Kids these days

Yesterday afternoon I was out in the front yard, putting up my "fall" display, which consists of some Halloween pumpkin buckets strewn in the grass.

A bunch of kids were riding their bikes in the street, swerving to cut through a neighbor's leaf pile, when I heard a little girl yell, "Hey! Get back here! I'm hurt!"

I looked up to see a little girl who had evidently fallen off her bike and was lying in the street. I really didn't think too much about it - I mean, no cars had gone by in a long time, so I knew she hadn't gotten hit, and she wasn't screaming bloody murder, so I figured she couldn't have been hurt too bad. The other kids circled back to her, and a neighbor came out of her house and helped the girl to her feet, and that was that.

Until a little while later, when her brothers came back to see if they could find her teeth.

That poor little girl had evidently faceplanted into the street so hard that she knocked herself silly, losing several teeth in the process.

Man, it makes my teeth hurt just thinking about it. Poor kid.

Oh, and then! And then!

A few hours after that excitement, I was inside puttering around when I glanced out the front window and noticed a couple of little boys, maybe six and eight, riding their bikes up onto my lawn. They hopped off their bikes and were looking at my craptacular pumpkin display when the older boy grabbed one of the pumpkins, hopped on his bike, and went tearing up the street.

Well.

WELL.

I went flying out of my house in my sock feet and tore across the lawn, yelling, "Hey! HEY! GET BACK HERE WITH THAT PUMPKIN!"

Oh my lord I wish you could've seen the look on those kids' faces. The one with the pumpkin turned his bike around and sheepishly pedaled back down the street to me, bless him, while the little one just stared up at me, open-mouthed, like he could not believe what had just happened. "It was his idea!," he lisped, pointing to the older boy. "It was his idea!"

Pumpkin-boy hopped off his bike and, head down, put the pumpkin back on the lawn.

"Dude!", I said, and I couldn't help but smile a little. "Dude, that's not cool! You don't take stuff off of people's lawns! Those pumpkins are for everybody to look at! You don't take stuff that doesn't belong to you!"

"Okay," he said, dejectedly. I predict a life of crime.

The little one, who by this time had decided that I wasn't going to eat him for lunch after all, regained his composure and started to tell me about "the lady in the green house on the next street up who has a GUN in her house and will SHOOT you if you step on her lawn!"

"That's good to know", I said as they hopped back on their bikes. "I'll make sure not to walk on her lawn."


I foresee a massive invasion of toilet paper and eggs this Halloween. I'll try to remember to park the car in the garage that night. 'Cause, you know, they start off swiping pumpkins, and next thing you know they're hot-wiring cars ...

Kids.

Public Service Announcement

If you're wondering where Freaky Friday is

*crickets*

ANYWAY, scroll down for Freaky Friday. But first, here is today's PSA.

The cats had to go to the vet's last night, for annual check-ups and shots and, in the case of The Runt, discussion regarding his allergies.


As far as flea medications, The Runt is on Advantage and Little Girl is on Frontline Plus. (long story.) And last night, The Runt was flea-free. Little Girl? Had fleas. And flea "dirt", i.e., "poop", meaning that the fleas were not ones she just picked up in the waiting room.


Bottom line: Frontline does not work.


I don't know if they changed the formula, or if fleas are becoming immune to the active ingredient, but Frontline is no longer effective for fleas on cats.


My vet agreed, adding that she no longer recommends Frontline. She used to, because it also protects against ticks which Advantage does not do, but it's now useless against fleas.



Just so you know!

Freaky Friday - Feline Faction

Ah, alliteration. What a great way to annoy people.

This toy was one of my pity purchases:



He sat in a dusty corner of the antiques store for so long that I finally couldn't stand it anymore, bought him, and brought him home. And now he's commandeered the remote.

I'll bet they sell a lot of stuff that way. "Hmmmm, let's see, how can we make this look more pathetic?"

Here's a bowl that a local artist made:




I like the teeth.

Stay tuned, because later on today I hope to put up a Public Service Announcement regarding Frontline!* I KNOW! You can't wait!




*Preview: It doesn't work.

Very Superstitious

Okay, so we were talking about jinxes in the comments of the vacuuming post, so let me know what you think about this.


After the recent heavy rainfalls, I really, really want this postcard:







Not sure if you can click to embiggen that or not. It's a postcard of Venice, watery canals and all, with "Greetings from {my home town}" printed on it.

Get it? Get it? Venice is full of water, and my neighborhood keeps filling up with water, so ...

But here's the thing: Would displaying that in my house be tempting fate? Borrowing trouble? I don't want to invite anything bad in.

Then again, I have pictures of dead people in their caskets (memento mori) in my house. There's also (deer and bird) bones throughout. I currently have a bunch of giant (artificial) rats in my garage, waiting for Halloween. All you have to do is look at a few of my Freaky Fridays to know that weird stuff surrounds me. How much worse could a picture of Venice be? Or would it be, like, forecasting something that could happen?

What do you think?

And it was all yellow

What's that poem? Nothing gold can stay?

Is true.

I REALLY need to vacuum more often.

That, or start remembering to wipe my feet and stop tracking in half the backyard.

Don't worry, Little Girl, I won't try to blame this on you. You're just an innocent bystander.

'

In related news, does anybody know a good way to remove mildew from a shower?

'

I think I need remedial housecleaning lessons or something.

1.5

As of yesterday, it's been a year-and-a-half since I smoked a cigarette.


Let's run the numbers for old times' sake, no?

Number of cigarettes I would have smoked between April 3, 2009 and yesterday, had I not stopped smoking on that date: 16,425. Jeezus Christ.

Amount of money saved: $2,929.13. Almost three thousand bucks. And that was smoking cheap cigs bought on line; if I'd been buying name brand smokes at the corner gas station, that figure would easily be double.

You know, cigarettes used to be cheap. I remember when a carton was eight bucks; it was an affordable vice. Frankly, that's the main reason I stopped smoking; I got priced out of the market.

And I'm glad.

So, whoopee for me! I'm a quitter.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled Freaky Friday to bring you ...

... FLOOOOOOOOD!


Yeah, like this isn't getting old.

Now I know how I got the house so cheap.

Anyway, after a hurried heading-f0r-the-hills by me and the cats yesterday afternoon and a night spent on higher ground, the house is dry.

*whew*

Cookie therapy

So! Last Wednesday, I went to the dentist to have some work done, which ended the way these visits always do: My jaw is killing me.


I have a condition called TMJD, which basically means that the cartilage in my jaw is shot. Kind of like having a bum knee, except I have a bum jaw.


And it really doesn't bother me any more, except for any time I have to have any dental work done more complicated than a simple cleaning. At which point my jaw says, "Well, SHIT, sister, let's have some fun!"


And the pain cranks up and stays. Sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks, and on one memorable occasion, back when I was first diagnosed, for months.


All I can do is wear my nightguard and keep on a regular Advil schedule and wait it out.


Oh, and eat.


Ironically, one of the only things that makes my aching jaw feel better is chewing. Not opening and closing my mouth, not fake-chewing, but actual chewing.


Right now I'm working my way through a box of Friehofer's cookies. Those little mini-cookies. I'm pretty sure they'll be gone by Friday.


Time to dust off the Jillian Michaels DVD ...

Oh! Oh! And in totally unrelated news, which I thought of because of Jillian Michaels who is on The Biggest Loser which I tried to watch last night but could not because of all that grunting in the gym but it reminded me of another reality TV show ..

Is anybody watching Sister Wives? Is that not the most creepy show ever? I mean, let's put aside the whole polygamy thing, isn't the husband, like, really odd? Like a cross between Charlie Brown and Charles Manson?

Oh! And all they do is sit around and talk about how they're perfectly normal, of course they have sex but it's one at a time hahahaha nothing to see here move along ...

... moving along.

I can't even talk about the weather forecast here right now because I am not good in a crisis and lalalalalala jeezus wish me luck.

Think dry thoughts, okay?

The weekend in pictures

So, there was some good stuff that happened last weekend, other than that horrifying incident on Sunday - which, if past experience is an indicator of future performance, I will be having nightmares about for years.

I went to the Herbert Johnson museum at Cornell:

I'm not really sure what "Translate Allah" means, but the museum was fantastic as always. And it's free! (Don't worry; I'm not a total rube - I put a donation in the donation box.) They have The Goose Girl there, and lots of other cool stuff.

While I was in Ithaca, I went to the Ithaca Antique Mall, and bought my Christmas presents for myself. SHUT UP. Oh! And when I got home Saturday, there were two big ol' boxes of books waiting on my porch. I did a little wriggle dance when I got out of the car and saw them.

Sunday, the deer were out in force:

Lots of turkeys were calling as well.

Stained glass:

And it's the time of year when you have to get rid of the leaves if you want to see the cats:

He's hiding in plain sight.

My Confession

I ran over a snake yesterday.

I. feel. AWFUL.

I even saw it in the road up ahead, but I swear I didn't think it was a snake. I mean, snakes in the road are NOT THAT COMMON around here, and it wasn't even moving. I just thought it was a piece of rope or something that fell off a passing car.

Until I was right up on top of it, and then it was too late.

Oh, I feel HORRIBLE. And the worst part is, I don't even think I killed it; it was still ... aw, shit ... writhing in the road when I looked in my rearview mirror after realizing what had just happened. And THEN I was all, like, maybe I should go back and run it over again to put it out of its misery? And then I was, like, but maybe it's a survivable injury and if I run it over again I really will kill it?

Bottom line, I didn't go back. I simply could not go back and do that again.

I feel awful. That poor snake. I didn't mean it, snake. I'm so sorry.

I suck.

Freaky Friday - The story of the lamp

Okay, so this lamp isn't exactly freaky, but it does have a story behind it.

That lamp is the reason I bought my house.

You see, I had been living happily in a one-bedroom apartment for many years. It was in a four-unit building and had a big backyard so I could garden. The rent was insanely cheap. Most of the other tenants were long-term and we all got along fairly well, in general. If a jerk moved in, the landlord, who was a sweetie, was pretty good at getting them to move on.

And then, in 2007, the sweetie landlord sold the building. To an out-of-town slumlord who was determined to keep all the units rented, all the time, no matter to whom he had to rent them in order to do it. And then the slumlord moved his father into the apartment below mine. His developmentally disabled father, who was deaf as a post and, as a result, kept his TV cranked to max volume ALL THE TIME.

Finally, after a YEAR of listening to old B-movies at maximum volume, the dad dropped dead. But by that time, I'd had enough, and was tentatively running the numbers, seeing if I had enough money to start looking at houses.

And then the next tenant moved into the downstairs apartment.

This dude looked, well, menacing. The other tenants were scared of him. He had all kinds of sketchy people going in and out of his apartment at all hours. I wondered who he was and where he came from.

By now it was getting close to Christmas-time, 2008, and I had been looking for a stained-glass floor lamp for the living room, for my Christmas present to myself. (When you are single, you give yourself Christmas presents. I do, anyway. SHUT UP.) When I found the lamp in the pic above on line, I fell in love. Oh, I wanted that lamp. It cost more than I wanted to spend, and the shipping alone was going to be fifty bucks, but screw it. Life in the apartment building was getting scary, it was dark and cold outside, and I ordered the lamp. And waited for it to arrive.

And waited. And waited.

I checked with FedEx; they said the lamp had been delivered to the building. I checked with some of the other tenants in the building; nobody had seen the lamp.

Finally, knowing that the lamp was probably gone for good, I called the cops. Who found the lamp in the apartment of the guy downstairs. Who said he was "holding" it for me. For four days.

I'd had enough. My neighbors were stealing from me. They took my beautiful lamp. I had to get out.

I called a realtor.

And the rest, my fraaaaaynds, is history. I bought a house. I live where I live now, all because of the lamp.

It's a pretty lamp, isn't it?

A view from the park

I live in a valley, so in the evenings the hillsides are still sunny when I'm in the shade. Add in a moonrise and sometimes it's kind of surreal.

I'm off!

... to the dentist's office, to have a great big ol' tooth ground down into a leeetle nub and to get fitted for a crown.

The last time I had crown work done, the temporary crown fell off after two days, so there's that.

Oh, and the last time I had drilling work done, I found out what happens when the dentist slips with the drill, so ... yeah ...

*gulp*

wish me luck?

Songs I LOVED when I was a kid, Part 1

Keep in mind that I was a child of the seventies.

Come Saturday Morning - The Sandpipers

I Think I Love You - The Partridge Family - If you were a young girl in the seventies, you had to have a crush on David Cassidy. It was mandatory, like gym class.

Eres Tu - Mocedades

Do You Wanna Make Love - Peter McCann

One Tin Soldier from the "Billy Jack" movie

One Toke Over The Line -- Brewer & Shipley. I'll bet my parents just about shit when they heard me singing along to that classic.

Afternoon Delight -- Starland Vocal Band

Life Is A Rock (But The Radio Rolled Me) -- Reunion

China Grove - Doobie Brothers

Summer Breeze - Seals and Crofts

Seasons In The Sun -- Terry Jacks - This song actually depressed the living CRAP out of me, and scared me as well (what? People actually DIE?) until I went to my friend Sandy's house one afternoon and she played it over and over and OVER while she cleaned her hamster's cage. I became immune to it that day. What do they call that - immersion therapy?

The Night Chicago Died -- Paper Lace

Any song by John Denver - In the seventies, John Denver was required listening. I think they piped it through the water.


Precious And Few -- Climax


Beach Baby -- First Class

O-o-h Child -- The Five Stairsteps

Sometimes When We Touch -- Dan Hill. So dramatic!

Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) -- Edison Lighthouse

The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia -- Vicki Lawrence - Oh, Vicki had an AWESOME backstory - The way I remember it, she was a big fan of The Carol Burnett show back when it was on the air (Lyle Waggoner, anybody?), so she wrote Carol a fan letter, and Carol wrote back and said, "Come on out to Hollywood and be on my show!", so she did.

The Free to Be You and Me soundtrack - I wore that sucker out.



Now, I am trusting Amazon as far as the named artists go - I was just a kid when these songs came out. I'm pretty sure "The Five Stairsteps" did not perform the version of Oooooh Child that I listened to, but I don't know who DID, so whatevs.

I'm also pretty sure that I had NO IDEA what the lyrics to some of these songs actually meant.

Okay, what songs were you diggin when you were a kid? Fess up.

I TOLD you he was a jerk

Remember the sextuplet dad? The one who was a total jerk?

Looks like daddy's got himself in a little bit of trouble.

Ordinarily, getting yourself arrested is the fastest way to boost ratings for your reality show, but domestic violence?

Say goodbye to the cameras, bud.

Fun with furniture

aaaaaannnd .... they're off.

Freaky Friday!

He's a cowboy
On a steel horse he rides




This is a metal toy. The horse's hind legs balance on the bar, and the round weight behind the bar balances things out. If you give it a nudge, the cowboy and the horse rock back and forth. When it's not shoved up against a cabinet as in this pic, that is. If I leave it freestanding the cats go Godzilla on it. That's entertainment!

The Pioneer Woman - I'm just like her!

Except for showing off my La Creuset cookware and my kabillion-dollar guest house renovations like The Pioneer Woman, I show off the stuff I scavenge from the side of the road!


I've been looking for some lawn furniture for the backyard. I mean, come on, it looks kind of bare:




What's that? No, no, I'm not planning on raking leaves any time soon. Up here, you just run 'em over with the lawn mower. Done!

Anyhow, back this past summer I snagged an old wicker rocker from down by the creek, but when I got it home I realized it was really pretty much past redemption. So I was beyond happy when I scored some solid wood lawn chairs from a local curb a couple of weeks back.

And then, AND THEN, imagine the happy feeling I got when I saw that the people in one of the houses up my street had put a wicker loveseat out to the curb. Oh, I wanted that loveseat. But! I was unsure of the etiquette of scrounging from the neighbors. I mean, "tacky" comes to mind.

But, well, it wasn't a next-door neighbor or anything, but still, I knew the people who lived in the wicker-loveseat-at-the-curb house, at least to say "hi" to, and I wondered if it would be weird to go, well, re-purpose their furniture.

But oh, I could not let that wicker loveseat get away! It was killing me to drive by it, day after day, all alone at the curb. And garbage day was rapidly approaching. So, last night after work, I got myself together, moseyed up the street, and rang their doorbell.

"Hi, Sue!" I said when the wife came to the door. "I see you've got a loveseat at the curb! Are you giving it away? (well, duh, but I was trying to be polite, here.) I'd love to have it for my backyard, if you don't mind!"

Boy, was I glad to get THAT little speech over with. AWK-ward! And Sue was happy to part with her no-longer-wanted loveseat, because as it turns out, she had gotten BETTER wicker furniture at a garage sale the weekend before and the circle of life and all that.

My loveseat, let me show you it:





Pioneer Woman, eat your heart out! A little paint and that's going to be beautiful!



Oh, and here it is with the wooden lawn chairs, which are also in need of scraping and painting but you've got to have vision, people:






How many cats can you find in that picture?



Somehow I don't think The Pioneer Woman's going to be coming to visit any time soon.

Sending the wrong message

Do any of you watch Teen Mom, or its precursor, Sixteen and Pregnant, on MTV?


Those shows have been described as the best teen birth control, ever, and it's true. Showing what it's like after the kid is born and the boyfriend takes off and grandma won't babysit and there's not enough money for diapers has got to be a deterrent for all those teenage airheads who think having a baby is no big whoop.


Imagine my dismay when I was standing in line at the grocery store and noticed that one of the Teen Moms was on the cover of People. And another Teen Mom was on the cover of, I don't know, Us Weekly or something.


And I was all, like, Nooooooooooo! Ur doin it rong! Because NOW all the teenage airheads are going to think that getting knocked up at 15 and having a kid at 16 will land them the cover of a national magazine.



Shit.

Attention Readers!

Guys, Better World Books is having a sale - 4 books for ten bucks! And free shipping! And you can get more than 4 - each additional book is just $2.50!

And FREE SHIPPING!

Oh my God you guys, I just went nuts over there - nine books for $22.50!


I swear I am not getting paid to pimp for Better World Books - I just got an email this morning saying the sale was about to end, and I'm all, like, "what sale?", because evidently I missed the boat on this one somehow, so I headed over there, and holy shit you can save some mega money!


Now, not all books in their catalog are included in the sale, but at least half of the titles I typed in were included, so chances are good that the books you've been wanting to read are on sale. I usually borrow books from the library, but even with inter-library loans, there are some books that aren't available locally, so this was my big chance.


Oh, and Better World Books supports world literacy blahblahblah so there you go.


But the sale ends tonight! Hurryhurryhurry to Better World Books right now!


Whew. My work here is done.

(Oh, and here's what I ordered:
Lottery by Patricia Wood
A Ticket to Ride by Paula McLain
Leave the Building Quickly: True Stories by Cynthia Kaplan
The Wedding Dress by Carrie Young
Petal Pusher by Laurie Lindeen
The Book of Bright Ideas by Sandra Kring which I hope is better than that other dog of hers I tried to read
Shout Down the Moon by Lisa Tucker
As Cool As I Am by Pete Framm
and
Cooking with 5 Ingredients or Less (heh) by Susan Kosoff)

What are you waiting for? GO!

Movie Review: Precious

Yeah, here at RockyCat, we let movies age a few years before reviewing them. *cough* And I actually watched this movie back in June, so, well ... better late than never?

Okay, even if you haven't seen it yet (doubtful), you still probably know what "Precious" is about - a girl growing up in Harlem under brutal family circumstances.


Even though this movie was based on a novel and is not a true-life account, you just know that there's people out there who actually live like this, which is pretty damn depressing. And the movie is not exactly the feel-good flick of the year, but it's still pretty engrossing. Engrossing to the point that I actually felt a little guilty watching it, like I was spying on these people's lives or something.

Recommended, but be advised that this is an extremely, well, mature movie in theme. DO NOT let your kids watch this one, unless they're, like, forty or something.

Deal-breakers

So, I was watching "The Hangover"* over the weekend, which was an okay movie, until it got to what I call "the deal-breaker".

Namely, Mike Tyson.

There are certain people whom I will not watch. Not in a movie, not on a talk show, not in a cameo appearance, notnotnot. When they appear, I change the channel, 'cause they're deal-breakers for me. I'm not buyin' what they're sellin'.

Mike Tyson is one of them. Any man who beats the shit out of women is not someone I will allow to entertain me.

Oh, it's not just the wife-beaters. See also: Woody Allen (pedophile, in spirit if not technically), Mel Gibson (misogynistic anti-Semite), Tom Cruise (just too damn strange), and I'm sure I can think of a few others if you give me a minute ...

... Renee Zellwegger! I don't know what the hell is wrong with her face, but I'm not watchin' it. Jeezus.

How about you? Any deal-breakers?




*which, come on, that baby never needed a diaper change? Not even once? I'm not buyin' it.

Freaky Friday - Heaven Sent Edition

Among the many boxes of crap the previous owner of my house oh so thoughtfully left in the attic for me to clean out were these artistic masterpieces:

They're Heaven Sent! (As always, you can click on the pics to embiggen. And please to ignore the heavy coating of dust on these boxes; it's not like I'm gonna break out the Pledge on these any time soon.)

If Antiques Roadshow ever starts up a Resin-Pieces-Of-Crap Division, I'm gonna be rich:

This dude does not look happy about having to carry around that little diorama between his antlers:

Oh, and check out the "welcome" chevron on his chest! Look at his eyes and his bulked-out neck muscles; he's all, "welcome, motherf*ckers. Come on in; I dare ya." It's like Bambi on steroids, resin version.

Seriously, that last one is so hilariously bad that I thought long and hard about actually hanging it on my front door.

"Welcome. Come right on in so I can impale you against the wall with my antlers."

Shit. Maybe I'll go ahead and do it.

Please don't make me watch it.

Okay, I'll try to get a Freaky Friday up a little later, but first I feel like there's something I need to talk about, here.

I was flipping through channels last night when I came across the History Channel. They're already ramping up their 9/11 coverage, and as my stomach sank and my heart got sick, all I could think of before I changed the channel was, "please don't make me watch it."

This time every year on TV, it's the same thing: Hours and hours and hours of planes flying into buildings. Of buildings crashing to the ground. Of a thick, choking layer of dust permeating everything. Of thousands of people streaming across the bridges, desperately trying to get away from the city.

I've been watching those images in early September for nine years now, and I just don't think I can do it anymore. It's not like I'm going to forget. That day is seared into my memory; it's not going anywhere.

And while I certainly understand that these programs have a value, especially for people who were too young to remember that day, I just don't want to relive it anymore.

Here's the scary thing: This country's becoming less tolerant, not more. We're becoming more close-minded, not more enveloping. With the Limbaughs on the radio and that nutjob down in Gainesville who wants to burn the Korans and the Iraqis who are marching in protest, it's like everybody's going off the rails all at once. And I just want to tell them, "You know what? Go ahead and SAY what you want. BURN those Korans. MARCH that march. Do what you feel you need to do to express yourself, as long as it's not physically hurting anybody else. Go for it. That's the damn POINT. It's called freedom of expression."

All you have to do is watch some of the the video from that Glenn Beck rally to know that there are an awful lot of people out there who believe that anybody who doesn't look, talk and think just like they do should be taken out and shot. By that criteria, I'd be dead right now.

Just let me live my life, okay? And you can live yours.

And please don't make me watch those planes again.

Perspective

While I was moaning about my visit to the dentist yesterday, my sister Texas's home, with her in it, was hit by a flash flood courtesy of Tropical Storm Hermine.

She had to be rescued via jet ski. She could have died. Everything in her home, from the floors up to a height of four feet, is going to have to be gutted down to the studs and redone. She's looking at weeks, if not months, in a residence hotel while the work is done.

Hang in there, sis. Better times are comin'. And if you need me to come down and help out with the appliance selection*, just give me a call.




*stainless steel. I'm just sayin'.

Christ on a cracker

On Saturday, I wrote a check for $1,700.00 for the replacement windows, with another $900.00 due at installation.

This morning, I went to the dentist and learned that I need a thousand dollars worth of crown work done.

*sob*

Excuse me while I go rob a bank ....

This past weekend

I actually had a lot of stuff I was going to get done this past weekend, but sitting down on Saturday morning and writing out a check (for more than I paid for my first car, dagnab it!) for the replacement windows seemed to take the wind out of my sails. Plus, they can't even do the install until November, so we're looking at an extreme case of delayed gratification, here.


But! I did manage to get some stuff done:


Cleaned out the car, which was beginning to look like somebody was living in it. I can actually see the carpets now.


Found a roadside ditch where monarch caterpillars were having an eating competition on the milkweed.

A few feet down from the caterpillars, found some solid wood lawn furniture that somebody had put out at the road with a "Free" sign. Whoopee! A little sanding and painting, and that's gonna be some fine-lookin' outdoor seating. Jeezus, I'm cheap.


On a related note, fished a Razor scooter out of the creek, where it had landed after evidently being tossed off the bridge overhead. The water was cold, but it was worth it. Why, I'm not sure. I'd better watch it, or I'm going to end up on an episode of "Hoarders".


Saw a great blue heron playing with its food. It'd pick up a fish, thrash it around a little, drop it back in the water, let it get a little bit away, then charge after it again.


Finally got some bedding for the Craftmatic! Adjustable! Bed!


Weed-whacked the ditch, which is probably my least-favorite chore.


Covered some of the exposed insulation in the garage. Wasn't that doing to get done last year? Yes. Yes it was.


Got buzzed by hummingbirds going to the feeder. Those little dudes are aggressive, bless 'em.

Sat down and read a "National Enquirer." It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.

So, I did get some stuff done this weekend. And by writing a ginormous check to the window people, my main chore in weekends past, which was scraping and painting the window frames, is no longer an issue. How will I ever fill the time? I don't know, but I'm sure I'll find something.

Freaky Friday!

Okay, first off, if you don't want to see, like, bones and stuff, you should probably skip this one, okay?

Okay.

This is a box that used to contain Christmas cards:





In case you can't read my chicken scratch, the note on the box says "Do not shake - skeleton inside".

When you come to my place, there is stuff like that just lying around all over. Which is probably why nobody ever comes to visit.

Here is what's inside the box:






That's why I was asking you guys about where birds like to be. I found that skeleton in the parking lot at work, at the base of the stairs. And it was really weird, because usually there's an intermediate stage before something gets skeletal. I mean, first it's like a dead bird with feathers and guts and stuff, then it starts to decompose and the bugs are eating it, and then, eventually, it reaches skeleton stage. But this thing just appeared one day as a full-fledged skeleton, with no in-between.

Well! Of course I had to pry it off the blacktop, poor thing. And now I'm going to incorporate it into some kind of art-thingie. I was just going to mount it on some cloud fabric with some leaves around it so it could be like it was in a tree (per your suggestions), but then I had to go and start thinking about the whole thing, and now I'm bogged down in, "what would be the perfect way to display these bones?", which means I've basically screwed the pooch, idea-wise, and the project may never get done if I don't just choose a direction and GO. Oh, and I tend to anthropomorphize the shit out of everything, which doesn't make working with bones and stuff any easier, I'll tell ya that right now.

Phew!

You just got a little glimpse into my brain, there. Scary, isn't it?

Just call him Ah-nold ...

... or, you know, Roger Clemens.


Poor Runtman had to go back on the steroids. The over-the-counter stuff was working for a while, then it wasn't. (For those of you who are new (hi!), The Runt is one of my cats. He developed inhaled-allergy problems earlier this summer.)


I don't know why I'm so disappointed. I guess it's a combination of hating to watch him dig and twitch and scratch when we thought we had this all figured out, and the fact that he's only two. Two! He's just a baybee cat, too young to have all these med problems.


Poor dude.

But! He did manage to catch a gigantor dragonfly last night, so he can't be feeling too poorly.

Oh! And that dragonfly was HUGE. And it's so funny; The Runt'll swat 'em right down out of the air, and then carry them around in his mouth while they're still buzzing madly. That's got to be a strange feeling, a dragonfly all a-buzz in your mouth, but he does it all the time. Weirdo.

It happened last night

Back this spring, the kind Jess Riley sent me some milkweed seeds to plant to attract Monarch butterflies, but because I'm a spaz, I failed to get the seeds to germinate.





So earlier this summer found me by the side of a nearby road, digging up milkweed from a ditch and transplanting it to the edge of my yard.





Last night I was puttering around outside and noticed something on one of the milkweed plants. Check it ouuuuuuutttt:





NOM NOM NOM NOM

Success!

What do you think?

Okay, so I'm working on this art .... thing, and I'm wondering: Where would a bird rather be? In the air? In a tree? On the ground?

What do you think?

Stuff I wonder about while watching summer reality TV reruns

1. Is Bret Michaels balding on top? If not, why does he wear that do-rag? Is it pre-emptive against the day he really IS bald?

2. What, exactly, does Jim Bob Duggar do for a living? And wasn't he running for office a while back? Did he win?

3. Does Gordon Ramsay ever get tired of throwing fake temper tantrums?
3a. Did any contestant ever tell him "Say it, don't spray it"? 'Cause that would be awesome.

4. Do any of these reality-show women with the giant fake boobs wonder what they're going to look like when they're in their eighties? With everything all, like, droopy and saggy and grandma-y, except for the GIGANTIC RACK O'BOOBS out front? See also: Tattoos. I mean, a tramp stamp on an eighty-year-old? Nobody wants to see that.

5. Am I watching too much TV? Never mind, I know the answer to that one.

Ew

The dead starling the cats had stashed under the bed Friday night was actually very much alive when I went to remove it, turning what I thought was going to be a body recovery into a live rescue.

And I'll tell you what, that's one tough bird, because judging from the evidence I found after the fact, I'm thinking it had been in the house since Thursday.

And this whole bringing-the-prey-into-the-house thing had better stop, pronto, or I'm nailing the pet door shut. Sheesh.

This week in history

A year ago this weekend, I was moving from my apartment into my first house.





We move shit hillbilly-style 'round these parts.

Hard to believe it's been a whole year. An ENTIRE YEAR since I've had to listen to someone else's cranking stereo at three in the freakin' morning.

Amen.

Freaky Friday - Fungus Focus

Hahaha, that sounds like one of those hokey segments on NPR, doesn't it? "Coming up next - Fungus Focus!"

Anyhow, check out what I've got growing in my backyard:




Ignore the feet - they're just there for scale. The mushroom things look kind of like pancakes - I wonder if they're good with maple syrup on top?

Recently Read

Skip it if you wanna.

1. Thank You For All Things by Sandra Kring. Novel about .... well, it doesn't really matter, because it was so formulaic. Take a character from List A, a situation from List B, and a funny character trait from List C. Blech. I never made it past Chapter 3.

2. The Lace Reader by Brunonia Barry. Bo-ring! I gave it my best shot because it got good reviews, but gave up about a hundred pages in.

3. The Cracker Queen by Lauretta Hanson. Memoir. Interesting, if a little preachy toward the end.

4. Backseat Saints by Joshilyn Jackson. Novel about a woman trying to escape her abusive husband. A fast-paced summer read.

5. The Killing Tree by Rachel Keener. Novel about a young woman who falls in love with a migrant picker - Good, if a little overwrought at times.

6. Roseflower Creek by J.L. Miles. Sample line: "Her face lit up like one them angels I seen on a pretty store-bought Christmas card MeeMaw gave me once." hahahahahaPASS.

7. A World Made of Fire by Mark Childress. Novel about a family, set in the early 1900s. Started out strong, then sputtered and stalled until I gave up about two-thirds of the way through. Meh.

8. Labor Day by Joyce Maynard. Okay, I can't tell too much about this one without giving the plot away. The narrator was an adolescent boy, so it kind of came across as a YA novel, but it was still an interesting, quick read.

9. The Moonflower Vine by Jetta Carleton. Written in 1962, this was about a family and its secrets - Kind of dated, but still worth reading.

10. Addie Pray by Joe David Brown. Novel on which the movie "Paper Moon" was based. About a con artist and a young girl running scams in the thirties - very good!


Okay, that's it for now. Right now I'm struggling through "Lit" by Mary Karr, which is, by my count, her third memoir. I loved her "The Liar's Club", was a little less fond of "Cherry", and at this point, I kind of just want her to shut up about herself already. Sorry, but it's true.

Anything out there I should be reading?

About this whole mosque thing ...

Look, I know I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, here, but I'm a little confused. Wasn't "freedom of religion" one of the things this country was founded on?

Yeah, yeah, some of the Muslims are terrorist extremists, and that sucks, but there've been some pretty shitty Christians over the years, too. Spanish Inquisition, anyone? And some tenets of the Muslim religion seem pretty strange, but hey, anybody take a look at Mormonism lately? I hear they have some kind of thing about holy underwear.

I just don't see what the problem is. If they want to build a place where they can worship their god, who cares if it's two blocks from Ground Zero? I mean, it's not like they're gonna walk over and try to blow it up again or something.

It's like with the whole Tea Party thing, which is basically people being scared of people who aren't like them. I thought we were past that shit, but apparently not. Hmmph.


Okay, that's my little Current Events thing of the day. Now scroll down, 'cause I need some help with windows.

I don't know what I'm doing

... I know, what else is new, right?


A couple of weekends ago I was scraping and painting some of the exterior window frames (get away from me, bees!), and I've come to the conclusion that the windows in the bedrooms are really beyond repair. The wood strips between the panes of glass are breaking apart, the windows themselves have an alarming tendency to come crashing back down after you've opened them, and the storms and screens are all akimbo, to the point that some of the storms don't even come off any more.


If I get them replaced by the end of the year, I can deduct 30% of the cost off next year's taxes, so I guess I'm going to take the plunge.


Here are some questions: What kind of windows do you have? Are they replacement windows? Do you like them? Is there a feature you wish they had? Are they vinyl? Wood? Did you hire a local contractor or a "window broker" type place to install them?


Hey! It's called "blog research", people! Totally legit!


Seriously, if you've got any opinions on the subject of windows, I'm all ears.

Yet another million-dollar idea

You know how when you have to give your pet a pill, and the pet is all, "p-touie!", "p-touie!", frantically spitting the pill back out? And then you have to grab the now-slimy pill and try to shove it back down again?

Someone should make treat-flavored pills for pets. Pills that taste like beef, or catnip, or mouse, or whatever.

You're welcome.

Weekend Update: Good News/Bad News Edition

The good news is, I got the lawn mowed on Saturday.

The bad news is, it took me half the damn day to get the mower started. Next time it pulls this shit, I'm gonna set it on fire.


The good news is, I discovered where the bees are coming from.


The bad news is, I discovered it when I ran over their ground nest with the lawn mower and was swarmed by yellowjackets. Those stings hurt. Anybody know where I can buy some napalm?


The good news is, after having the plumbing worked on, the washer is no longer leaking out of the stand pipe.


The bad news is, now it's leaking someplace closer to the floor.


The good news is, I didn't have to water the garden this weekend.

The bad news is, that's because it started raining buckets on Saturday night and has not yet stopped.


I think I'm just going to write this past weekend off and move on. How was your weekend?

Freaky Friday!

HA! You all thought I forgot, didn't you? I did not forget Freaky Friday! But first, you need to scroll down to read the thrilling! conclusion! to Blacktop Watch. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Okay. Everybody back? Here we go:


Remember the trophies I grabbed from the side of the road?

Well, I found a use for one of them - meet my new hood ornament:

I'll bet I've got the only Saturn wagon in town with an eagle on the hood.

Blacktop Watch: Day OVER

So, I got home from work last night, changed into shorts and a t-shirt, put some food down for the cats, and was just kind of puttering around, when I happened to look out my kitchen window and saw my neighbor B. in my backyard.


Whhhhhaaaaa?


There he was, with a lawn chair and a beer, just hangin' in MY backyard.


What fresh level of hell is THIS?, I thought. IT'S NOT ENOUGH that he took over my driveway, now he's gonna take over my YARD? Oh, no. HELL, no. This is gonna stop RIGHT NOW.

I went out into the backyard.

"B.!", I said. "What're you doing over HERE?"

"Waiting to talk to you," he said. "About the driveway."

Just then I noticed his wife, L., heading over. And she was carrying a dish garden full of plants, and a couple of beers.

"We're going to start using our driveway tomorrow," B. said.

"Really?", I said, laughing. "Are you going to throw a party? Will there be balloons and clowns? Am I invited?"

B. laughed, and his wife handed me the dish garden and a beer. "We wanted to thank you for letting us park in your driveway," she said. And we all sat down and had a nice chat and beers.

Awwwwwww.

After thirty-seven days*, the siege is over.

I have my driveway back!




*not that anyone's counting or anything. THIRTY. SEVEN.

The Choir and Last Chance Highway

In my summer quest to watch every reality show on every station, ever, I came across "The Choir" on BBC America. It's about this dude in England who goes into an inner-city school and forms a choir to compete at the World Choir Olympics or some such bullshit.


The second season has just started and I haven't watched any of it yet, but I watched the first season and it cracked me up, because here's this poor choir dude, working his butt off to take a group of rag-tag kids and make them into a credible choir, and they workworkworkworkworkwork and finally get to the World! Choir! Olympics! In! China! and they take the stage and


they pretty much suck.


Oh, I mean, it wasn't horrible, but they were really pretty bad, and they didn't even make it past the first round.


Here's your life lesson, kiddos: You can workworkworkworkwork and STILL suck at life. Hey, better they learn it sooner rather than later, right?



Moving on, I caught an episode or two of Last Chance Highway, which is supposedly about animal rescue, but it's basically where this woman drives around with her husband and grabs people's dogs off their front lawns.


And if they're, like, "Excuse me! That's my dog!" She's all, like, "Oh, this poor little doggy needs a good new home! Let me take him with me!" And they're, like, "Hell NO, crazy lady! That's my dog!"



So yeah, that's pretty entertaining.

Oh yeah, and am I the only one who thinks L.A. Ink is pretty much played out? Frankly, I don't really give a rat's ass if Corey stays or goes, and I'm getting tired of Kat pulling that woe-is-me attitude all the time. Cheer up or go home, honey.

Coming soon: I review the TV Guide station. What else can I do? I'm running out of reality shows.

Dudes. Duuuu-uuuu-uuuudes.

They. had. one. more.

Following Bridgett's excellent suggestion in the comments, I went back to the garden store last night to see if I could find out the name of the manufacturer, even though I knew there was no way I was going to pay the original ninety-dollar asking price. Maybe the manufacturer's trying to unload some, too, I thought. I stopped at the clearance tent before I headed inside, and there, in a corner, was one more birdbath. This one was thirty instead of twenty-five, because the stand was in better shape, and you'd better believe I snapped that bad boy up.

And you know what's weird? I'm not even that into birdbaths, or mosaic tile, or koi, but I saw this thing and it just sang to me. I needed it. Is that odd?

Here's Little Girl doing her Price-Is-Right-lady-modeling-the-merchandise thing:

She's not really that gigantor. It's just the angle of the pic.

Oh! Oh! And also, in the clearance tent? GIANT RATS:

Dudes. How awesome are those??? The garden center is discontinuing its Halloween extravaganza and was unloading all kinds of funky stuff. I picked up all of those awesome rats for under twenty bucks.

I'm the happiest girl in the world.

*snif*

I live in the sticks

News item from today's local paper:

"Backhoe runs over man in (Local) County; buckets of marijuana found."

I'm a little curious about the "buckets of marijuana" thing - I mean, why would you have bucketfuls of pot? Don't you usually keep it in baggies? Unless maybe it's harvest time. Or maybe they were growing the pot in buckets? Hmmm.

Reminds me of the time, years ago, when a local teacher called the police because his house had been broken into. Trouble is, he neglected to get rid of the many, many pot plants he had growing in the backyard before the cops showed up to investigate the break-in.

He doesn't teach school anymore. Last I knew, he was working as an x-ray tech, which, come to think of it, probably pays as much as being a teacher, so all's well that ends well, right?


Be sure to scroll down to find out if the electrician showed up!

He Showed!

The good news is, he showed!

The bad news is, he only finished about half the work.

The good news is, he left a note saying that he'll come back today to finish up!

The bad news is, in the note he requested that I leave him a check for the full amount we agreed upon.

My fraaaaaaynd, I am not leaving you a check for the full amount when only half the work is done.

So! How to be diplomatic? I left him a note saying I did not feel comfortable leaving a check on the table, seeing as how I'd left a door unlocked so he could get in, and that he should call me when he's finishing up and I'll bring him a check.

Fair? I think so. Let's see what happens!

Did he or didn't he?

... show up, that is.

The independent electrician that I hired off craigslist was supposed to start work this morning. But given my history with itinerant tradesmen, I will frankly be surprised if I find him there when I get home tonight.

You see, there's a reason why people go off to work for themselves. It's because they can't hold a job in functioning society.

Ouch!

It's true.

I have never, ever hired an independent repairman who wasn't at least slightly off in the head. Just a few degrees off-kilter, if you will.

And frankly, I don't care if you're crazier than a shithouse rat, if you can competently solve my home-repair problems for a fair price.

The problem? These guys tend to have attendance issues. If you can get one to show up on a promised date, it's like a f*cking miracle. Once you actually get them to the job site, you're golden, as long as everything can be done in one visit, because getting them to come back again once they've left for the day can also be a problem.

So did he or didn't he?

I'm about to find out.

The weekend in pics

Little Girl, getting ready for her closeup:






I'm ready, Mr. DeMille:

Froggie went a'courtin', he did ride, mmm-hmmmm, mmm-hmmmm:

Water snake sticking out its tongue:

Mama deer with a spotted fawn:

She actually had twins, but I couldn't get them all in the frame together.

You guys, I went to a tent sale at a local garden center on Saturday, and they had this gorgeous birdbath, with a mosaic tile inset of a koi fish and a lily pad, and it was marked down to twenty-five bucks, and I was going to buy it, but I wanted to look at some other stuff real quick, and some lady had the NERVE to buy it before I could! And thinking about it later, I was SO MAD I was literally stamping my feet, all, "that was MY birdbath, dammit!" Grrrrr. It was the LAST ONE they had, too. Dammit. I almost went after the lady in the parking lot, to see if she'd take thirty for it, but that's just crazytalk.

So I went shopping yesterday for a birdbath. BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE DENIED. I didn't find one like the one that got away, though. So if anybody knows of where I can buy a birdbath with a mosaic tile inset of a koi fish and a lily pad, let me know, okay?

Freaky Friday!

First, scroll down if you want to hear the scintillating details about yesterday's doctor's appointment. No? Okay. On to Freaky Friday.

Remember the elephant lunchbox from a few weeks ago?

Allow me to present the elephant hat:

You can't really tell from the pics, but this hat is fabulous. The elephants are made of sequins, and all the scroll work is done with metallic and beaded thread, with additional sequins thrown in for good measure. It weighs a LOT.

Will I wear it? Depends on how drunk you get me.

Survey SAYS ....

... poison ivy. Or poison oak. Or possibly poison sumac. Definitely poison something. Something that brushed against my skin.


See that? My friends know as much as the doctor! Heh. Kidding, doc. JUST KIDDING.

Anyhow, it's not MRSA or some other flesh-eating monstrosity, which is all I needed to know. The doc gave me a prescription for steroid cream, which, you guys, if you thought I was cranky BEFORE, just wait until I start absorbing steroids through my skin, is all I'm sayin'.

Oh! Oh! And guess what? The doctor called my sock-as-bandage getup ingenious! HAH! I am ingenious!

Or, you know, insane. Either way.

Stay tuned - I'll try to get a Freaky Friday up a little later.

A letter to my dermatologist

Dear Dr. Romeo Morales:

Hi! Remember me? I've been a patient of yours for, gosh, at least three or four years now. Time flies, doesn't it? And in just a few months I'm scheduled for my yearly check-up.

Here's the problem, doc - I've got this rash. I've had it for well over a week now, and it's not getting any better; actually, it's getting worse. What was just a nuisance is now extremely painful and a little bit worrisome, what with all this talk about MRSA and all. I really didn't want to have to go to a doctor for this, but I guess it's time. Seeing as how you're my dermatologist, I thought it might be a good idea for you to take a look at it, and because I've been a patient of yours for a while, I was pretty sure I wouldn't have any problem getting an appointment to see you.

So imagine my surprise when I called your office yesterday, and your receptionist bluntly told me that you didn't have any openings until October, and that I'd better go to a walk-in clinic.

HahahahahaNO. I'm not going to a (trying very hard not to swear here) flippin' walk-in clinic, to a doctor I've never seen before in my LIFE, when I have doctors whom I know.

So I called my primary care physician's office, and guess what? He'll see me at 3:45. TODAY. Not October.

Dr. Morales, it pains me a little bit to say this, but you know what? I don't think you're going to be my dermatologist any more. What good does it do to have a doctor who can't see you for MONTHS when you have a problem? What's the use in that?

So, you know, I'm probably gonna cancel that appointment for the check-up. You know, the one in December. Let's see, it's August now, so that's, hmmmm, FOUR MONTHS' NOTICE. Is that far enough ahead for you? No? Too bad, doc. Too bad.

Sincerely,

RockyCat

Put a sock on it

Warning! Discussion of gross medical stuff ahead!

You've been warned.

Okay, so the creeping crud continues to vex me. According to trained medical professionals (i.e., my friends) who've been brave enough to take a peek, it's poison ivy. Or poison sumac. Or possibly poison oak. Definitely poison something. Okay, okay, so they're not really trained medical professionals, but they're all I've got, unless I want to pony up a forty-dollar co-pay at the dermatologist, which, NO, not unless parts start falling off or something.

Here's the main problem at this point: Bandages do not stick to me. Nor does adhesive tape, or cloth tape, or basically anything that's supposed to stick to your skin. They don't stick to me.

I don't KNOW why, okay? Maybe I'm made of Teflon or something. It really presented a problem back when I was having some moles removed and the dermatologist resorted to what amounted to industrial-strength glue to affix the dressings, which worked GREAT until it came time to have the bandages removed, and the top layer of my skin came off along with the dressings. Whoops! Live and learn, Mr. Dermatologist.

Anywho, I've been jury-rigging bandaids and bandages and gauze and everything else you can think of for the past WEEK trying to keep the creeping ooze covered, until I finally hit on a solution. I cut off the foot-part of a crew sock and pulled the leg-part up over my arm. TA-DA! I'm a genius! Patent pending.

Which left the spots on my upper legs, which, I KNOW, how did the crud get on my freakin' THIGHS? Some questions, my friends, are better left unanswered.

I'd rig up a patchwork of extra-large bandaids, slap it on my leg, and watch as it fell to the floor. *sigh* But! Last night, in the middle of the night, I had a moment of clarity: Long johns. I cut the upper-leg parts off a pair of long johns, rolled them over the bandages, and voila! No more falling bandaids.

I'm waiting for the MacArthur Genius Award people to call any day now. I'm gonna be rich! Or, you know, just covered with sock- and long john-parts. Either way.


But wait ..... what's that you say? Ace ..... Ace bandages? That you just wrap around an arm or leg and fasten?

Holy shit, you guys, I'm an idiot. I have an entire collection of Ace bandages, thanks to various sprains and strains over the years, and it never occurred to me until just now that you could use an Ace bandage as, well, a BANDAGE.

Shit. I don't think the MacArthur people are going to be calling after all.

The reality show even I can't watch -

"Confessions: Animal Hoarders" on Animal Planet.


The other night, I settled in for some quality *cough* TV viewing: Back-to-back episodes of Animal Hoarders.


The first show started, and it was all about this woman who lived in a trailer with fifteen cats and


ninety-seven dogs. In a trailer.


It was filthy. It was disgusting. Those dogs were pooping and peeing everyplace, and lots of them were crammed into cages, and the cats were practically walking on the ceilings trying to get away from the dogs, and


I couldn't watch it. I just couldn't.


Because you know what's gonna happen: The woman's relatives will stage an intervention, and she'll agree to give up most of the dogs, if she can only keep one or two or twelve, and they'll get the trailer all cleaned up, and you know damn well that if the cameras went back a month or two later, she'd have the place filled up again with dogs and cats and poop and pee.


Look, I don't pretend to know what's wrong with these people, but I just don't see how putting them on national tv is doing any good, particularly since from what I've read about hoarding, there doesn't really seem to be any cure for it. You just go in every once in a while with a hazmat unit, scrape the shit off the walls, try to get some of the animals new homes so they have some kind of a chance at a decent life, and wait for it to cycle up again.


I can't watch it. It makes me angry, that someone could possibly think they were doing those animals a favor, somehow saving them, by cramming them into filthy, grossly overcrowded conditions, and it makes me sad for the animals.

I mean, why can't those people just volunteer at shelters, for Pete's sake? They could be around all the animals they wanted, and they'd actually be doing some good, instead of turning their home into a giant crap pile.

Jeez.

Just because it cracked me up

Courtesy of failblog.


Be sure to scroll down for Freaky Friday!


Gross medical update: I woke up at four this morning in a full-blown panic attack, convinced that I was going to end up in the hospital thanks to the creeping crud and that they were going to have to cut off my arm.


Thanks, The Ruins!


Nothing's much better, but nothing's much worse either, except for the fact that I was in the shower this morning and looked down, and the skin was sloughing off my arm in little sheets.


It's gonna be a long weekend.

Freaky Friday - Office Edition

This dude works for an appliance repair store around the corner from my office.




I think of him as Kiltdown Man. {groan}

Honestly, I've got a lot of respect for this guy. We work in a fairly tough part of town, and if he's got the nuts to wear a skirt to work, more power to him.

I was gonna ask him about the whole underwear thing, but I figure he probably gets that a lot.

Movie Review: The Ruins

So, I was flipping through channels yesterday before Carmen came on, and I saw that FX was showing "The Ruins". I'd read the book a while back, and thought I'd check out the movie.

*Spoiler ahead*

Okay, so the premise of The Ruins is that these people are exploring some, well, ruins, and a vine-type thing starts attacking them by, like, invading their bodies. Like growing into their skin and shit.

This movie was probably not the best choice for someone who currently has alien, running sores on her body. Ahem. But as it turns out, it really didn't matter, cause I happened to tune in right at the part when the dude decides he's gotta cut the other dude's legs off, but first he's gotta break the bones, so he picks up this great big rock and lifts it over his head and

yeah. That's as far as I got. I actually got up and turned away from the TV and covered my ears and went lalalalala so I couldn't hear any, you know, screaming or anything, and then I walked back to grab the remote to turn the TV off with my head turned to the side, blindly groping, so I wouldn't accidentally see any images on the screen, and that's why I'll never make it as a movie reviewer.

Okay! Moving on to TMI land! Gross shit ahead!

You've been warned!

The spot on my arm is oozing yellow crud at an alarming rate, despite liberal applications of neosporin. I woke up this morning with two more spots on my leg that are all bumpy-like and are probably going to erupt into gross at any moment. I feel like the very first character introduced in a very long Stephen King novel.

Googling revealed that impetigo is evidently usually transmitted by direct skin-to-skin contact, which is sadly missing in my life right now. And poison ivy, well, isn't poison ivy itchy? These spots aren't itchy at all, they just sit there and ooze ....

Okay, now I've grossed myself out. If you don't see any more posts up here, well, prepare for the apocalypse, because I am evidently the alpha case in some horrible new disease. Heh. kidding.

I hope.

If I ran the flower shop

Because I'm a jerk.

In other news, did anybody catch "Carmen" on PBS last night? I'm not really a big fan of opera, although I do listen to it on the weekends when it comes on NPR and I'm too lazy to change the station, but I've always loved "Carmen", probably because I saw "Carmen Jones" (the 1954 version) as a kid and it amazed me. I didn't learn until much later that they totally redid all the lyrics.

So! I was going to watch a little bit of Carmen and then switch to something else, but I turned it on, and holy SHIT that Elina Garanca is HOT.

Did you guys see her? I mean, I'm as straight as they come, but there was no denying that she is one hot woman. You just can't take your eyes off her. What a performer! and HOT. I ended up watching almost the whole damn thing.

Okay, that's my little girl crush for the day. I'm not the only one, am I? Who else has girl crushes? Fess up.

Chapter Twelve, in which I alienate my remaining readers

Warning: Discussion of gross medical symptoms, coming up!

I mean it!

You've been warned!

Okay, so Monday at work, the inside of my forearm started itching. I looked down, and there was a raised red area about a half inch long by an inch-and-a-half wide. By yesterday, little teeny-tiny blisters were forming. By today, the area was starting to get, well, {upcoming grossness YOU'VE BEEN WARNED} crusty, and when I accidentally-totally-on-purpose scratched some of the crust off, yellow-ish liquid came out.

WTF?

Am I dying? Have aliens laid eggs in my skin? Am I contagious?! Come'ere, lemme give ya a hug.

I had to go to my doctor today for something totally unrelated*, and she took a look at it and thought it looked like an allergic reaction. I think it looks like a really pissed-off spider crawled up my sleeve and fanged me up.

Any ideas?



*annual lady-parts check-up. GOD.

You be the judge

I did a favor for a friend of a friend last week, and she sent me flowers as a thank-you. Nice, right? Except ......... well ...........

And here's the thing - she picked that bouquet out.

Is it just me? Because I think it's damn creepy. Not as bad as a black-silk clown painting, but in the same general league. I do not want my flowers looking back at me.

Here's a pretty flower, just to even things out:

Hollyhock, taken this morning.

So! Do you think the flower-face thing is cute? Or creepy? 'Cause I think it's just plain wrong.

This is what happens when you let the gas boys on your land

Right now there is a huge controversy here in upstate over gas companies using hydraulic fracturing, also known as "fracking", to force natural gas from an underground foundation known as the Marcellus Shale.


While some individuals, towns, and counties are selling the gas rights to their properties as fast as they can, others are taking a more cautious approach, saying the DEC (Dept. of Environmental Conservation) needs to do more research into the drilling before allowing the gas companies to start work. In other parts of the country where this type of drilling has been utilized, there have been all sorts of problems with contaminated water, increased illness rates, and other nasty stuff.


There is an undeveloped park a couple of miles down the road from me, and the town has sold the gas rights for the park to a gas company. The DEC hasn't even given approval to start drilling yet, but the company who bought the rights has evidently already started work there, judging by some pics I took the other day.


This used to be a pretty little footpath winding through the woods:







Yeah. Think twice, people, is all I'm sayin'.

I am not worthy

I was at the library the other day, and I decided to get out some magazines along with the books. Looking through the magazine stacks, I picked out a gardening magazine, and "Taste of Home", because they might as well have named that one "Cooking for Dummies with Five Ingredients or Less", and, let's see, I grabbed an "Outside" magazine, and, finally, a "Harper's".


Have you all ever read "Harper's"? Because I hadn't. And the reason, as it turns out, that I have never read "Harper's" is because I am, evidently, too stupid to understand the articles.


Seriously, that magazine is hard-core intelligent.


I mean, I like to think that my reading-comprehension level is fairly high. I also like to think that I'm a reasonably intelligent person. But I swear, I started trying to claw my way through the articles in that magazine and my brain was all, like, "owwwwww. Stop itttttttt. It hurtzzzzz."


In a way I'm glad that there's a magazine for people who are, evidently, a billion times more intelligent than I. (Or is that "Than me"? Oh noooooooooo.) And it's given me a new thing to put on my goal list: Make it through an issue of Harper's and understand all the articles.


Hey, a person can dream, right?

In other news, I made an ill-advised attempt at conquering a gigantic banana split on Saturday. *urp* Seriously, I thought I'd lost my taste for soft-serve completely after trying to scarf down that monster. Until Sunday, when I ate more ice cream. There's something wrong with me.