to watch that and not go, "Awwwwww!" So, so cute. Instead of meowing, she goes "eeeee eeee EEEEEE", which for some reason cracks me up.

'

So! That's the Momma and Baby update. Oh, and the fish are doing fine, too. Poor fish. I'm afraid I've been giving them short shrift since the cats came to visit. Although I have been doing a fifty-percent water change EVERY SINGLE WEEK since tetrafish.com says I have to. Really? Every single week? But! I did buy a gravel vacuum for, like, seven bucks, and it is a miraculous little tool and also fun to use! Sigh. I guess my life is pretty boring when cleaning the fish tank is exciting.

'

In other news, according to my calendar, today is Administrative Professionals' Day. (And I think I may have put that apostrophe in the wrong place, which is either funny or sad, because I'm a secretary.) So if you work with a secretary or administrative assistant, take her out to lunch for Pete's sake, cause God knows she's earned it.

When a Window of Opportunity Opens .....

.... slam it shut, quick!

My town usually only does curbside leaf pick-up in the fall. However, last fall, it snowed (!) on a lot of the curb-side leaf piles before the town could pick them up, so the town announced that they would do another pick-up this spring. Even though I raked (and raked, and raked) last fall, a lot of leaves had accumulated along the back fence, so I decided yesterday to rake them up and get them to the curb.

The backyard had an amazing amount of blown-down branches in it, so I started hauling them to the curb first. It's at least a hundred feet from the backyard to the curb. The few few, even the first few dozen, trips aren't that bad, but after a while it gets kind of ..... tiring.

Anyway, I got enough branches up to start raking along the back fence. I have a "leaf sheet", which is actually just an old bed sheet, which I spread on the ground, rake the leaves onto, bundle up, sling over my shoulder, and haul out to the curb. Just like Santa! Except I have leaves instead of toys.

So, after I raked along the back fence, I decided I really should do the side garden, as well. Because who can resist the allure of a town-sponsored spring leaf pick-up? Not me!

You see where this is going, right? I raked the back fence, I raked the side garden, and then I decided to rake the other fence line. Then I raked out front, I raked by the parking area, I raked by the garbage cans ........ all the while intermittently picking up amazing amounts of downed branches. I picked up branches and raked leaves for five hours straight. And today I can't decide which hurt more, my arms or my legs.

But! The job is done! There is a huge pile of leaves by the curb, and an equally huge pile of branches. The woman across the street actually came over to exclaim over my giant piles of yardwork. (Well, actually, I think she mainly came over to get the scoop on the death of Jabba the Hutt. But as it turns out, she had as much info as I did, because she was actually home when all the commotion happened! Who knew that when you die, they send two ambulances? And two cop cars? And a sheriff's car? And several other unmarked cars? And we speculated as to why two ambulances were sent to the scene. I mean, granted, the guy was huge, but what did they think they were going to do? Don't answer that .........)

So today I am sunburned and sore. But all those leaves currently residing at the curb are leaves which I will not have to rake this fall, right? Right!

Playing Hooky

It's beautiful here today - sunny and in the seventies. After this past brutal winter, today is like a flippin' miracle.

The boss left for the weekend a little while ago, and as soon as I can get my desk cleared off, I'm taking off as well.

I'm going to go home, set up a patio chair in the backyard, crack open a beer, and sit in the sun.

Ahhhhhhh.

Silence

Last night after work, I went home and puttered around in the back yard for a while. (And it was warm out! I wore shorts! IT FINALLY STOPPED SNOWING!!)

Then I went in to make dinner and started my usual noise-blocking routine. Turn on the radio. Turn on the TV. Turn on a fan. Turn on the white noise machine. All the things I'd been doing for over a year in a desperate attempt to block the LOUD LOUD NOISE coming from downstairs.

And then I realized, "wait a minute. I don't have to do that anymore". So I turned off the radio. Turned off the TV. Turned off the fan. Turned off the white noise machine. And here is what I DID NOT hear: Jabba the Hutt's TV, cranked to eleven. And here is what I heard: I heard cars going by. I heard birds singing. I heard the filter in the fish tank bubbling. I heard Baby cat mewing under the sofa.

And it was beautiful.

Breaking News

According to my sources, Jabba the Hutt, that fat bastard who's been making my life miserable since he moved into the building over a year ago, dropped dead yesterday morning.

And my first emotion was happiness. Yep, I was glad he was dead. And then I was relieved, because at least he didn't take the building along with him. (Jabba was on oxygen and was a chain-smoker, both at the same time. He had already started one fire in his apartment because of his careless smoking.)

But mostly, I am glad that I will not have to listen to that fat bastard's TV set blaring at three o'clock in the morning anymore.

I guess that makes me a bad person.

They're Baaaccckkk!!

The ospreys are back nesting at Montezuma. Click here for the live Osprey Cam. Right now they're building their nest. Woot!

I'll also leave the Osprey Cam link up on my sidebar (to the left) for future clicking.

My (Least) Favorite Things

Warning: Fairly graphic discussion of medical procedures to follow. You've been warned!


S0! This morning I had to go to the ob-gyn for my annual check-up. And while this is certainly not my favorite thing to do, while I was there, I was thinking, "well, at least I'm not at the dentist".

Because going to the dentist is absolutely my least favorite thing to do. Long story short, I avoided going to the dentist for way too many years because of previous bad experiences, so when I finally started going again, they had lots of work to do, and then things got screwed up and I got TMJD and was in pain for MONTHS because I went to the damn dentist, and then it seemed like everytime I went, something went wrong, even a stupid cleaning, and I don't give a shit what anybody tells you, going to the dentist is NOT painless, and that's my dentist story.


Now, going to the dermatologist for my yearly skin checkup is also not a lot of fun, mainly because my dermatologist is a creepy little guy who doesn't speak English very well, and I'm beginning to suspect he might not be a doctor at all but is instead impersonating a doctor, like that guy Leonardo DiCaprio played in the movie Catch Me If You Can. But a least going to the dermatologist is not painful, except of course when they have to remove moles, which is painful, but that's not part of the annual checkup.


Speaking of mole removal, this one time I had to have a mole removed right next to my bellybutton, and the doctor numbed me up and started cutting but I could FEEL him slicing into me, and I grimaced, and he numbed me up some more, and he started cutting again but I could still FEEL it, and he numbed me up some more and I grimaced some more because, yep, still FEELING the slicing and stitching, and finally he said he couldn't numb me any further because he was afraid the tissue surrounding the area would DIE and then I'd have really major problems, and I let him go ahead and finish the surgery, FEELING every single slice and stitch and yeah, that kind of sucked. Big time. And now I have a giant scar right next to my bellybutton, and every time I go to the ob-gyn (like this morning!) she asks if I had my gall bladder removed because THAT'S THE SIZE OF THE SCAR I HAVE thanks to a stupid mole removal procedure and ....... um .......... where was I?


Oh yeah. Going to the dentist is my least favorite thing to do. What's yours?

Everybody, this is Hannah .....

........ Hannah, this is ...... everybody!*

Here's Hannah, being held by my Mom:

Hannah opened her eyes for the first time on Saturday.

Here's Pammie (not Tammie, as I was erroneously lead to believe) -



Pammie is very shy. I had to lure her out from under the bed with a catnip toy. (Again, I DID NOT PICK THESE NAMES. They were named at the shelter. I have been calling them Momma and Baby. Because I'm original like that.)

Momma and Baby were supposedly found in someone's shed. I say "supposedly" because they explained at the shelter that people often bring in their own pets and say they "found" them somewhere. Yeah, like in your living room. Jeesh.

Anyway, Momma is pretty skittish, although she will let me pet her. And of course, Baby is just hanging out wherever Momma stashes her. In a basket in the bedroom, under the bed, under the living room couch ....... Momma likes to move around. And while she is litter box trained, she is better in the concept than in the execution.

Should be an interesting couple of months.

*Sorry, I never could resist a lame Sixteen Candles reference.

(Foster) Baby Momma!

SQUUEEEEE!! I just got my first "foster assignment" from one of the local animal shelters. Tonight after work I will pick up a momma cat and her week-old kitten, and I will keep them until the baby is nine weeks old, when they will go back to the shelter for adoption.

I wrote before about thinking about getting another cat. This situation is perfect for me - I can experience taking care of a cat again without worrying about it being a lifetime commitment.

So! Tonight I pick up Tammy and Hannah (hey, I didn't name them - don't blame me!) and the adventure begins. Admittedly, it's tinged with a little bit of sadness, but I think that helping other cats is a great way to honor Rocky's memory.

And I hope momma knows what she's doing, since it's been about 35 years since I was around a newborn kitten.

I Did Not Know This Existed

I was sorting through the office mail this morning, and came across a copy of Men's Vogue. Men's Vogue? Really? Who knew?

Weekend Wrapup

Why, yes, I AM referring to LAST weekend. Things have been pretty hectic around here, but I wanted to get this stuff down before I forgot about it.

My haircut insanity continues. This time I asked for it to be cut SO SHORT in the back that the hairdresser had to shave my neck. That felt kind of spooky and just ... wrong, but the cut looks good. And it's not that short all over, just in the back.

Oh! And there was this little kid (maybe ten years old or so) in the hair salon, and she brought in her two pet rats to show the hairdressers. (Why she did this, I have no idea.) She didn't even have them in a cage, just stuffed into her sweatshirt pockets. So she brings out the first rat, and everybody's trying to be ... well .... polite, seeing as how it's a RAT and all. (No, I'm not afraid of rats. I just don't have a whole lot of affection for them. Something about the tail.) And then the kid announces, "and my other rat is hairless!" And she whips the other rat out of her pocket, and sure enough, the thing's bald as a damn cue ball.

Now, I don't mean to be indelicate here, but, well ..... that thing had a rather large set of private parts. And the baldness just sort of ..... accentuated the whole situation. And when she pulled that damn thing out of her pocket, first a collective gasp went up, and then we all looked at each other, and we're all trying not to laugh, but somebody let out a snicker, and that was all it took. Hairdressers and clients were busting a gut over the big-nutted bald rat. Good times!

I managed to do my first 50% water change in the aquarium without killing either fish, so it looks like things are improving in the Black Death department.

I divided up my bleeding heart plant and gave some to my sister Ditzy. I couldn't find a pot to put it in, but I did, mysteriously, find an Easter basket in the shed. So I put the bleeding heart in the Easter basket and gave it to Ditzy. She said she would get it planted right away, but knowing Ditzy, I am sure it will sit in said Easter basket by the side of her garage until sometime this fall, when she stumbles upon it and, forgetting what was ever in there to begin with, tosses the whole thing out.

I finally got some of my spring clothes out of the attic, which means we are sure to get another foot or two of snow.

Oh, and I went for a walk at State Park, and everything is still all brown and depressing, and to assuage my depression I stopped for a frosty at Wendy's, negating any caloric benefit I may have gained from the walk, and I started working on a beat-up kitchen cabinet I picked up for fifteen bucks at a local antiques store/flea market, and I'm sure I did all kinds of other boring stuff that I can't remember now.

The end.

Oh, but one more thing - I've been having problems sleeping at night for a while now, so yesterday, I finally went and bought some Sominex and took two before I went to bed last night. And a couple of hours later, I woke myself up gasping and choking for air, because I had evidently .... forgotten to breathe. Um, I know the stuff is supposed to put you to sleep, but I didn't think they meant .... permanently.

Nick Was Having a Tough Night

Why does everything have to be so damn difficult?!

My cable TV remote has been on the blink for a while now. I called the cable company's customer service line, and they advised me to bring it in and get a new one. The old one had to be at least ten years old, so hey, it was time.

So I take in the old one, and the customer service gal gives me a new one, and of course it had nine million more bells and whistles on it than the old one. Technology marches on, and all that. BUT! It also came with approximately ten poorly-photocopied pages of instructions. And I noticed whoever had been running the copier was apparently not paying all that much attention, because the bottom two lines of type on each page had been cut off. So it was all, like, "enter your three-digit TV code number once the component LED......" and nothing. The rest was cut off.

So I pointed this out to the gal at the counter, who did not seem at all surprised. I don't know if it was because she hears it all the time, or she's never heard it before because nobody ever actually tried to read the instructions. She just said, "Oh, it's already programmed for our converter box. You're all ready to go!"

Yeah. I mean, no. I was not "all ready to go". I got home, and the remote would turn the system on and off. And that's it. No channel-changing, no volume control, nada.

So I monkeyed and monkeyed and tried to imagine what might be in those missing lines of type at the bottom of the pages, and I finally got the cable portion of the system to work, i.e, I could change the channels, access the setup menu, blah blah blah. But I could not get the TV portion to work, i.e., the all important volume control, because God forbid I have to get up off my lazy butt and walk over to the TV to adjust the volume.

I called customer service and got "Nick". Nick was obviously not enjoying his time at work last night. Nick was not a happy camper, and I guess I can best charitably describe him as "surly". Now peeps, I was just as polite to this guy as I could be. I explained my problem, and he started walking me through the TV setup system, the same setup system I had done all by my ownself before calling customer service. And I was kind of laughing and joking, and I could practically feel the frown vibes emanating through the phone from Nick. This dude was NOT HAPPY.

So! We tried A, we tried B, we tried C, and nothing worked. No volume control. I explained that the volume control had worked with my old remote. I asked if the age of my TV (fifteen years!) could be the problem. I asked if they could send out someone to look into the situation. Nick's answer was "No." No, the age of the TV shouldn't matter. No, they would not send out someone for a volume control problem. It was kind of one of those, "Well, you're shit out of luck - too bad about that" situations.

And really, I'm ok with that! It's just the flippin' volume control, for Pete's sake. I'll either get it figured out, or I won't. Although, for sixty-plus bucks a month for BASIC CABLE, I really think it would be nice if volume control was included.

But I wonder about Nick. I mean, I called, and I was all polite and pleasant and just had a stupid technical problem to try and work through. And I didn't even get upset when we couldn't fix the problem. And this dude sounded like he wanted to tear my damn head off and spit down my neck. I can't imagine what would have happened if the next caller was some irate jerk infuriated that the picture was snowy during "The Price is Right". Although I would have liked to have listened in on that particular conversation. Grudge match: Surly Nick vs. Irate Customer!

Wow, so that's it. My five thousand word essay on my TV remote. Sorry about that. Phew.

Night at the Museum

Last Friday, I checked out a local museum, as they have free admission on the first Friday night of every month. I am ashamed to admit that I hadn't been there in years. Please understand that I am in no way, shape or form what I consider to be a "cultured" person; I know much less about art, classical music, etc. than I'm sure I should, and that's entirely my fault. All I know is that this museum is the coolest place I've been to in a long, long time.

They had all kinds of neat paintings. I love portraits from the eighteen-hundreds, and they had lots of those. They also had some landscape tapestries that were made by a local mental hospital patient in the nineteen twenties, and those were exceedingly cool. They had some Dali sketches and some by Picasso. One of my favorite pieces was a wooden diorama of a goatman's cottage; the "goatman" in question was half goat, half man. There were some scary sculptures, and some stuff that I couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Then it was on to the Audubon exhibit. They had lots of his prints, and corresponding stuffed animals by a local taxidermist. Frankly, a lot of the stuffed stuff looked like it had seen better days, but it was still cool to look at a print of a bald eagle and compare it to the real thing (well, as real as a stuffed thing can be, I mean). (And yes, I am aware that the bald eagle is an endangered species, and no, I have no idea where this local taxidermist got ahold of one to stuff. I am assuming that the museum researched this thorny little issue before they put it on display.)

There was an exhibit of landscape paintings of the area, and also an exhibit by a local artist, and an exhibit of masks, and lots more. At one point, I came to what appeared to be the end of a hallway, but I could see fancy sofas and stuff ahead. So I went on through, and I was inside an actual mansion that is attached to the museum. The staff has been restoring the mansion over the years, and parts of it are open to the public. This was so, so cool - you would not believe the stained glass windows in this place.

I realize that I've badly overused the word "cool" here, but I cannot emphasize enough how cool this museum is. And here's the thing - The entire time I was there, I only saw three other people. Here's this great museum, with all this fantastic stuff in it, and nobody's going there, even on nights when admission is free.

And at first I couldn't figure it out, until I realized that I myself hadn't been to this museum in AT LEAST twenty years. It just wasn't on my radar screen. So I think the museum needs to get a bigger advertising budget. Because this place is seriously cool. And I will be going back every first Friday that I can.

Oh! And they allow photography. I'll take pictures of the coolest stuff and post it here. Promise.

For the Love of God QUIT BITCHING!!

Not me. You.

Seriously, while I may use this blog to vent my frustrations about my job and my coworkers, I try to stay upbeat and positive while actually at work. However, E., one of said coworkers, is a bitcher. We are only two hours into the work week and already he is bitching and pissing and moaning about something the boss asked him to do.

And I swear I just want to take him by his shoulders and shake the shit out of him and scream "QUIT BITCHING!!" at him.

Because I'm an upbeat and positive person, don't you know.

Happy Monday!

Like a Swarm of Gnats ........

...... I feel like there is a cloud of SUCK swirling around my head. Regarding last night's agenda (just scroll down; I'm not going to put in a "link" to a post directly below the one I am writing, dammit):

1. They were sold out of the bookcase (well, duh; I called that one before I even got to the store).

2. The library does, indeed, hire part-time help; unfortunately, employees must be available to work all shifts, including weekdays. This makes NO SENSE to me, but whatevs.


3. I was not in the mood to divide the bleeding heart (sounds gory, doesn't it?) last night. It will have to wait for the weekend.


But! I had some perspective shaken in front of my face this morning.


Local authorities are still searching for a local 40-year-old mother of three who disappeared two nights ago from her rural home. She was last seen at 10 p.m. Tuesday at her home; she was wearing purple jammies. It is not clear from the news reports if her children were at home that night; she is divorced and has a joint-custody agreement with her ex. Five hours later, her neighbors reported hearing screams. She has not shown up at work, and her car, her purse, and her cell phone were left behind.

I may consider my life a big ball of suck right now, but at least I am NOT missing and feared dead. Not. Is good.

But then! Evidently not even bank tellers are safe from the Black Death (me). I had to do the company banking this morning. I handed the teller my stuff, she turned around to access another computer, and she tripped and went flying and hit her head on the way down and could not get back up and oh my God now I feel terrible all over again. Stay away from me, for your own safety.

Oh, but then in looking for stuff to do this weekend, I discovered that the local museum has free admission the first Friday evening of every month. So tonight after work I'll get to go see an exhibit of artwork by John James Audubon and whatever else the local museum has to offer. And tomorrow I am going to submit myself to my capable hairdresser's hands and see if she can make my hair look like something other than a train wreck. Wish her luck!

Oh, and Audrey (the bank teller)? I'm really, sincerely sorry. I hope you are feeling better real soon. Someone should have warned you about the Black Death.

Tonight's Agenda

1. Go to Target to look at bookcase on sale. Granted, this bookcase has been on sale at Target since last Sunday, which means they sold all two that they had in stock by 8:15 Sunday morning, but hey, a gal can dream, right?

2. Go to library to pick up book on reserve and ask (gulp) if they are accepting applications.** OH MY GOD I cannot believe I am actually going to do this, but if I am ever going to realize my dream of home ownership, I have got to have more income coming in. My last several brilliant money-making schemes all came to naught (just call me Lucy Ricardo), but this one could ACTUALLY WORK (stop laughing! STOP IT!). If I could pick up an evening or two and possibly a weekend day, it would put me much closer to a downpayment. Of course, I forgot until just now that the library is closed on weekends during the summer. OK, two evenings a week it is. I AM GOING TO DO THIS. I AM I AM IAMIAMIAMIAM. There. I said it on my blog, so it must be true. (Stop laughing).

3. Separate the bleeding heart bush. This particular plant has grown over the course of the last ten years from a teeny teeny baby to a giant behemoth that has taken over my garden. While I love it dearly, it is taking up too much room. I divided it once before with fine results, so I will try again. I seem to remember that the last time I divided it, the operation required a hand spade and a shovel and a steak knife and a saw (in that order), plus an inordinate amount of cursing, so I might have to save this particular project for the weekend. When the temp will supposedly be above freezing! Such excitement! Oh my God fifty degrees!! I may faint.

Such are my plans for this evening.

**Unless one of the high school interns is working the desk. Asking someone who is thirty years younger than me if they are accepting applications is something I will not do. Yet.

One-Trick Pony

I was listening to the local pop music station on the radio while running errands today. I hardly ever listen to this station, because they play the same songs over and over and over. Basically, if you listen to this station for a couple of hours every six months or so, you're all caught up on the pop music scene.

Anyhow, they were playing a (presumably somewhat) new song by Melissa Etheridge, and she is still hewing to her same theme, i.e., "she doesn't love you like I love you." And I thought, wow, that's pretty amazing, Melissa has crafted an entire, highly successful career out of singing the same basic song, "she doesn't love you like I love you", over and over.

And then I thought, well, there's lots of artists like that. Evanescence comes immediately to mind ("you broke my heart and I hate you"), as well as Jack Johnson ("I've got sand between my toes and it's all good"). And of course, there's the all-time champeen of recycling the same song over and over - ZZTop. ("Wimmin and cars").

Not too shabby. All you have to do is come up with one catchy song, and just keep slightly modifying it for eternity. You, too, can be a pop star!

Oh! After the Melissa Etheridge song, a song by Chris Daughtry (sp?) came on, and I was surprised to find that it was actually ...... listenable. I mean, it wasn't great by any means, or even very good, but it didn't have me lunging for the console to shut off the radio. Hmm. Wasn't he on American Idol?

Oh, and speaking of American Idol, am I mistaken, or have the costumers actually dressed that poor Asian girl in bizarre, incredibly high-waisted, formal shorts for two weeks in a row? What is up with that?

You Can't Make This Shit Up

Just as I thought my life could not get any more confusing, I find myself accidentally embroiled in an animal rights controversy.

After my one platy kicked the bucket Saturday night, the remaining platy was acting kind of lonely, so I decided to get another fish Monday after work. I wrote earlier about some really cool-looking fish at the pet store - fish with polka dots and stripes and heart-shaped marks. So I went to that store (yes, yes, the same one that sold me the overpriced heater that DID NOT WORK), and it turns out that the neat looking fish are called "Tattoo Mollies". Folks, I swear it NEVER CROSSED MY MIND that these fish might actually be TATTOOED. I swear, I thought it was just the name of the fish. Maybe they are called that because the markings LOOK like tattoos.

So! I got Miss Molly home, got her (or him, as the case may be; I forgot to ask) settled into the tank, and (s)he seems to be doing fine, and the platy also seems calmer with another fish in the tank.

And I went on line this morning to see if I could find some good pictures of tattoo mollies, because the ones I took myself last night didn't turn out so hot. And I discovered the Great Tattoo Molly Controversy, because it turns out THE FISH ARE ACTUALLY TATTOOED. I shit you not, over in Thailand (land of the strange and the highly illegal), they take regular mollies, sedate them (supposedly), and TATTOO stuff on their sides. And of course, the animal rights people are all up in arms over this, and vowing to boycott pet stores that sell tattoo mollies, and oh holy god now I feel like an ax murderer because I bought a damn fish.

So here's the fish in question. It's the white one in the center of the picture, with the orange polka dots and the (oh holy shit I swear I did not know) TATTOOED blue heart on her side. Now that I think about it, it looks like those polka dots might be tattooed on as well. (I plead ignorance!) You can see the orange platy behind her. They are actually about the same size; the molly looks bigger because of the camera angle.




Oh Miss Molly, I'm so sorry. I had no idea that by purchasing you, I was supporting the fish-tattooing industry in Thailand. Please forgive me.

(P.S. - In case you checked the date on this post and are thinking this is all an elaborate April Fool's joke - I WISH.)

The Black Death Craves Vanilla Soft-Serve

Who knew?

Seriously, in breaking news, THE BIG DIPPER IS OPEN FOR THE SEASON!!

The Big Dipper is the closest authentic ice cream stand to my house. Authentic, as in free-standing, seasonal, and owned by an individual as opposed to a chain franchise. And bless this particular individual, who leaves his nice warm seasonal home in Florida every spring to come back to the still-frozen North to open up his ice cream stand.

The Big Dipper usually opens for the season the last weekend in March. So I found a reason to drive past it this weekend, and YES!! It was open.

Did I do a U-ey and get myself a cone? You bet your butt. Did I eat it in the car, with the heater on, because it was only 30 degrees out? Also affirmative. And I was surrounded by people sitting in their cars, with the heaters running, getting their first soft-serve fix of the season. Evidently, I am not alone.

Living in the Twilight Zone

So! On Friday, the work week was finally over, so I got home, kicked back, and relaxed.

And then the phone rang.

It was my niece, who was staying with my mom while my sister TIB was out of town. My niece explained that my mom had been trying to call me, but "was having some problems with the phone", so my niece volunteered to dial my number, and put my mom on the line.

Mom was, to say the least, confused. She wasn't sure who she was talking to, she wasn't sure where she was, and she kept talking about how Christmas was coming soon. But hey, she's still a very pleasant person, and it's always good to talk to her, if a bit confusing.

I got off the phone with mom, and the phone rang again. And it was Jabba the Hutt, from downstairs. Jabba who drives me crazy with his LOUD LOUD NOISE.


Jabba, speaking VERY LOUD: "I wanted to offer my condolences on the death of your son".

Me: (?)

Me: "Um, thanks, Jabba, but I don't have a son. I don't have any children".

Jabba: "You don't? P. told me that your son died."

(Note to Self: Kill P. the next time I see him.)

Me: "No, Jabba, I don't have a son. My cat, Rocky, passed away - is that what you're thinking of?. Maybe you misunderstood what P. said."

So we finally got things straightened up, sorta, and I got off the phone, and I unplugged it for the rest of the night.

My life just keeps getting stranger. Saturday night, one of my fish died. I swear, one minute it was swimming around the tank, and the next time I looked over, it was dead on the gravel. Sheesh. I'm beginning to feel like the Black Death, or something.

A Room with a View

Looking west out of one of my living room windows.

Question

Why do so many of the announcers/commentators on NPR lisp?

It just seems to me that if you have a speech impediment, radio may not be the proper career milieu for you.

My Kinda Gal

A local 63-year-old woman just won a million dollars in the lottery. From the newspaper article:

"Sons Tim and Christopher hope their mother looks forward to enjoying life.

"I'm going to", she said. "In fact, I'm going home now to put a sweat shirt and sweat pants on and have a good stiff drink"."

Sounds like a plan!

Stranger than Fiction

A couple of hours ago, this burly, twenty-something, cracked-out guy came charging into the office. And he started talking a mile a minute about a twenty-minute oral presentation he had to do about the history of this area and what exactly did we do in this office and how did it relate to the history of the area and blahblahblah .... the guy was clearly nuts.

I have never been a real think-on-my-feet type of gal, so I told him he would need to talk to the boss, who was not there, but if he'd like to leave his name and number I'd have the boss call him back etc. etc. etc. There are certain disadvantages to working the front desk.

And then Hack-Em-Up Ed came over and started egging the guy on. Hack-Em-Up's all, like, "oh, yeah, you need to talk to the boss, heck, he built half this area, definitely talk to him" blah blah blah.

Thankfully, at that time the voices in crazy guy's head evidently told him he was needed elsewhere, because he went charging out of the office, ran across the street, and started pounding on the doors of an empty warehouse. Then he went running up and around the corner, and has not been seen since. Whew.

UPDATE!! Just a few minutes ago, the guy came back. Thankfully, my boss was here, listened to him for a few minutes, explained that he (my boss) charged $200 an hour for his time, and shooed the guy back out the door. Jeezus.


Oh, and did I tell you that a guy was killed in a drive-by shooting two weeks ago, two blocks from the office? Nice neighborhood.

In other breaking office news, Hack-Em-Up Ed has a hack-em-up dog!

I kid you not. For whatever reason, Hack-Em-Up Ed brought his dog into the office for a few hours the other day. And I swear, thirty seconds after they walked in the door, the dog started in with, "haaaccckk!! haaaccckk! HAAAACCCCKKK!" And he did it THE ENTIRE TIME HE WAS HERE. Haacckkk! Haaccckkk! HAAAACCCKKKK! Jeezus.

What. the. hell. I have heard that people tend to buy dogs who resemble themselves, but I had never heard of the "sound effect factor" until now.

I Rock So Hard I Scare Myself

A while back, my kitchen sink faucet developed a drip. It would only shut off completely if you adjusted the swivel-thingie (sorry about the technical terms) to exactly the right spot. So I called the building super, and she sent someone over to replace the faucet.

The new faucet was all bright and shiny, and was not wrapped in duct tape like the old faucet, but the water flow was less than it had been before. So I looked under the sink to see if they had installed some kind of water restrictor or tightened up the valve shut-offs, but the answer was no. So I figured it was some kind of low-flow faucet. Whatevs.

Over the past week or so, I noticed that the flow coming out was less and less. So! Time to break out the tools. (Oh sweet Jeezus, famous last words. I wish I had a buck for every appliance I've broken to smithereens attempting to repair it.)

I had tried to get the end cap thingie of the faucet off before, because I could feel a screen up in there and figured that might be contributing to the low flow. I had tried unscrewing the faucet end, with no luck. So last night I broke out a wrench and one of those round grip-thingies you use to open stuck jar lids. And I started reefing on that faucet end. (Reef: To yank the hell out of.)

TA-DA!! Off popped the faucet end! And inside the faucet end was a screen, some kind of funky flow-restrictor thingie (I KNEW it!), and a couple of washers.

And some pebbles. I shit you not, there were pebbles in the screen. WTF? I am on municipal water! Granted, it's well water, but still, it goes through a treatment center before it gets to me! Why are there freaking pebbles in my drinking water?!

So! I tossed the pebbles, and played with all the faucet-end parts until I had put it all back together, but with a 500% improvement in the water flow.

And then!! I pumped my fist and did a victory dance around the kitchen, because I was SO EXCITED!! FOR ONCE I actually managed to fix something instead of breaking it into a million little pieces in a misguided repair attempt.

And I just realized that I could have written, "Last night I fixed a broken faucet" and been done with this whole post. Sorry about that.

Fishes and a Mystery

The fish are in the upper right corner of the tank - one is partially hidden behind a plant. Still don't see them? Look for two out-of-focus orange blobs. Yep! That's them.

I am a little embarrassed to admit that I have been enjoying the shit out of these fish. I actually stare into the tank and watch them swim around. Is fun! Really! And much more entertaining than last night's episode of "American Idol".

And I am learning new things, too. Like, these fish do not like to have the light on in their aquarium. AT ALL. If I turn on the light, they get all nervous and jerky and start darting around all over the place and they're all like, "AAHHH!!!! AAHHH!!! BRIGHT LIGHT!!! BRIGHT LIIIGGGGHHHTTT!!!!!" So I turn the light off, and they calm right the fuck down. Back to gravel-grazing (WTF is up with that, anyway? What of interest are they finding in that gravel? I have a sneaking suspicion that it might be their own poop, and I sure hope I'm wrong about that), lazily hanging out, etc.

So now I only turn the light on when I want to mess with their minds. (Kidding.) (Sort of.)

Oh! But I do have a mystery for you! When I was at the pet store on Monday (returning a heater which DID NOT WORK, despite costing twice as much as the heater I was going to buy but was talked out of by the pet store owner himself, thankyouverymuch, and the pricey heater he sold me DID NOT WORK, did I mention that? And did I mention that I went to CrapMart and bought a heater that was half the price, and ACTUALLY WORKED? And was totally submersible, which the other heater was not?) ..... oops, where was I? Oh, ok, I was at the pet store, and I was looking at fish, and they had these fish that were, like, half an inch long, maybe 3/4 inch, and they were white. And some of them had pink and blue vertical stripes, and some had pink and blue polka-dot markings, and some of the striped ones had, I shit you not, heart-shaped markings on their sides. And I was all, like, holy shit, look at that! And then I was all, well, duh, obviously somebody PAINTED these fish to look like that. Fish don't just LOOK like that. But then I was all, like, but how the hell would you paint a fish? I mean, how would you dry them off enough to get the paint to stick? And wouldn't the paint just wash off once you put them back in the water? And who has the TIME to paint all these fish, anyway? And even if you outsourced it to China, to a fish-painting factory, wouldn't the factory employees just eat the fish instead of painting them?

Such were my thoughts in the pet store. And I did not think to look at the front of the tank and get the NAME of this particular kind of fish, because that would be too easy. And now I'm not inclined to go back to that particular store, because of the whole incredibly-expensive-non-functioning-heater thing.

So, what are these fish? Are they born with these really cool stripes and polka-dots and hearts? Or are they painted fish? Please tell me - I'd love to know.

Hmmmm....

From the "Free" section of our local newspaper's classified ads:

"ADULT MALE to good country home. Call Chris (insert phone # here) after 4 p.m."

I wonder if Chris is trying a unique approach to house-hunting. Or maybe Chris is a woman, and she's trying to get rid of a pain-in-the-ass husband/boyfriend? Whoever Chris is, I'll bet (s)he's gotten some interesting phone calls - the ad's been in the paper for over a week now.

And the Award for Best Use of a Chocolate Easter Bunny Goes To ...

First, a little backstory. Yesterday, I found myself at my sister TIB's house for Easter dinner. Yes, the same TIB who spontaneously combusts at the very thought of me. I really don't care to go into the details of how this came about; let's just say that last weekend, I became the World Champeen Shit Eater for the sake of my family. (And this is the LAST TIME I am doing that. Seriously. LAST TIME.)

Anyhow, my sister Ditzy was there with her boyfriend, C.
C. had given her a large chocolate Easter bunny, and he kept bugging her to open it up and share it. Bugging, and bugging, and bugging. So finally, she opened up the packaging, and he asked for an ear. She broke off an ear, and there was a piece of paper rolled up inside the bunny. She unrolled the paper, and it was an e-mail confirmation for two tickets to an upcoming James Taylor concert. Fifth row, center.

Is that cool, or what? C. has definitely just raised the bar for all the guys in the family.

Oh, and how did he do it? He unwrapped the bunny, drilled a hole in the bottom, and pushed the paper up through the bunny until it lodged in one of the ears. Then he re-wrapped the packaging. Such ingenuity!

What I'm Doing This Weekend

A few days ago I went to the pet store to get a couple of fish. I had a goldfish bowl, so I was thinking I would get some goldfish, but when I looked at them, they looked too ....... fishy. Then I looked at the guppies (the other major kind of low-maintenance, hard-to-kill fish), but they, also, looked alarmingly fishy. So I started looking around, and found a tank full of something called, ummm....... somethingsomething"platys". And the "platys" looked pretty cool, about half the size of the goldfish, and not at all "fishy".

After the debacle of picking out two (possibly pregnant) platys, the pet store gal asked me if I had a tank, filter, etc. I told her I had a goldfish bowl, but that was about it. She said the platys would probably do ok in it, as long as I kept the water clean, but I might want to consider a tank with a filter. And a heater (after I explained that I turned down the heat in my apartment when I'm not there).

So. OK. Took the fish home, got them set up in their little bowl, and they seem very happy. But they've gotta be chilly. Although, honestly, I've been leaving the heat turned up since I brought them home. Cause I'm nice like that.

So! I went out and bought a little aquarium. And a heater. And tonight I have to go and buy more gravel. And some plants. And possibly an air pump, whatever the hell that is. I'll be lucky if I get out of this for less than eighty bucks, all for three bucks worth of fish. Go figure.

Oh! Last night I un-boxed the aquarium (mini-bow 2.5 gallon, if you're interested. No? I didn't think so.). And I started looking for the instructions. And there weren't any. There was, however, a sheet of paper directing me to the company's web site, where I could view set-up instructions, on-line tutorials, etc. Super! Except I don't have a computer at home. Oooops.

I thought about calling the 1-800 number and making some poor customer service rep walk me through it over the phone for three hours, because, HELLO, TETRA, not everyone in the world has a computer at home**, but then I realized I would probably be talking to somebody in Bangalore, India, and it would be harder on me than it would be on him.

So I came in to work this morning (where, obviously, all things non-work-related actually get done), watched the tutorial, TOOK NOTES because I am stupid, and I am ready to attempt a fish tank set-up this weekend.

How hard could it be, right? (Famous last words.)

** Well, ok, actually, I understand that probably everyone in the world DOES have a computer at home. Except me.

It's Time .........

........ to take down the Christmas card display at work. Seeing as how it's almost Easter.

Recently Read

Here are the books I've read recently. I'm too lazy to link to their Amazon sites, so you're on your own there.


1. Peace Like a River by Leif Enger. This is about a boy whose brother kills two men and goes on the lam. His family sets out for the badlands to find the brother. This was a good book, although I doubt the boy's nine-year-old sister could have written such inspired poetry. Still, I enjoyed this one.


2. What You Have Left by Will Allison. This received great reviews, but I found it to be just so-so.


3. Shem Creek by Dorothea Benton Frank. This was a light, fluffy read.


4. Louisiana Power and Light by John DuFresne. Interesting and enjoyable, but not great.


5. This One and Only Life by Anne Carroll George. Frankly, I don't remember anything about this one, but I made it all the way through, so it must have been okay.


6. South of Reason by Cindy Eppes. About a family with way too many secrets. Pretty good.


7. Bruiser by Ian Chorao. This one is set in the 70s and is about a kid who runs away from home. Interesting, but not great.


8. Cage of Stars by Jaquelyn Mitchard. About a young woman facing tragedy. This one was good.


9. Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver. Pretty good. A little heavy on the environmental message.


10. The Whistling Season by Ivan Doig. This author is pegged as a writer of "Westerns", which I usually do not like, but I really enjoyed this book, perhaps the most of anything I've read so far this year. There was a plot twist at the end that was really unnecessary (and which you could see coming from the beginning of the book), but I still enjoyed this one. I'm currently reading his memoir, which is also interesting.


Here's what I tried to read, and could not get through:


1. Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant by Anne Tyler. Meh. None of the characters were particularly likable, so I lost interest and gave up about halfway through.


2. Mermaids in the Basement by Michael Lee West. I usually like her stuff, but I could not get more than 40 pages into this one.


3. Brother Odd by Dean Koontz. I had never read any of his stuff, but gave this one a try while I was in Texas. No thanks.


4. Julia's Chocolates by Cathy Lamb. Chick lit - blecchh. Made it to page 90 and had to quit.


5. Mother Road by Dorothy Garlock. Started out promising, but quickly degenerated into a Harlequin Romance-type book. Nope.


6. The Southern Belles of Honeysuckle Way by Linda Bruckheimer. I really liked her book "Dreaming Southern", but I could not fight my way through this one. Just one cliche after another. I actually left this book in Texas.


So! There you have it! What I've read, and tried to read, since the first of the year. Any recommendations?

Our New Superhero!

I was just flipping through my Rolodex (why yes, I AM a billion years old!), and came across a mysterious card. It was not written in my handwriting, nor the handwriting of anyone in the office. It was, however, unmistakably female handwriting, which makes me think one of the temps must have stuck it in there.**

Anyway, all that was written on the card were the words "Climate Control Chuck", followed by a local phone number.

Hmmmm. I could use ol' Chuck right about now. The climate in this neck of the woods is in serious need of some control. I wonder what his Superhero outfit looks like. I wonder if he charges for his services, or if he just dashes around changing the weather for free.

Maybe I should give him a call.



**Seriously? I hatehatehate it when I get back from vacation and the temp has taken it upon herself to rearrange my office space. Particularly the desktop on my computer. Honey, you're only here for a week. I'm here for the foreseeable future. DO NOT mess with my stuff. I have been here for twenty-plus (yikes) years, and I have it arranged this way for a reason. If you're that damn bored, go scrub the bathroom or something.

My Bathroom - Let Me Show You It

My bathroom is tiny. The total "walkable" space (not including toilet, tub or sink) is 2.5 feet by 3.5 feet. Tiny! Here is my bathroom before I started painting. Try to ignore the round green heron pic; I know it's tacky, but I just can't seem to rid myself of it. Anyhow, the bathroom had off-white walls, with a white ceiling:

Here is my bathroom after:

The back wall is a mint green. I was going to do all the walls this color, but after doing the one, I realized the bathroom was going to look like the inside of a toothpaste tube if I continued with that plan. So I did the rest of the walls yellow, the ceiling and shelving blue, and the trim "fuchsia fizz".

Not sure if this is an improvement or not, but it sure is "different". Hey, if I get sick of it, I'll just paint it again.

The Spec That Would Not Die: Update

Last night, 175 single-spaced pages of spec went out the door. Unfortunately, we're still not done. The boss estimates another 20 hours of work, but you have to triple any estimate he gives you to arrive at a realistic number, so that means another 60 hours to go. Sigh.

I'm really, really glad that when this thing first floated onto my radar screen (last summer!), I had no idea how long it would actually take. I have no doubt that the project (a hotel/restaurant/meeting center) will be constructed in less time than it took to write the spec. And of course, once the thing goes out for bid, that's when the addenda rear their ugly heads. And once construction starts, then we're talking change orders and revisions and ......... oh, well. 175 pages of it is done. That's something, right? Right.

Not the Sharpest Tool in the Shed

So, I got the fish tank all set up and went to the pet store to get some fish. I picked out the kind I wanted, the girl working the tanks asked how many, and I said, "two".

She asked if I cared if they were male or female. I was looking at the tank set-ups, so I just said "no" over my shoulder. Then I thought about it, and said, "...... well, if I get a boy and a girl, they'll have babies, right?"

Bless her, she did not laugh. She just said, "Well, yeah, that's the way it usually works".

So I said, "Ok, I'll take two males or two females, whichever you net out first".

So I went home with two females.

It wasn't until I woke up this morning that it struck me: They could already be pregnant.

Looks like the store clerk got the last laugh.

Heresy

I am thinking about getting another cat. Or two.

I know, I KNOW. I feel terrible guilt just thinking about it. Or writing it down. But I'm just so damn lonely and sad right now, and I did something really bad last night.

I went to an animal shelter. NOT the nice clean shelter where I donated Rocky's food. This was another local shelter, a kind-of-skeevy, smelly, noisy shelter. And I felt so damn bad for those poor cats that I was ready to pile every single one of them into my car and take them home with me.

I did not, of course. Although such was my desperation that there were two cats in particular that I was ready to take home. And I was all, like, "no no no don't do anything rash step back and think about this and maybe come back in a week and if they're still here it was meant to be and .........." Oh, I am losing it.

So I went home, took several deep breaths (or sobs .... hey, if the shoe fits), and thought about the situation. I remembered that at one point the nice shelter where I took Rocky's food was looking for "foster families" to take in cats on a temporary basis until there was room for them at the shelter. I don't know if they're still doing this, but .......... I called and left a message on their answering machine, saying I might be interested.

Also, goldfish. I am going to get a goldfish bowl this weekend and a couple of fish.

I keep trying to tell myself that I'm not a terrible person for thinking about getting another cat. Or two. I miss Rocky terribly. I'm just lonely. And sad.

Top Ten Reasons Why I Hate Winter

10. If school is cancelled due to snow, the municipalities do not bother to send out the plows. They worry about the safety of the kiddoes, but we adults are on our own.

9. Getting up in the dark, going to work in the dark, and coming home in the dark.

8. Having to scrape an inch of ice and/or a foot of snow off your car every other flippin' day. And then you slip and fall in the driveway and land right on your tailbone and it hurts for ..... well, it still hurts, actually.

7. Eleven below on the back porch. With twenty mile-per-hour wind gusts. Good times!

6. Not being able to walk in the woods for several months due to snow and/or ice covered trails. I can show you the x-rays to prove it.

5. Christmas, that loveliest of holidays, is followed by January. And February.

4. No three-day weekends between New Year's and Memorial Day. That's FIVE MONTHS, folks, in case anyone's keeping track.

3. Just when March rolls around, and you think you've almost made it through, comes the next one or five or eleventy-seven snowstorms.

2. In these parts, Winter is not followed by Spring. It is followed by Pothole Season. Bone-jarring, alignment-wrecking Pothole Season.

1. Hat hair. From mid-October until some time in April.

Texas Pics

Here is a view of downtown Fort Worth. It seems that everything in Texas is under construction, all the time:

Here is the new home of the Dallas Cowboys, currently under construction:

And here is the Ballpark at Arlington, home of the Texas Rangers baseball team. According to Wikipedia, it was completed in 1994, which has got to make it one of the oldest buildings in this part of Texas:

And no, that's not me out front. But it IS my sister!

Still So Damn Sad ........

......... that a contestant on American Idol singing "Let It Be" can reduce me to a sobbing mess.

It's Baaaaack.......

The Spec That Would Not Die has awakened from its winter hibernation and has returned to kick my butt. Help meeeeeee ...........