How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

Very Superstitious

I don't consider myself a superstitious person. I don't have a lucky anything (number, pen, shirt, etc.). I don't think black cats affect my luck any differently from cats of any other color. I can't think of any rituals I go through for luck or anything of that nature.

Well, there was the one time when my friend Carl and I realized that every time we watched a Packers game together, they lost. But if we watched it separately or if we were together and with one or more other friends, they won. Now, why would we go and willfully jinx our Packers when there was such overwhelming evidence?

And there is the straw wrapper thing. Maybe you did this in middle school. After removing the straw, you flatten the wrapper and tie it in a large, loose knot. You must then think of somebody and pull on both ends of the straw. If the wrapper breaks with the knot intact, the person isn't thinking of you. But if the knot comes out, then the person is thinking of you. Holly and I pretend to believe that this is accurate. I got it from Amy, who when the knot stayed in, would announce that the person was probably peeing.

The one thing I will sheepishly admit to lending any entirely misguided credence to is knocking on wood. I blame the very same job that I waxed nostalgic about two posts ago. I had worked my way up there to being the person in charge of an entire hotel full of high schoolers, often around 200. My first few weeks of that job were pretty rough. Anything that could go wrong did, particularly with me having to bust and send home kids for drinking in their hotel rooms. I had to call my boss on each of these occasions, often quite late at night. One week, he hadn't heard from me by the time he saw me in the office. The conversation went something like this:

Me: I hate to even say it, but...

Him: DON'T!

We both knocked on wood and maybe spit on our elbows and threw salt over our shoulders or something. I honestly think I picked it up there out of total paranoia about what could possibly go wrong next. If I ever had a good week, I couldn't enjoy it for fear of when the other shoe would drop. I was accepting any and all insurance policies against everything going to crap, even if it involved knocking on tables and armoires like a crazy person. 

I sometimes still do this. On a somewhat regular basis. I'm not proud of that.

Alright now, you know how this works. I showed you mine, now you show me yours.

A material, a material, a material world

Please note that the Her in question was, at the time of this conversation, very, very angry with her husband.

Her: Don't ever get married. There's no good reason to get married.

Me: I'd do it for the gifts. I've bought high thread count sheets and nice kitchen stuff that I can't afford to buy for myself for about half of the people I know. I want payback.

Her: Oh. Well, yeah, that's a good reason. And you'd only really have to stay married about six months.

So I guess that's settled. Anybody want to marry me for roughly six months? We could split the stuff at the end. I call dibs on the sheets.

Here's Your Sign

You're familiar with the Bill Engvall routine about stupid people needing a sign? I am quite certain that would apply to whomever necessitated the making of this label for a hotel thermostat:

For the record, I did not set the thermostat to 66, although I did think upon seeing it in the morning that it made a lot of sense then about how I could be fine sleeping with the big down comforter over me.

(Pretend there's a transition here.)

A totally wonderful thing happened when I went to my first appointment with my psychiatrist for my ADD eval. Aside from the ADD diagnosis, I mean. A very old lady sitting next to me in the waiting room started talking to me because I was reading a James Patterson novel. He had been one of her favorite authors, but she can't read anymore because her eyes are too bad. None of her daughters read, she told me, right in front of two of said daughters. She had this giftcard to Half Price Books that she couldn't use and she'd like to give it to me. I protested that surely one of her daughters would like it. Eventually, one of said daughters assured me that if she wanted to give it to me, that was fine.

This giftcard turned out to be worth $50. FIFTY DOLLARS. Of FREE BOOKS. Is there anything better than free books? Because if there is anything better than free books, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT WOULD BE. So I went there today and got myself a book for the plane.

If you've read it, don't tell me how it ends! Also, please don't inform my nephew, should I at any point give it to him as a gift, that I really bought it for myself.

Ok, fine. I bought it because when you ask him what a dinosaur says, he says, "AAAAAAGHHHH!" and I cannot get enough of it.

Anyway, I'll be in the Pacific Northwest next week. Photos and trip updates, you know, when I get to it. Have a good week, Internet!

Guilty Pleasures

I'm not going to lie to you, Internet. I came up with the idea for this post while standing over a pot of cold Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, stabbing up giant forkfuls and trying to talk myself into stopping.

I'm not sure I feel actual guilt over it, but I wouldn't especially want anyone to see me engaged in such behavior. It's just...damn, that stuff is good cold. Seriously. I should always make it an hour before I want to eat it so I can put it in the fridge first.

Other guilty(ish) pleasures:

Little Debbie Zebra Cakes

Novels with no redeeming literary value

Craig Ferguson - It's just an odd crush to admit to having, isn't it? I don't know what it is about him, but there's something sexy there. Ditto Doug Wilson.

Secrettweet

Spaghetti-Os. I buy a can every couple of years and then maybe lick the bowl when they're gone.

Uptown Girls. This is a silly movie that I have watched, at least in part, multiple times on basic cable.

A Blizzard run to Dairy Queen. These happened fairly often when Vicki and I lived in an apartment walkable to a DQ. Once, we even decided mere minutes before the start of a new episode of the West Wing that we needed Blizzards and, since this was pre-DVR days, were forced to race the clock. These days, a car trip is required, but my current roommates are equally amenable. Particularly this month, when there has been the Girl Scout Tagalong Blizzard.

Boom Boom Pow on my car radio

Ok, this one I do feel a little shame in sharing with you, but I HAVE COMMITTED TO THE CONCEPT HERE. Around Christmas last year, I bought some Peppermint Schnapps for us to put in our hot chocolate. Then one night I was out of cocoa or didn't want a hot drink or something. I don't know. Anyway, I poured a capful of Schnapps into a mug of milk and by golly if it wasn't a satisfying beverage. I may have repeated the experience.

That's all I can think of at the moment, although there are certainly more. I'd feel a little better about this if you guys would admit to having some of these too.

House (Pretend) Rules

A while back, our good friend Jenny asked about the possibility of renting our available bedroom. (There are four in the house, but one is tiny and thus, the office.) It wasn't until after she gave notice at her apartment that I began explaining (read: making up) the rules around here. It started with explaining that, as a pastry chef, she would be required to bake us one cake or alternate agreed-upon baked good per month. The following is in no way an exhaustive list of the additional rules, but represents all of the ones I can remember.

Newest roommate pays the cable bill.

Last one finished eating cleans up. (This one was explained following our first dinner in the house as roommates, which I tore through in a matter of seconds, thanks to the aid of Pre-Menstrual Syndrome.)

Person living in That Bedroom empties the dishwasher.

Your rent will be twelve hundred dollars per month. Holly and I will each pay four fifty. Four dollars and fifty cents.

Every month, one of us cooks a multi-course meal for the others. You have this month, then we'll, uh, take the months...after...that. Totally.

Shortest person cleans the floors. (Actually, I just made this one up right now, but it makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? I mean, she is closer.)

There were a lot more. (Jenny: "Wow, there are a lot of rules here." Me: "Yeah, we like a very regimented household, run with military-like precision.")

Fortunately, Jenny is well aware that I am full of crap.

(Confidential to Jenny: except about that one cake per month thing. WE ARE TOTALLY SERIOUS ABOUT THAT.)

Anyway, Jenny moved in on Tuesday. We spent that night pulling every single thing out of the kitchen cabinets so we could make sure that we only put in things we really needed and got everything put away logically. Unlike when I moved in and just shoved my stuff wherever there was room.

What we discovered through this process was that we own a ridiculous amount of wine glasses and coffee mugs. A really inordinate number of them. We had been thinking of having a Welcome to the House, Jenny! party sometime after she got unpacked and I think I've now figured out what the theme should be.

Watch your mailboxes, Internet, for your invitations to Lori, Holly, and Jenny's Legal Addictive Beverages Party.

Just be aware, guests buy, bring, uncork/brew, and serve drinks. House rules.

A willow deeply scarred, somebody's broken heart, and a washed out dream

Michael Jackson was the first man I can recall wanting to marry. This would have been roughly kindergarten, the Thriller days. You know, back when I was five and he was good-looking. I've wondered whether seeing how he disintegrated after that contributed to putting me off the idea of speedy commitment. You never know how a handsome, seemingly normal guy might go off his rocker.

Michael Jackson was obviously not quite right. It would be nice if his descent from child prodigy to tragic figure would make parents think twice about pushing their kids into the limelight. It doesn't seem that anybody's psyche can handle becoming so famous so quickly. He was an icon, had become one by his early 20s. That's happened to a handful of people ever, and none of them have coped well. Seems it does something to a person.

There's also the genius thing. Because he was one, had to be. He was an innovator in both music and dance. He changed them forever. Creative geniuses see their art in a way that you and I can't, in a way that no one ever has. But true creative geniuses also never seem to last. They are ephemeral, not long for this world, and they don't seem to hold up well during the time they are here. I wonder why that is. It's almost as if opening oneself up to that level of artistry leaves a person especially vulnerable to shattering.

There are lots of opinions about Michael Jackson and whether he really did hurt little boys. I don't think we'll ever know. I did hear someone who knew him well saying that she couldn't believe it of him because he seemed so utterly nonsexual himself. He never mentally grew up to the extent that it was a consideration for him. He was truly the eternal child.

I don't know. What I have discovered in the past few days is that while I knew that I loved his music, I hadn't realized how much of it I loved. There was some on my iPod. PYT, Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough, Wanna Be Startin' Something. Watching his videos on MTV (Videos on MTV!) I rediscovered how great so much more of it was. And his dancing. West Side Story may have given the world the dance fight, but Michael Jackson elevated it to an art.

Maybe he wasn't a good person. Maybe he was just exceedingly odd. Maybe he was broken by a cruel father, the crush of fame, the necessity of being a shut-in, or the fragility of his own mind. But no matter what you think of Michael Jackson the man, his art is undeniable.

I hope in death that he is able to find the peace that so eluded him in life. For my part, I'll join the crowd in downloading his music, celebrating the gift that he gave us while he was here of his immense, extraordinary talent.

Home Improvement Gets Political

My dad, a retired electrician, works part-time at Lowe's in the electrical department. Here's an actual customer interaction he had this week, as nearly as I can recall the wording:

Customer: Where are the lightbulbs?

My Dad: Do you want incandescent or compact fluorescents?

Customer: Compact fluorescents! I don't want those damn Obama bulbs!

My Dad: Actually, you won't be able to buy incandescent bulbs anymore after 2012 because of a law passed in 2007 by the Bush administration.

Customer: Well...what do those bulbs look like?

The guy went on to buy the compact fluorescents. Maybe Lowe's in this area should look into putting a Bush seal of approval on them to increase sales.

And if you're a commie pink-o liberal Obama-lover, perhaps they can show you something in a fly-swatter.

Essentials

Coffee, keys, phone.

Ok, fine. The pretty pink cell phone isn't mine. It was left here this weekend by a small guest of ours. (Holly and I have since been fighting non-stop over who gets to play with it.) Today, when I got home from school, I set my mug and keys down to open the mail and later walked by the counter to see all three things together like that and it cracked me up, so I took a picture.

The End

Summertime and the living is sticky

Summer and I have a complicated relationship.

Of course, this year I am looking forward to summer more than usual. If my former employer were running camps, I would go and run them because it would be the fiscally responsible thing to do. But they aren't and I am not sad at all to not be working full-time teaching reading all summer. I'll still probably tutor a couple of days a week, but I am also getting a real break. Only twenty school days to go until my break starts. However, early evidence indicates that they are going to be an incredibly long twenty days. The children are nuttier every day.

Even when I haven't had several weeks off, summer has had its charms. Pools, beaches, cook outs, trips, and of course flip flops. I am staunchly pro-flip flop. Berries are in season. There are fun sundresses to be worn. My hair gets lighter. And, some places I've lived, I've been able to spend a lot of time outside.

Here, less so. Not only is it often too hot to want to be outside unless actually in a pool, but there are the bugs. Bugs everywhere attack me. I seem to give off some sort of signal to the biting insects that my blood is especially drinkable. And there are stinging bugs everywhere, which terrify me irrationally, but here we have the addition of the fire ant. Essentially, what I'm trying to say is that summer is trying to kill me with its hostile insects. So you'll excuse me if I don't sound entirely convinced about how all-fired great summer is.

I'm a fall girl. Fall is lovely. I like the colors, I like the weather, and I like the football. Fall is the coziest of the seasons. It's soup and bread on a chilly night. It's walking under the leaves on a crisp, sunny day. It's relaxing after a hot, sticky few months of being uncomfortable. Oh, fall. I heart you.

I'd say that fall will be a bit sad this year, what with the end of my break and all, but let's not pretend that school doesn't start still in summer. I don't know what late August is like where you live, but there's nothing crisp about it here.

I think this post started out to have a point, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you what it was. Have I mentioned how the children are insane? In another month, perhaps there will be well-organized blog posts, what with school being out. Ooh! And possibly ADD meds! I get evaluated soon after school ends. So there's something this summer has going for it: the possibility of my own prescription for insurance-subsidized speed. I take it all back, summer. If you could just do me one tiny favor, I think we could be friends.

Get

Here

Faster.

kisses,

Lori

22 Minutes

6:03 - radio alarm - SNOOZE

6:10 - radio alarm again - SNOOZE

6:13 - cell phone alarm (back up for in case I forget to turn on the other alarm) - become angry because alarm tone is too cheerful, yet this phone offers no better option - TURN OFF

6:17 - radio alarm again - LEAVE ON so as not to fall back asleep

6:17-6:18 - burrow face into pillow

6:18-6:21 - become morally outraged at society's barbaric demand that everyone bow to its daytime-intensive schedule

6:21-6:22 - vow to go to bed earlier tonight

6:22-6:24 - compose Ode to Pillow

6:25 - aw, crap, am already late again - GET UP

Pearls of wisdom from yours truly

One of my students came by before school on Friday to show me that for the first time, she was wearing make up. A little eyeliner under her bottom lashes. She was VERY excited about it.

She's in one of my afternoon classes, along with a boy with whom she bickers constantly. He walked in, sat next to her, and said "What's that black stuff around your eyes?"

She looked at me.

I passed along the benefit of my years of experience with the male of the species: "They don't get much better when they grow up."

These Little Words

If you've been around here any time at all, you know that I am a believer in words. They are tremendously powerful. It doesn't take very many words at all to make a person happy, if they're the right ones. The obvious words here are "I love you" but let's dig a little deeper, shall we? Sure, those are pretty universally pleasing, but there are words more specific to each of us, the hearing of which fills us with joy. I'll go first.

Here are some of the words I thought of that make me happy:

Now boarding all rows.

You've completed workout one of the Thirty Day Shred. You're well on your way to being shredded.

75 and sunny.

@superfantastic has been Favrd

[REDACTED] is absent today.

It's Friday. (See, I start every morning by asking myself a very important question: What day is it? Yes, every morning. The answers Friday, Saturday, or Sunday make me happy.)

You're funny.

Margarita on the rocks with salt.

Miss, how was your weekend? (I have one student who recognizes that I am a person who exists outside the time that they see me and is polite enough to ask how my weekend was after I've asked him. It's really very nice.)

There's coffee.

There's cake.

There's coffeecake.

Can I have some of those for homework? (We had a word scramble as part of a larger in-class assignment. One of my students, having figured it out pretty quickly and being pretty proud of that, asked if I could give him word scrambles for homework. Yes, little one, you may do as many word scrambles as you like. I'll keep them coming.)

May I see your ID?

On an all new season of Project Runway...

Your Federal tax refund has been deposited. (I tell you what, relative poverty sucked all year, but really paid off come tax return time.)

Target giftcard

Want to get some sushi?

Three-day weekend!

That last one applies to both this coming weekend AND the weekend of the 24th, thanks to Battle of the Flowers. I do still have four days of school though and a lesson to get ready for tomorrow morning, so before you all leave me your happy-making words in the comments, I'll give you just these three more:

macaroni

and

cheese

I love this story.

Ok, so this makes two reality TV-related posts in a week. But how can I not make sure that you are all apprised of this story regarding Kenley, of Project Runway fame?

Remember Kenley? Kenley with her huge ego and her inappropriate laughter and her throwback pin-up girl sensibilities? And the crazy shit she used to put in her hair?

Well. Kenley was arrested for assaulting her fiance (some reports are calling him her ex-fiance, which seems likely to be the case at this point) by throwing at him, while he was sleeping (though not for long, one assumes) some apples, a laptop, and HER CAT.

Naturally, PETA is all up in arms about that and feel that she should never be allowed to own another pet. Personally, I'd like to see her banned from laptop ownership as well. Paolo concurs.

Here is where the story gets even better for me. Tim Gunn, in an interview, said that the editors had been kind to Kenley and that if viewers had been forced to endure as much Kenley as he had been, everyone would have turned off their televisions. Tim Gunn! Who is, near as I can tell, the sweetest man alive!

My favorite part, though, was pointed out by Kristy in this tweet. Kenley's (ex-)fiance's last name? Penley.

Sadly, it seems the cat-throwing incident has cost the world one Kenley Penley.

Damn.

Oh, like I usually write about Nietzsche or something.

Yes. This is a post about American Idol.

I hadn't really watched it since the first season. I watched one episode this year though with Holly and really, that's all it takes me to get sucked into pretty much any reality show. I pick a favorite and get invested and I MUST KNOW what happens. Because, you know, it's not like I could find out via the internet mere minutes after the show ends.

(Honestly, with American Idol, there is also the trainwreck that is Paula. One week she was orange. Was it self-tanner? Cheeto dust? Side effects of the prescription pills she bought off some kid outside Arby's? We'll never know.)

I do have a favorite contestant (it's Danny) but that is not even the major motivating factor in this case. As much as I want Danny to win, even more than that - much more than that - I must know that Adam does not win.

That is Adam. I despise him immensely.

Well, not him, obviously. I don't know him, but I do have an intense dislike for his performances. And his overstyled hair and eyeliner and black nail polish and whole wannabe Zach Efron vibe.

Adam has been doing musical theater for a long time. This makes sense, based on the way that he overdoes everything. Great for audiences who are far away from him, but when he gives the very close camera what is clearly meant to be a sexy look, I get the heebie jeebies. If a man in a bar looked at me like that, I would get up and move. Possibly all the way out of the bar.

He has been annoying both Holly and me all along, with his screaming and his over-the-top-ness, and yet the judges LOVE him. He's so comfortable on stage! He has such presence! He makes the music his own!

This week was Country Week. What would Adam do to country music? We could only assume that it would be some sort of abomination. Even thus steeled for the worst, we were not fully prepared for the horror that would be Adam's performance.

He chose Ring of Fire. And then he bludgeoned it to death with a sitar.

Yes, a sitar. He gave it all kinds of Middle Eastern flair and then he sang it more smarmily than you'd think was possible while, I assume, Johnny Cash spun in his grave. I became a little bit concerned that a Zombie Johnny Cash was going to emerge to visit the revenge upon Adam that he so rightly deserved. Or scarier - an unwashed, unshaven Joaquin Phoenix attempting to perform hip hop!

Holly and I were in total agreement regarding its awfulness. Brody had this to say, via Twitter: "Creepiest version of Ring of Fire I have ever heard/seen. I need a hug." I sent him a message concurring that it was indeed a crime against Johnny Cash. Also a crime against music in general. And ears.

Surely the judges would concur.

Paula? Loved it! Randy? He's his dog! (In what seems to me to be the parlance of late 90s Urban Dictionary, this is Randy's way of saying that he likes someone.) That other girl whose name I think begins with a K? Also inexplicably liked it.

Simon was our only hope. And people, he did not disappoint. He called it "absolute over-indulgent rubbish." Yes, Simon! Thank you!

I missed the results show last night because I had gone with my mom to a concert at her church performed by the Concordia University of Wisconsin chamber choir. They were really very good, although the two hour length was rather taxing to my limited attention span. The director looked quite a bit like George Lucas to me and I couldn't help but think that this concert was better than anything Lucas has directed since the 80s.

I later learned that Alexis had been voted off American Idol ("Is she the one with the pink hair?" I asked Holly. Indeed.) Michael Sarver, who let's face it, is not going to win, but we sure do enjoy watching (read: he is very nice to look at and occasionally has a scratchy face) was in the bottom two. Sure, his performance wasn't among the best but we very much hope that America will keep him around a while for our viewing pleasure.

And please, please America, stop voting for Adam. Zombie Johnny Cash and I implore you.

Grown Up Spring Break (Spoiler Alert: It's Less Fun)

Technically, it wasn't a spring break, since I had already graduated the December before, but I took the week of spring break ten years ago off from my job doing telephone interviews for an insurance company so that my friend Julie (still in college) and I could drive to Colorado to visit our friends Heath and Loraine.

Julie and I were driving there in her dad's Honda and having a fine time, right up until we got just outside Newton, Iowa, where the car broke down. We were forced to get towed to Des Moines since there was no one in Newton who could work on a foreign car. And the shop in Des Moines couldn't work on it over the weekend (it was Saturday) so we'd be stuck there pretty much until it was time to turn around and drive back to Wisconsin. So we got a cab to the airport, where we rented a bright blue Sunfire and drove straight through to Denver, getting in around 4 am. In order to save a little money, we only listed me as a driver on the rental, so Julie and I rolled down the windows and sang loudly and obnoxiously to keep me awake.

Transportation issues notwithstanding, we had an excellent time on that trip. We went to Breckenridge and Estes Park, did a little hiking (we discovered an entire prairie dog colony, which amused us to no end) and got to spend time with our friends. A few days later, we packed some sandwiches, left around 6 am and I drove all the way back to Des Moines, where we picked up the Honda, dropped off the Sunfire, and Julie drove us back to Wisconsin.

It was an adventure.

This is my first spring break since then. Allow me to regale you with my adventures this week:

Monday: I went to the dentist for the first time in six years. Only two cavities! Except my insurance only covers cleanings the first year, so it will cost me $250 to get those filled. I went to the grocery store for spinach, bananas, and milk. Then I went home, ate cake, and went to the oil change place. Which I hate, so it seemed appropriate to do it on doctor/dentist day. I wiled away the time in a tiny waiting room with a spring breaking frat boy, who was so stereotypical that if he were in a movie you watched, you'd think he should dial it back a little in the interest of realism. I then drove to the doctor's office for an initial visit with my new GP. Yay, prescriptions! One of which turned out to be not what I asked for, but it was ok because I was going back on...

Tuesday: to get blood drawn since nobody's done that in a few years. I also got a corrected prescription. Then I went to brunch with a friend from my new job. She was the new girl for about two weeks before I got there and she moved out here from Virginia, so we've bonded. I had just posted here about needing to lose weight and making better choices, so naturally I ordered eggs benedict with breakfast potatoes. It was brought to me with no hollandaise sauce which, honestly, is kind of the entire point of getting eggs benedict. I didn't complain though. "It's healthier this way," I told myself. But when the waitress returned, noticed the error, and asked if I wanted my sauce, I nodded vigorously (I had a mouth full of potatoes, so speaking would have been rude.) I intended to finally go and get my Texas license after brunch, but when I stopped home to pin down the exact location of the office near me, I discovered that it wasn't on the list anymore. The next closest one isn't very close to me at all, but is close to where I'm meeting my mom on Thursday to shop, so I've put that off. I love it when financial and environmental responsibility support my efforts to procrastinate. Instead, Holly and I went to happy hour at an English pub that had been kind enough to send us a postcard offering us a free appetizer. Chips with Guinness cheese and bacon dipping sauce. Oh, like you'd turn that down, weight needing to be lost or not.

So, aside from food that I enjoyed even though I oughtn't, it's been a couple of days of being pretty responsible and getting things accomplished. Which isn't what spring break is supposed to be about at all. There are obviously quite a few hours unaccounted for above, many of which I spent avoiding doing any work on my novel, while it sat open in front of me on my computer. So I guess that was appropriately irresponsible.

The rest of the week is looking better, schedule-wise. Tomorrow I may go to a movie. Something that middle schoolers are unlikely to see, for it is my week off from them. On Thursday, there's the drivers license/shopping thing. Which brings us to Friday. Friday is my day of jubilee, Internet. I have no plans for Friday, except to do a lot of nothing but reading. I do not intend to leave the house. I may not change out of my pajamas. I may not even leave bed, except to retrieve food, which I will then eat in bed while I continue to read. Why? Because I can. Because being a grown up has to come with some privileges. Also because it's pretty cushy up in here and I don't spend nearly enough time in my bed during the average week. We've got some catching up to do.

Saturday, one can only hope, will involve much of the same. I don't know yet about Sunday, but there's likely to be some grading of papers going on since I've intentionally failed to include that in the schedule for any other day. Probably I should also devote a little bit of time to ironing things so I'll have something to wear to work the next week.

But it's way too soon to think about that. I've got, for the first time this week, no alarm going off in the morning. Meaning that I've got some sleeping in to do. Time to get started on that.

There is no version of dodgeball, for obvious liability reasons

We were talking about how crazy people Minnesotans play Duck, Duck, Grey Duck instead of Duck, Duck, Goose.

"What about Duck, Duck, Grey Goose?" Holly asked.

Naturally, this gave me an idea. A whole set of drinking playground games. HopShots, I decided could be Hopscotch, except that when you throw your pebble, the number it lands on is the number of shots you have to do.

(Much later, it occurred to me that "Hopscotch" already contains the name of a type of liquor. What can I say? I'm not a scotch drinker.)

I think this could be a highly lucrative business venture, given that I can secure a liquor license that extends to a playground. Some of my other ideas include Heads Up Seven and Seven, Kick the Beer Can, Killian's Red Rover, Who Stoli the Cookie from the Cookie Jar, and Long Island Iced T-Ball. They could even be seasonal. For instance, a nice St. Patrick's Day game of Red Light, Green Beer.

Ooh, and drunk tag! What? They all have to have clever names for you people? As if you won't take any excuse to get drunk and chase people. Right.

When the dog bites, when the bee stings

So, Internet. I have had a camera now for a week and still have posted two whole posts consisting entirely of words that I have written. Clearly, that had to come to an end at some point. I decided, in lieu of going anywhere or doing anything photo-worthy, that I'd take pictures of some of my favorite things that I've acquired in the year and four months since I've had a functional camera with which to document such things for you.

Please recall that I have no photography skills whatsoever. Probably there was no need to point that out, as you will soon discover it for yourselves.

We may as well start with shoes, right? I present to you the prettiest shoes I've bought in the past sixteen months. These shoes do such good things for my legs that I would wear them absolutely everywhere if they weren't so very uncomfortable.

Here we have a pashmina that was brought back for me from Europe by Katie and a beaded evening bag that came from my grandpa's collection of antiques from when he and my grandma used to buy and sell them.

This is a bowl that was made by Amy's dad. He had a whole bunch of them and told me I could pick any one I wanted, which made for a tough decision, but this one was just the right size for the very few pieces of jewelry that I regularly wear.

I got out of the habit of wearing a watch after the battery in mine died and I was in front of a computer all day every day anyway so my time-knowing needs were adequately covered. Once I started teaching again, I started not being in front of a computer all day or necessarily always within seeing range of a clock and thus bought myself this cheap yet lovely watch at Target. I like it a lot and yet still don't wear it during non-school hours.

Which brings us to electronics. Current love of my life, Paolo:

The printer, which, like every other flat surface in my room at the moment, is covered in books:

And Tim Gunn. If you look closely, you can also see the reflection of my new camera in the screen.

It's a nice camera, too. Already someone has tried to steal it right out of my hands.

Happy New Year, Internet. Maybe in 2009 I'll return to word-based posts. Maybe.

Because lists are easy to write, ok?

Having a bit of the mean reds today, for no apparent reason. Thus, a post almost entirely free of punctuation.

Things I am afraid of:
Bees
Social situations involving lots of strangers
Winding up with a lot of regrets

Things I cannot imagine living without:
Blistex or other lip balm products
Coffee
Books
The internets
Bread
Cheese
Chocolate
A space (be it apartment or room) where I can close the door and nobody can come in without permission

Things I would like to learn to do:
Speak Spanish
Speak Italian
Play the piano
Play the cello
Crochet (I imagine it to be soothing. Perhaps not though, in my case.)
SCUBA dive
Remember people's names and other important details that regularly escape me

Things I have no interest in learning to do:
Calculus or other math-type-things
Anything Mike Rowe does on Dirty Jobs
Keep bees

Things I could really live without ever doing again:
Killing and disposing of a cockroach
Getting a perm
Confiscating spit wad materials from middle schoolers
Looking for a job (Potential Employers: If you hire me, I will NEVER, EVER QUIT.)
Watching anything from the teen gross-out comedy genre
Having mono

Things that first occurred to me that I'd do with the prize when signing up for a $1 million contest:
Travel to visit friends
Travel to see new places
Take classes in whatever I felt interested in studying
Get regular massages
Buy some new clothes, with the assistance of one of my more stylish friends
Buy some new shoes. I require no guidance in this area.
Buy some furniture that actually matches
Buy some damn health insurance
Join a gym with a pool

Things that did not immediately occur to me in the above scenario:
Buying a house (I'd have to commit to a city in which to buy it)
Buying a new car (I honestly don't care that much what I drive. As long as the Focus continues to reliably work, it's fine by me.)
Buying any sort of big TV or other electronic item, except perhaps an iPhone

Things I should be doing right now instead of writing a post:
Finishing the FOUR ESSAYS required by this job application that's been open on my computer for several hours now
Putting away the clean laundry
Ironing something to wear tomorrow
Washing my face and brushing my teeth
Sleeping

Well, the last two for sure anyway. Say good night, Internet,

Immune to your marketing efforts

I come out of the grocery store to find a guy putting flyers on cars for a kids birthday place. He has just put one on my windshield and is moving on to the next car when I get there. I grab it and try to hand it back to him.

Me: I don't have any kids.

Him: Do you have any friends or family who-

Me (interrupting): No.

Him: You don't have any friends or family?

Me: Sad, isn't it?

He stares at me, waiting for me to smile. I don't.

Eventually, he gives up and takes the flyer back. I drive away, entirely uninformed about KidzPlayZoneHappyTasticFunLand. Or whatever. I'm sure it's just a dynamite place to get your kid's friends all riled up before giving them sugar and sending them home, but unfortunately, I didn't really catch the name.

After these messages, we'll be right back.

I watch the NBC Nightly News pretty much every night and have realized that advertisers who choose that time slot are apparently under the impression that I am a man. Not only that, but they feel strongly that I most likely am a man with erectile dysfunction. Because oh my gosh, the ED medication commercials during the news! Every commercial break!

I don't understand the rationale in the one commercial of the people being outdoors in separate bathtubs. I believe it's the same commercial that lists "delayed back pain" among the side effects. What I wonder is, how did these guys decide that the delayed back pain had to do with the medication? Because it seems to me that, for the man using ED drugs, delayed back pain is likely to be a side effect of having sex. Or climbing out of a claw foot tub onto a boardwalk or meadow. But by far the worst part of this phenomenon is the way that by the end of the news, I wind up with the Viva Viagra song stuck in my head.

Another song that got indelibly imprinted on my brain was that Saved by Zero abomination that had to do with financing for a new truck. I haven't heard it in a while, which makes me hope that they came through on their promise about it being a limited-time event. I was beginning to very seriously doubt that the event was not going on into eternity.

I was, however, happy to find that Ground Control to Major Tom was featured in some commercial or other since I was a little concerned about how that had come to be running around in my brain so frequently of late.

Currently, I am watching Monday Night Football. Again, advertisers seem convinced that I am a man. But this time, they think I am a man who needs an easy Christmas gift for the woman in his life. They further believe that the woman in my life will be only too pleased to receive a mass-produced and heavily advertised diamond-crusted something or other from Kay Jewelers. This woman doesn't expect me to put any thought whatsoever into her gift. She just wants something mad-sparkly and preferably some variation on heart-shaped.

I do not mean to imply that sparkly items do not make good gifts. Just that a lot of us don't want the same damn sparkly item that every other woman on the planet is receiving this year, thanks to sports-related advertising. I assume this stuff is on NASCAR and the NBA as well. Probably also hunting, fishing, movies with lots of explosions and anything else that is assumed to be watched primarily by men.

This can only mean that the Kay commercials will be coming soon to the Nightly News. You know, on the off chance some of the guys decide to go the jewelry gift route, rather than having the side-by-side tubs installed in the back yard.

Viva...viva...Viagra!

DAMN IT.

Just Shy

I am strongly considering purchasing this shirt that I found in the xkcd store.

I think it could really help me out in social situations.

The irony of course being that AT&T is in the business of communication

It turns out that the reason why the explanation about the subcontractor was so completely ridiculous was that it was pure fiction. There was no subcontractor arriving at some point after Wednesday. In fact, an AT&T employee had already been here and "fixed" our cable the previous Saturday. It's just, he forgot to tell anyone.

I don't know if the phone rep who told Holly that there was a subcontractor was mistaken or just lying. A technician who does outside work came sometime on Saturday while we were both gone to Owen's party and he did some sort of work outside, which is when our cable went from intermittent to completely off. He was supposed to then notify someone who would schedule an inside technician to come and do some sort of inside work to get the whole thing going. I found this out on Friday, when I called back and got someone who called bullshit on the subcontractor story, told me about Saturday guy, scheduled an inside technician for that very night, and said that since Saturday's guy had screwed up, we should call billing and demand a second free month.

Friday's inside technician was a nervous little guy, not helped by our righteous fury. He spent most of his time outside, discovering that more outside work needed to be done. This meant putting in a ticket to get cable guy #8 here. See, the odd-numbered guys do inside work, and the even-numbered ones work outside. This is why there have been so many guys. Neither one can do both things, nor do any of them seem to be informed before arriving about what has already been done. Nervous guy was going to call his manager and get us bumped to the top of the outside guy list, so someone could be here to do the outside work as soon as Saturday. Then nervous guy's manager would call us to make sure it was done.

Naturally, we had heard nothing by 4:00 on Saturday so I called the dispatch number and talked to the bitchiest woman alive. First, she scolded me for not having my account number (when I call customer service, they never even ask for it, just the phone number.) Things went downhill from there:

(You have to imagine her speaking in the tone most commonly heard among irritated preteen girls.)

Me: I was supposed to have a tech coming today to do outside work.

Bitchiest Woman Alive: He was already there last night. He finished working at 11:30.

Me: My cable is still out.

BWA: Someone will come to bury it later.

Me: No, I mean my cable is still not working.

BWA: Well, no, OF COURSE IT'S NOT. An inside tech has to come to get it set up.

Me: Ok, well can we get that scheduled?

BWA: It's already scheduled for tonight between 4:00-6:00. It's after 4:00 now, so he'll be there soon.

Me: Nobody told us that. Shouldn't somebody have called us to let us know we needed to be here?

BWA: If he's not there by 6:30, call back.

At that point, I hung up and then yelled a lot. An hour or so later, cable guy #9 arrived and do you know what he did? HE FIXED THE CABLE. I know! I couldn't believe it either! He did work both in and outside and after it came back on, he called some engineer person to make sure there weren't any more errors on the line so he could feel confident before leaving that the cable was going to stay on. God bless that man.

After he left, I was able to watch last week's Project Runway, which I thought was by far the best episode this season. And allow me to share here my deep and abiding love for the designer Korto. Her deliciously dry camera asides have comprised perhaps two minutes air time and yet have made this entire season worth watching. Not only do I want her to win, but I also kind of want to be her when I grow up. And if she punches Kenley, as I suspect she is dying to do, I would personally lobby Congress to get her some sort of medal.

So, subcontractor mystery solved. I'm caught up on football and Project Runway. And who knows, maybe the next Victoria's Secret catalog will give us another clue to the enigma that is Cardigan Girl. Stay tuned.

Today's WTF? Report

Oh, there's still no cable. And when Holly called yesterday, she was told that there was no earthly way of determining when there might be a possibility of the cable coming back. There is, on the other hand, a possibility that we are supporting the mafia with our cable dollars.

See, because Holly was told that the checking of the lines to find the problem with our cable service has been subcontracted. AT&T has no way of knowing when said subcontractors will do the checking. AT&T also has, per the phone rep Holly spoke to and his manager, no way of calling this subcontractor to find out. Which seems strange since one would assume that AT&T is paying said subcontractor to do this work. But they can't call the subcontractor to find out when said work might happen. No, per the phone rep and manager, the subcontractor will call them to let them know when the work has been done. No word on whether anyone might then call us. Probably they assume that we'll know when the work has been done because our cable will come back on. I find this to be an extremely optimistic assumption.

The point being, how does AT&T's subcontractor manage to have a "don't call us, we'll call you" relationship with them? How? No really, HOW?

The only thing that could possibly be even more inexplicable than that is this outfit pictured in the Victoria's Secret Fall Sale & Specials catalog. In case it wasn't clear, the word "cardigan" in the corner indicates that this photo is designed to sell the sweater. For the men in the crowd, allow me to clarify that she is indeed wearing a sweater. Take my word for it. Also, inexplicably, garters and a beret. Please recall that ostensibly the purpose of this photo is to sell cardigans to women.

She must have gotten chilly, is the only explanation. She had a good idea, not only with the cardigan, but with the hat seeing as how a lot of body heat is lost through the scalp. Many people don't know that, so clearly this is a clever gal. In the future though, I would advise her to also consider some pants.

The Cable Saga, Unabridged

So...the cable. We have AT&T U-verse. About a month ago, our service went out, I called, and someone came the next day to replace what they call the residential gateway, which is the router. It worked. The end.

Then the real problems started. It worked, except for when it didn't. It would be working just fine, then the picture would freeze and stay stuck that way, sometimes for a few seconds, sometimes for a few hours. And when the picture froze, the internet went out too. Thus began our long cable and internet nightmare.

Friday, September 12: Picture begins freezing. I notice that the neighbors' internet, which I steal share when ours isn't working is sort of intermittent too, so I don't call for a while. When I do, the rep says there's an outage in the area and it should be fixed in the next few hours. I don't believe that he has any idea of how soon it will be fixed, but do buy the outage thing.

Saturday, September 13: Yeah, it's still doing the same thing. Holly calls and, since the first televised Texas Tech game of the season is in a few hours, she is not kidding around. Oh, apparently we weren't part of that outage, not that the person I talked to on Friday had checked. The rep says she'll check for available dates to send a technician. Holly wants someone here today, because they should have scheduled us when I called yesterday. Holly speaks to a supervisor. She is still unable to get someone here sooner than Sunday, but she does get a credit for the whole month. The supervisor explains that it might be the outside line, in which case we would be charged $35 to fix it. Holly explains how that is not ok. The supervisor explains that this is their new policy, as of Sept. 1. Holly explains that she is not going to pay it, so the man credits our account for $35 so it will even out. We go to a nearby sports bar to watch the Tech game.

Sunday, September 14: A tech comes out and is here for several hours, due in large part to having to fix the connection on Holly's computer. The phone rep yesterday told Holly to delete something that it turned out she actually needed and she could then not configure the wireless connection. The tech gets that straightened out and replaces the port, which should get us all fixed up. It might take a few hours for the service to work smoothly. All set.

Monday, September 15: Of course that didn't fix it. I call again. I get a trainee and can hear someone telling her what to say before she says it. I explain that our cable and internet service are out. She tells me to connect to our internet service so we can troubleshoot. I explain how that's not possible what with it not working. Send someone here to fix it, please. Right-o, someone will be there between 10-12 tomorrow.

Tuesday, September 16: I wake up at 10:00. No time to shower; the cable guy could be here any minute. At 12:20, I begin to consider calling to make sure the trainee actually scheduled someone. At 12:30, he shows up. He is here for three hours, trying everything he can think of and getting increasingly confused and frustrated. I am getting increasingly dirty and hungry, seeing as how it seems rude to just eat lunch in front of the guy. He finally concludes that it has to be the outside line. Someone else has to do that, so he puts in a ticket, which will hopefully get someone here in the next few days.

Thursday, September 18: The guy comes and replaces the outside line. Success! We have service that stays on for both the television and internet! For five hours! Then, just as the Daily Show is coming on, the picture freezes. Yeah, we're right back where we started.

Friday, September 19: I call and explain the whole week-long saga. I am sent to the person at the next level. She is very apologetic. She can get someone here today. He's here within the time frame. He replaces the port, which despite Sunday's guy's claim that he replaced it, Friday guy says hasn't been replaced since January. This does not fix it. After a couple of hours, he concludes that it has to be the outside line. Not the one between our house and the closest pedestal, which was replaced on Thursday, but somewhere between that pedestal and one of the other pedestals, leading all of the way to the big cable box several blocks away. He'll put in a ticket. The ticket won't go in until Tuesday and someone will check the lines, you know, sometime after that. This guy is at least honest enough to tell me that if it's not those lines, we should just cancel and get a different service because he's never seen anything like this and there just isn't anything else left that it could be.

Saturday, September 20: Service goes from intermittent to out, altogether.

Monday, September 22: I wake up at 4:00 with a stomach bug and spend most of the day in the fetal position. This is unrelated, except for how TV would have been a nice distraction from the stomach cramps and sleep deprivation-related headache.

It's Tuesday, so maybe someone will come to check the lines today. New TV has started, and football, and we're getting toward the end of Project Runway. I would like to watch those things. It's only thanks to our anonymous neighbor with the non-password-protected wi-fi that I have retained my sanity over the past week and a half. I salute you, unsecured neighbor! If you ever need to borrow a cup of sugar, I totally have some.

This is funny, kind of? Maybe?

I swear, it's as if I had an innate sense for funny and now it's on the fritz. Anyway, maybe you'll laugh. Or not.

Holly: I can't drink with this medicine I'm on.

Me: Yeah, my book says I'm not supposed to drink because it's a depressant.

Holly: We could get coffee though.

Me: We could. Coffee is a stimulant. It's PRACTICALLY MEDICINE.

And scene.

Girliness Quotient

Possesses full bag of nail polish +5

Bag is paper -3

97% of polish needs to be thrown out -2

Flat irons hair every day +10

Only because it's too short for a pony tail -7

Owns more than 5 lip glosses +4

Some of which contain glitter +7

Usually wears Blistex instead -10

Currently wearing pink shirt +5

Just dripped queso on it -5

When bed is made, involves two extraneous decorative pillows +1

Bed is made roughly four times per year -5

Saw and enjoyed Sex and the City movie +8

Has not seen/wanted to see any Traveling Pants movies -3

Owns over 30 pairs of shoes +20

Wears flip flops whenever presumably acceptable -18

Does not watch Oprah, Martha, or Rachael Ray -6

Watches What Not to Wear religiously +12

Routinely describes MacBook as "pretty" +7

Believes thongs to be "a necessary evil" -4

Believes pantyhose to be "a tool of the devil" *break even* (Come on, even people who wear them think that, right?)

Can fill own coolant and windshield washer fluid -1

That's pretty much it, car-wise +9

Owns five black dresses +8

Has worn precisely zero black dresses in the past year -8

Owns apparel in support of five different athletic teams -5

Has worn all of it in the past year -5

Can quote Steel Magnolias +10

Can quote Star Wars -10

Will kill bugs -5

As long as they're not stinging bugs of any kind +5

Will, in fact, squeal and run in fear from stinging bugs +25

Rarely, if ever, displays emotion in front of people -20

Rarely, if ever, makes decisions on the basis of emotions -10

Does, in fact, possess emotions, even when supremely inconvenient +5

Refuses to do math to figure out score +15

Estimated girliness quotient: Just Barely

Oh, Lori. Is nothing sacred?

From an actual conversation I just had with the roommate regarding what to wear for happy hour/dinner/post-dinner drinks tomorrow:

"Not too hoochie.  Just hoochie enough.  Like if Goldilocks were a hoochie."

In that spirit, coming soon (out of my mouth):

• Jack Sprat could eat no fat and his wife had a muffin top coming over her low-rise jeans.
• Little Jack Horner sat in a corner throwing napkins at two girls down the bar.  (Keep up people!  Honestly, it's like you're not even reading my Twitter.)  (Hey, look!  All of the tweets that disappeared are back!)
• "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair."  "I can't.  I cut it off because it was totally covering up my lower back tattoo."
• Jack and Jill went up the hill, Jack mostly so he could watch Jill bend over in her miniskirt to fetch a pail of water.
• Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and whey.  Along came a spider who sat down beside her and said, "Hey, baby.  Nice tuffet."
• Peter, Peter pumpkin eater had a wife and couldn't keep her, so he bought a Porsche and some hair plugs and went on a singles cruise.
• There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile, thus failing his field sobriety test.

And they all lived happily ever after.  The end.

It was all yellow.

San Antonio, that is, according to one of my students.  He said he thinks that every place has a color and while where he's from in Connecticut is green, San Antonio is yellow.  I can see where he's coming from there. 

Yes, the grass is all yellow-looking now, thanks to the drought, but there's also the sunshine and a certain brightness about the place.  Moving here from DC, where everyone is perpetually dressed in black, brown, gray, or navy, I noticed right away that people here dress in bright colors (I think no matter how long I live here, I'll still stick closer to the DC palate.) and there's also just a certain fiesta vibe about the place that has a bright yellow feel to it.

When I got back from Europe, I bought three photo albums in green, red, and blue (sort of a cornflower/periwinkle, really).  Italy went in red, France in blue, Germany/Czech Republic/Switzerland in green.  I don't remember putting any real thought into those choices, but they all make perfect sense to me. 

Vegas, to me is an easy one: gold, all garish and glittery.  Madison, I am thinking of as light blue.  It's the sky and the lakes and sort of a general clean simplicity.  But it's also a frosty shade for, let us not forget, I damn near froze to death there.

All of this reminds me too of Elizabeth Gilbert being told in Eat, Pray, Love that every city has a word that sums it up.  Rome's word, she is told, is sex.  She decides that New York would have to be a verb, like achieve.  This causes her to set out to find the word that is her.  It turns out to be a word in another language that I don't remember and am not going to find for you since I have yet to unpack my books.  You'll just have to live with suspense, I suppose, unless you've read the book or just really don't care.

Because I am terribly self-involved, all of this makes me consider what my color and word would be.  The color was fairly easy to choose.  I think I'd be a shade of blue-gray.  Mellow, yet indecisive.  I've been told that my element (of earth, air, water, or fire) is water because I appear tranquil, but there's a lot going on in the depths that can't be seen from the surface.  So I wouldn't be that brilliant aqua shade of the Caribbean that lets you see all the way to the bottom.  More like the steel blue of the Atlantic off the beach I used to visit in North Carolina, I think.  Somewhat impenetrable.

But I don't know about my word.  It has been easy for me to choose for other people.  For Katie, I first chose driven, but then realizing that she, like New York, needed a verb, I decided on strive instead.  Katie seemed agreeable to my choice.  When I told my friend Krystal that I thought her word was sunshine, she said that Sunshine was a nickname of hers with some people I don't know.  So, while I'm not sure if it's the one word she'd choose for herself, I have to think that means I wasn't too far off.

I've been trying out words for myself, but nothing seems quite right.  Please don't say that this makes my word indecisive.  I can't quite bring myself to accept that.  I think I just haven't quite struck on the right word yet.  I'll keep searching the recesses of my vocabulary and let you know if I come up with anything.

In the meantime, tell us what your color and word are.  Also, please tell us why you chose them.  And if you have an idea for my word, by all means, enlighten us.

Everything she says really IS fascinating.

Most people, if you suggested that they pose for a picture with a Kung-Fu Panda statue would give you a ha, ha good one and keep walking.  Particularly if you suggested that they imitate the pose of the panda.

What I love about Melissa is that her response is more like HA, HA YES! HERE IS MY CAMERA WHICH I HAVE IN MY PURSE FOR JUST SUCH AN OCCASION.

This was after dinner and Get Smart with some friends.  (In case you were wondering, I believe Get Smart got a full eight thumbs up.)  Then Melissa and I went to her apartment where she explained to me her plan for the perfect nap: buy a massage table so she can nap face-down without turning her head to the side.  That, folks, is a serious commitment to napping.  Something about her explaining this plan to me gave me the giggles and I laughed until I was in tears.  It was the best (oh, ok only) workout my abs have had in quite some time.

It's good to be in the same city again.  You can count on me to continue bringing you all of the hijinks as they occur.  And they will.  Oh, how they will.

You heard it here first. No, really.

My first job in high school was selling shoes at Finish Line.  I had a boss there who was hilarious.  He told me a story once about how he was supposed to be getting ready to go somewhere with his wife but instead was busy discovering that some old cheese he found in the refrigerator would bounce.  His wife found him bouncing the ball of cheese in the kitchen and said, "David, stop playing with that cheese and shower."  And he said, "I bet no one has ever said that sentence before."

Ever since then, I've kind of listened for sentences that might be being uttered for the first time ever.  Such as one time when Amy and I were out walking the dogs and she went to warn me about some food on the sidewalk that I should keep the dog away from.  She phrased it, "Careful, Pop Tart!"  I have to believe that there aren't too many people going around issuing Pop Tart warnings.

Then there was the time that Angela and I were walking along near the Lincoln Memorial and some ducks took off from the sidewalk just in front of us, barely clearing our heads on their way over.  Angela said, "That duck tried to kick me in the face."  (Angela is deeply suspicious of birds in general.)  I am not sure that anyone has ever laughed harder on the grounds of the Lincoln Memorial than I did about this duck face kicking remark.  I mean, imagine how it would feel to be kicked in the face by a webbed duck foot.  That's funny stuff, right?

It's in the spirit of these three instances that I have tried to come up with some brand new sentences that I believe might have never before been said:

I like a man in sweatpants and a comb-over.

The Arizona Cardinals are the best team in football.

I think mosquitoes are kind of cute.

No thanks, I don't like bacon. (I get that some of you don't eat it for religious and ideological reasons, but to not like it?  I think not.)

Which of these outfits best highlights my muffin top?

If you're looking for a light summer beach read, I recommend Heart of Darkness.

I wish we had spent more money on the wedding.

Hell no, I don't want to play Plinko.

I was really hoping you would ask me to help you move.

Appearing topless in Girls Gone Wild was a really sound decision on my part.

I like Carrot Top, both for his subtle humor and undeniable sex appeal.

Why can't you be more like that Amy Winehouse?

What have you got for us, Internet?  Something you actually heard or whatever you can come up with.

Or maybe I should stop overthinking it and just write you something funny.

I've been thinking recently about the idea that everything happens for a reason.  It gets tossed around a lot whenever something bad happens to someone, but do we really mean it?

Probably a lot of you are going to disagree with me when I say that I think this is a first world concept.  Or maybe even a first world middle class and above concept.

It should be an easy thing for someone like me to believe.  Sure, I've been through my share of crap like anyone else, but really I've had a pretty charmed life, haven't I?  And it's only a function of where I was born and the family I was born into.  No matter what happens to me, I'm probably going to end up ok.  I've got a college degree, an above-average intellect, passable social skills, and if all else fails, a supportive family to fall back on.  In a couple of months, I should even have some pretty good health insurance.  In all likelihood, things are going to wind up working out alright for me.  So if something bad happens, it's likely to be followed by something good and I can then reason that the first thing had to happen so the second thing could follow, whether they appear to be related or not.  See, you could say to me, everything happens for a reason.

But I wonder whether you'd say that to someone living in abject poverty.  Would you tell a ten year-old girl in India that she had been forced into prostitution for a reason?  Would you say it to a teenager, thrown out of her family's home in Darfur because she was raped at gunpoint?  To people in our own communities and around the world who starve while others of us have enough (and frequently too much) to eat?

I don't know.  Everything happens for a reason just doesn't seem to hold up outside of our relatively privileged bubble.  Maybe you'd say that everything happens for a more global reason, but that makes it pretty cold comfort to the individual, doesn't it?  And I'm sure we've all seen good things come from bad, but does it necessarily follow that the good was the reason for the bad?

I guess this is just one of those things that I'm tossing out there to see what you all think.  Are they just easy, empty words or do you think there's really something to the idea?  What's your take?

Keeping Goodwill stocked up with used Old Navy plain-colored T-Shirts since late last century

My attic storage space is all cleaned out now.  Which means there is a big pile of Rubbermaid containers and flattened boxes now taking up the part of my living room that I never use anyway.  I did remember to buy tape even, but that's as far as the packing got this weekend.

Which is fine.  I have three entire weekends between now and the move and, given all of the practice I have at it, I know I can pack up everything in much less time than that.

The first step, before packing even happens, is to make giant piles of stuff for Goodwill.  I do so love to get rid of stuff.  I find it very freeing.  That said, who knows how much stuff I'd accumulate if I didn't move so often.  It's much easier to motivate yourself to get rid of things when it's a game of Do I Want This Badly Enough to Move It? 

The answer to that question is especially easy when it comes to things like whatever is in that one packed box that has been in the attic since August.  Clearly really vital stuff.  Along with my stereo, which hasn't even been plugged in at any time since I've lived in Madison.  And the probably one-quarter of my clothes that I hauled up here and then never wore at any time in the past year.  (Things like that one evening gown that I still own obviously get exempted from the not worn in the past year policy.  A girl never knows when she might need a floor-length black dress, does she?  Even if she hasn't needed it in several years now and she also has a black cocktail dress and a black slightly-less-fancy-than-cocktail dress IT STILL FITS AND THAT IS WHAT IS IMPORTANT.)

It's the smaller stuff that's harder.  I threw out all of my CD boxes years ago and put my CDs in one big book.  There's still room in there, so there hasn't been any incentive to get rid of any, despite the deep shame that I'm sure some of them would bring to me if anyone knew I had ever owned them.  And there's probably scented lotion and bubble bath in my bathroom cabinet that I never will use.  (Note to parents: your child's teacher probably does not want bath products not of her own choosing for Christmas.)  Plus various unused picture frames.  I think it may be time to admit that I probably won't use these particular frames and even if I do need one at some indeterminate point in the future, they are not that expensive and I'm going to be at Target anyway.

I don't know how it is that I can have such a huge amount of stuff to get rid of once a year (or sometimes more often) but I always do.  As with all long-distance moves, I will be especially ruthless when weeding through stuff this time and then I will survey my findings and breathe a sigh of relief at having the burden of that stuff removed from my life.

Of course, my love of getting rid of stuff does not mean that I am lacking in all sentimentality.  There are two large shoe boxes in my closet that are chock full of assorted mementos that might not mean anything to more than one or two other people in the world.  That stuff is compact though.  In a storage space pinch, the shoe boxes can go under my bed.

But I haven't decided yet about the snow boots.  The eighty pounds of cat litter that were weighing down my car for winter driving have been donated to the Humane Society and my car shovel has been donated to Madison Friend Katie, but I haven't convinced myself yet that I might not need the snow boots again.  May have to be a game-time decision. 

Maybe that one packed box in the attic is how I secretly indulge my inner hoarder.  She gets one box to use how she sees fit.  I do know that a certain Cabbage Patch Kid is in there and she won't be going anywhere.  (Aindrea Sherry.  Yes, Aindrea.)  Maybe the boots can fit in there with her.  Just in case. 

Who knows?  I might decide a few years from now to spend Christmas in Switzerland and then where would I be?  Bootless, is where, and with cold, wet feet.  I better throw in some of the 1.2 million scarves I've amassed as well.  To be on the safe side.  Switzerland at Christmas is no place for a bare neck.  Particularly should the occasion call for an evening gown.

This Weekend's To-Do List

• Attempt to grasp reality that move is in just over three weeks.
• Bring boxes down from attic storage space.
• Drink a beer in celebration of all of that box-moving progress.
• Realize I have no packing tape with which to assemble boxes.
• Move box pile out of the way and plan to remember about buying tape on next trip to store.
• Congratulate self on forethought involved in not ever carrying the Christmas bins back up to the attic after Christmas was over.
• Spend time outside in attempt to become less ghostly pale.
• Get lazy butt out of bed and down to Cafe Soleil in time on Saturday morning to get a pain au chocolat before greedy yuppies buy all of them for their kids who probably would have rather had Pop Tarts anyway.
• Cruise farmer's market.
• Consider buying produce.
• Strongly consider buying flowers.
• Buy neither.
• Attend birthday party.
• Limit self to "reasonable" amount of cake.
• Look into selling kidney on black market to finance gas for drive to Texas.
• Do laundry.
• No, really.  Do the damn laundry.
• Write blog post for Monday in non-list form, with paragraphs and definite articles.
• Start studying for teaching exam to be taken just after arrival in Texas.
• Ha!  Good one!  Start studying.  Honestly, what will I come up with next?

This Space For Rent

Wouldn't you like to live here?

A lot of people might have put their ironing board away before photographing their apartment.  Then again, a lot of people might buy plants for the plant stands in the corner of their living room, believing that they should function for more than keeping the cable (running from behind the bookshelf strategically placed in the bedroom) shoved back in the corner.  I am not one of those people.

All of this (plus a parking space!) can be yours (laundry in the basement AND secure storage in the attic!) for the bargain price (all utilities included!) of just $700.  Because I'm moving out.

I'm going back to San Antonio.  It does make me sad to think of leaving Madison.  I have a lot of really good memories here and the weather is just about to get beautiful.  Then again, barring some sort of apocalyptic event (e.g., the apocalypse) there is no chance of one hundred inches of snow in San Antonio.  So there's that.

I've been accepted into an alternative certification program in San Antonio, meaning that I'll complete summer training and then get my provisional license so I can start teaching already this fall.  After participating in more training throughout the school year and given the recommendation of my principal, I can have my full teaching certification by next summer.

I have chosen to teach special ed.  You're welcome.  Because you know I'll have stories.

So I'll finally get a marketable skill and a lucrative job with paid time off and health insurance, while also getting to live with Holly again, be near my family (including certain small people), and wear flip flops three-quarters of the year.  It only makes sense.

Bringing us back to the photos (courtesy of Kristine).  My lease isn't up until August 15, meaning that I need to sublease.  Fortunately the leasing company is perfectly cool with that.  I'm not sure exactly when I'm leaving, but I do need to be in San Antonio by mid-June to start training.  Craig's List, here I come.  (Lake view!  Quiet building!  AC unit thrown in for free!  MORE CHARACTER THAN YOU CAN SHAKE A STICK AT!  THAT EXPRESSION MAKES NO SENSE!)

Gee, Lori, tell us how you really feel about Tyra.

Actual conversation overheard in my office:

Co-worker 1: He lives in Dodgeville, but he always comes down for WaunaFest because he says the most beautiful women in the world are in Waunakee.

Co-worker 2: The most beautiful women in the world?  He must not get out much.

Co-worker 1: Well.  He lives in Dodgeville.

In Waunakee's defense, there was a girl from there on America's Next Top Model this season (excuse me, cycle.)  However, she was sent home for being too immature and full of herself. 

Let's pause and appreciate that for a moment.  Tyra Banks thought this girl was too full of herself.  Tyra, who had a doctor feel her breasts on national television in order to convince us all that they are real, because she KNEW that we had all been thinking they were fake.  Perhaps I am not representative of everyone, but I would like Tyra to be aware that I had never before invested one moment of thought into the chemical make-up of her breasts.

Anyway, I present this information as a public service to single men the world over.  If you're looking for beautiful women (who may or may not be even more egotistical than an actual supermodel) WaunaFest might just be the place for you.  And ladies, if you're looking for a man, you may want to hit up Dodgeville.  I hear they're hard up for pretty girls.

I think my work here is done.

Bad Housekeeping

I had some stuff to do tonight.  Domestic-type stuff.  It seemed like a good idea to do these things concurrently.

The problem here: I don't multi-task well.  Nor do I domesticate, really.

I was planning to make some pasta.  This is a task that is normally not a problem.  I bought some ground turkey to throw in with the sauce to inject some protein.  Except this was not regular ground turkey, it was Italian Seasoned.  Mostly I bought the Italian Seasoned turkey because I had just come in from the arctic cold and wanted to exit the refrigerator section as quickly as possible and it was the first ground turkey I saw.  But, you know, buono apppetito or whatever.  I can tell you that it's not a subtle seasoning.  In fact, I went through about a half a bottle of Febreeze Air Effects spray, seeing as how opening the windows to freshen the air is really not an option at the moment.

Before I even got to the turkey though, I boiled some water in the largest pot I own so I could make an entire box of pasta.  Then I discovered that the entire box from my pantry was actually more like half-full.  What to do?  Well, there was also a slightly less than half-full box of lasagna noodles.  Because they give you too many noodles for one pan, but not enough for two.   It's a scam perpetrated by Big Pasta to get us perpetually buying lasagna noodles.  I bet Big Sauce and Big Ricotta are in on it too.  Also possibly the mafia.

So there I was, cooking up a big pot of half macaroni, half broken up lasagna noodles, while browning some terribly fragrant Italian Seasoned turkey.  When it occurred to me that my laundry had been in the washing machine for a very, very long time.  But I have just promised my mother that I would try not to burn the house down, and I believe that the first rule of not burning the house down has to do with not leaving things unattended on the stove.  So in the washer my laundry sat.  Which couldn't really have hurt much, since I stuffed that machine so full that I wasn't entirely convinced that all of my laundry would even get wet, much less clean.

I did eventually finish cooking (with a minimum of noodles stuck to the pan due to neglectful lack of stirring) (unless you consider a minimum to be zero or any number lower than about eight) and draining and stirred up the pasta and turkey with some Paul Newman marinara sauce (mmmm...philanthropic) and somewhere in there, I got my laundry changed.  The dryer ran for all of three seconds before quitting.  My knowledge of appliance repair consists entirely of unplugging and replugging-in, which, as luck would have it, totally worked.  So I was not forced to drape wet socks and underwear all over my apartment.  This is fortunate, seeing as how my apartment is being shown tomorrow.  Because I didn't commit yet to resigning my lease, which is up in AUGUST.

Actually, the whole apartment showing thing, even more than a dwindling underwear supply, is what inspired the laundry-doing.  Because I knew I'd have to actually put the laundry away before I went to bed instead of leaving it in the basket for a week or two until I need the basket again to transport the big pile of dirty laundry from the floor of my closet downstairs to the machine.

Bringing us to now. 

It's 11:00 and I'd like to be in bed soon.  Except my bed is currently covered in clean laundry, both from the load I just washed and what was left in the basket from the last time I did laundry.  All except the one shirt that I changed into when I got up here so I could soak up its hot just-out-of-the-dryer goodness.  Best part of the whole night.

Probably I should clean the bathroom too, but really, how do you know if you can imagine living somewhere until you can picture yourself cleaning the already-dirty bathroom?  I am doing this potential renter a favor.  You're welcome, person attempting to make sure I have to move again come summer, even though I am only one third of the way into a year lease.

I suppose I better go shove the laundry into drawers fold my laundry and put it away so I can get to bed.

Oh, in case you're wondering, the end result of my Turkey Lasagnaroni Italiano?  Zesty!

In case you were curious about the state of my sinuses

This is something that I am considering:

(Thanks to former DC roommate Holly for the picture.)  (That's not her in the picture. It was just part of an email that she forwarded to me.)

Here's something that most people don't know about me: I have excess amounts of histamines.  This means that my body tends to overreact to anything that irritates it (sort of like me, certain days of the month) which is why mosquito bites swell to the size of quarters and a fire ant sting roughly tripled the size of my right ankle one time.

It also means that my body overreacts to what appears to be an ever-growing list of allergens.  Over the summer, this meant that my ears were clogged up for an hour or two in the mornings.  Annoying, but not that big of a deal.  But in the months since then, it has progressed to the point where I currently consider being able to breathe through my nose a novelty.  It catches me by surprise from time to time.  Oh my gosh!  Was that an unobstructed breath through my nose?  Hallelujah!

Ever since I ran out of Nasonex, I've been cycling through the various options.  Alavert kind of works.  The Vicks spray kind of worked.  The Mucinex spray was an absolute miracle product for the three days that I was allowed to use it.  According to the pharmacist at Copps, they're serious about that not going over three days thing.  Otherwise your nose could become addicted to it and you'll never be able to breathe without it.  For some reason, this is considered to be a bad thing.  I, personally, could make my peace with a lifelong Mucinex habit.

So I'm on to Claritin D 24 Hour.  This works for 24 hours much the same way that I worked for eight hours at my temp job in Austin.  Over a period of eight hours, I worked at times.  I also did nothing for long periods of time.  The difference here, of course, is that my periods of inactivity were due to there being no work to do.  But there is ALWAYS work for anti-histamines and decongestants in my head these days.  The Claritin is also very much not non-drowsy, despite the fact that its entire advertising campaign is built around that claim.  It is currently six in the evening and I have been fighting sleep for about an hour now so that I can watch this here Cowboys/Giants game.

Since this has gotten worse in the past couple of months, I have developed what (as far as I know) is a new symptom.  Internet, when I am especially congested, I snore.  I am aware of this development since on more than one occasion, I have WOKEN MYSELF UP.  I cannot tell you how upsetting I find this.

How tired am I of this whole allergy thing?  Well.  Alan and I were discussing those Nasonex commercials where the bee has some sort of Antonio Banderas-esque accent.  Alan is disturbed by the concept of using a cartoon bee with sexual overtones to sell nasal spray.  And my response?

I'd have sex with that bee if he could get me some Nasonex.

I think that pretty much says it all.

People Are Dumb

There's some commercial on with the slogan People Are Smart.  Every time I hear that, I think to myself, Really?  Have you met people?

The title of this post comes from the text of a sign that Vicki and I had planned to make and stick to our steering wheels.  That way when another driver did something stupid and we started to ask "Why would you..." then we could just look down and say "Oh, right.  People are dumb.  That's why."

I could have used that sign this morning as I witnessed this year's first example of a particular brand of stupid that you see in Wisconsin (and other winter-having states, I would imagine) around this time of year: the guy wearing shorts in the freezing cold.

With his shorts, this guy was wearing flip flops, a sweater, and a stocking cap.  When I checked the weather before I left home, it said that the temperature was 16 and the windchill was 2.  TWO DEGREES.  Why on earth would you wear shorts on a day when you can count the degrees using only your thumbs?  Is this some sort of demonstration of how manly you are?  Are we supposed to be impressed?  I don't understand.

If you're out there, winter shorts-wearing guy, kindly explain yourself.  And at the very least, put on some socks.

Quitters Never Win

But do perhaps finally get their apartments cleaned up.

I'm quitting NaNoWriMo.  This is for a number of reasons.  These include how utterly terrible my book is and how thoroughly bored I am with my characters and my premise.  Yes, I was convinced last year that my book was bad, but it was the writing that was bad and that can be fixed.  Last year I really liked my characters and my basic plot.  There was a lot of good stuff to work with.  I went in this year with only the faintest idea of what I would write about and there just didn't turn out to be anything there.  Also, last year I felt some obligation to the Austin group in its competitions with other NaNo groups.  Plus there was the My God, But the Internet Will Know if I Don't Finish!  Apparently I no longer fear your judgment.

But really NaNoWriMo just can't be my priority right now.  Last year I could spend a few hours a day at work writing and then sit in front of the computer all night working on it.  Back then it only took a few minutes a day to confirm that there weren't any new jobs to apply for.  Here there are new jobs all the time and more job sites to check and so any time that I am spending on my novel is time that I am feeling guilty and stressed about not looking for jobs or applying for jobs.  And when I then spend several hours on one cover letter, I feel bad that I haven't accomplished anything on my novel.  I am ready to get off this particular merry-go-round of shame.

So I give up.  You win this round, NaNoWriMo.  Perhaps next year we'll go for the tie-breaker.

The good news is, the terribleness of this year's novel (what there is of it anyway) makes last year's novel look like Pulitzer material.  So maybe I'll put some real work into editing it at some point.

For the moment though, I am letting myself off the NaNoWriMo hook.  On to the next cover letter.

Pants is a funny word. Pants, pants, pants.

I've been out of the business casual game for a few years now.  I could get away with jeans every day at my jobs in San Antonio and Austin.  When I asked my summer boss here in Madison about her dress code, she said "no short shorts".  She also said that I looked professional in what I had on, which was a skirt, t-shirt, and flip flops.  Awesome.

But now I'm back in the world of no jeans/no tennis shoes.  Since my last business casual workplace was about four years and two pants sizes ago, I found myself with exactly one pair of khakis and some suit pants.  I have skirts and tights, but it has suddenly gotten wintry around here, plus gale force winds in the mornings, and I, as we know, am hugely wimpy where the cold is concerned.

So on Sunday night, off I went to Shopko.  Shopko, for those of you outside the midwest, is like Target, except without Starbucks.  (I bet you non-midwesterners would be envious of the two Target-esque options we have, had I not just mentioned the whole winter thing.)  And Shopko, God bless them, even had some pants in petite so I could wear them this very week without having to get them shortened first.

(Non-pants-related digression: Shopko, why is it that all of your sweaters fit me except they are too roomy in the chest while your button down shirts fit everywhere except that they pull across the chest?  You can either think that I am too flat-chested for your discounted clothes or too well-endowed, but you can't have it both ways, Shopko.)

Here is what I am finding about pants these days: increased security.  All of the pants I have tried on recently have had two hook and eye closures, a button, and a zipper.  Really, pants-makers?  Are these flat front khakis or a chastity belt?  Has there been increased terrorist chatter regarding the pantsing of women in cubicles?  Was this mandated by the USA PATRIOT ACT?  Hands off my pants, Congress!  And I mean that in every way it could possibly be understood.

Thanks for nothing, subconscious.

I think I've mentioned before this wacky thing my brain does where, if I read before bed, I dream about the story all night.  My subconscious tries to continue the story.  It's really no fun at all since I have all of these short dreams and I wake up after all of them and generally have a very poor quality of sleep.  But I have always thought that if I could just get my brain to do this with a book I was writing, I would be all set.  My subconscious could do the heavy lifting, plot-wise.  This annoying habit of my mind could finally pay off!

Well, folks, last night was that night.  I had been writing all afternoon and evening, so the characters and what small shred of plot I have were firmly lodged in my head.  I had novel-related dreams all night.  Which, let me tell you, were not only disruptive to my sleep, but also completely unhelpful.  This was deeply disappointing. 

My subconscious, while not helping out with the plot, did go ahead and cast a celebrity in the role of one of my main characters.  I can't say I completely understand its choice.  He is not even an actor or someone who, given the choice, I would necessarily want to dream about. 

My sleeping brain chose, of all people, Doug Wilson.

Doug Wilson, the designer from Trading Spaces and Moving Up.  Probably I watched a little bit too much Discovery Home during those two months of unemployment.  If only I had bothered to watch anything with a plot...

Gus-Gus, ever see a trap-trap?

Remember that part of Cinderella where Jacques the head mouse asks Gus the chubby mouse whether he'd ever seen a cat-cat?  Well I have no cat, but I do have two d-CON No View, No Touch mouse traps.

Fortunately, I had just seen a commercial for these yesterday morning, so I was aware that there was an alternative to snap traps and visible mouse carnage.  Also, as we discovered (and by "we" I mean "he" since my part involved staying put and not approaching the scene of the SNAP SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK) at Alan's house, sometimes a snap trap only gets the mouse by the leg and then you are responsible for putting said mouse out of his misery.  I want no part of that.  I want my role in this business to be that of exterminator, not executioner.

I discovered the problem yesterday when I went to put some groceries away in my kitchen cabinet.  I dislike grocery shopping and have to get pretty desperate before I'll go, so the fact that I had gone to the store means that I was seriously out of food.  I assume this is why the mouse went for my bag of flour.  (Seriously, mouse, you couldn't have found an apartment in this building where there was better food to be had?)  I noticed flour on the shelf and assumed that I had just not closed it well or had somehow poked a hole in it.  But no, there were a couple of pretty large holes chewed in it and paper scraps on a lower shelf.  Damn.

So the traps are out and baited (nothing caught overnight) and everything that was in bags is now in sealed containers (I would say Tupperware, but in reality they're old yogurt and cottage cheese containers) or the fridge.  But here's my question: If, instead of killing the mice, I got them tiny shirts and hats, do you think they would make me a dress? 

A girl never knows when she might need a ball gown.  I draw the line at glass shoes though.  Sure, the guys love them, but they don't offer any of the support required for a long night of dancing and fleeing the scene.  And anyway, if the guy can only remember you based on your shoes, chances are, he's not looking for a princess.  He's looking for a queen.

UPDATE: Well, apparently I caught a mouse.  Not that I saw it, of course, but the trap tells me that there's a dead mouse inside and I am taking the trap's word for it.  (Aaaand now a second mouse.  And I am out of traps.  I will see you tomorrow, Walgreens.)

Having my cake and anti-histamines too.

I have some kind of cold or allergy business going on at the moment.  It's not serious - just some post-nasal drip nastiness which is causing some throat swelling and soreness.

Some wooziness too, as I discovered in the soup aisle of the grocery store today.  One minute I was thinking about how tragic it is that Campbell's is apparently no longer making double noodle and the next minute I was experiencing some concern about my ability to remain upright.  Not to worry, I walked it off.  I mean, I pretty much stood there until the spinny sensation stopped, but then I just kept shopping.  I can't be sidelined that easily.  I am the Brett Favre of grocery shopping.  Except without the stubble.  Well, unless you count my calves.

I decided to be responsible and wait to go grocery shopping until after I had eaten lunch so I wouldn't make any inadvisable impulse purchases just because I was hungry.  This seemed like a good idea, but then while I was eating lunch I saw a commercial for that chocolate caramel cake bowl thing that you heat up in your microwave.  And I decided that I needed some of that.  FOR MY SORE THROAT.

Did you know that once you finish microwaving that ooey gooey goodness you have to let it stand for five entire minutes before you can eat it?  If I had any self-control, Betty Crocker, I wouldn't have bought a microwavable bowl of empty calories in the first place, would I?

I have to say, I do recommend it, lag time notwithstanding.  It would have been better with some milk, but I didn't buy any.  Because milk increases mucous production and I'm all stocked up for mucous at the moment, thanks.

My plans for the immediate future involve throwing back a Benadryl cocktail and making sure I wake up in time for my haircut at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon.  I'm a big believer in sleeping it off.  I'm pretty sure I'll feel better tomorrow.  At the very least because I will no longer resemble a 70s housewife.  And really, isn't that the very foundation of wellbeing?

Got better.

Reasons why I am less crabby today:

1. No job rejections all day yesterday.  Also no calls about interviews or anything, but no news, while not good news per se, is at least not bad news.

2. I managed to apply for a job yesterday in under an hour.  This was mostly because the cover letter that I wrote on Wednesday covered almost everything for this one, so it only needed minor tweaking.  Still, that's got to be a new record for me.

3. It's almost the weekend.  But Lori, you say, You have no job.  How can it possibly make a difference to you whether it's the weekend?  Well, curious friend, the coming of the weekend means football, doesn't it?

4. Birthday presents are paying off.  A Target gift card, in the form of the perfect jeans for me.  After much searching and frustration and rending of garments, I found them right there at my second home.  And in the Juniors section no less!  I had some concern that I would be carded at the check out and forced to put them back.  But I made it out of the store with them and they are pretty outstanding and I may have to go back for a second pair before they stop having them.

5. Also a Borders gift card.  I didn't have anything in mind, but even if I hadn't come out with anything, it would have been worth it just to have an excuse to go in.  Even though I wound up picking out a book within seconds of walking in the door (a quote from Anne Lamott on the cover is pretty much all of the recommendation that I require) I spent probably an hour just wandering around, breathing in the happy that comes of being surrounded by books.

6. Madison Friend Katie has offered to take me out drinking Sunday night for my birthday.  And since she's off Monday as of course am I, and we can walk back to my place, there's no need for anyone to be overly responsible.  Nice.

Happy weekend, everybody!  Enjoy the football.

A revealing peek into the exciting world that is late night at my apartment

I needed to take some Target Brand Ibuprofen for a headache. Dinner was a long time ago, so I figured I should eat a little something. But there are no crackers. There is, in fact, no food to speak of here, unless I wanted an entire Lean Cuisine Club Panini or a whole bag of microwave popcorn. I did have peanut butter. Fine, I thought, surely a spoonful of peanut butter would do the trick. Except then I noticed that there were really only a couple of spoonfuls of peanut butter remaining. And then I remembered about the Hershey’s Special Dark syrup in my fridge. I’ve been ignoring a persistent chocolate craving for the past couple of days, so I suppose what happened next was inevitable.

Yes, Internet, I poured the chocolate syrup directly into the peanut butter jar, mixed it up, and ate it with a spoon.

And I’m not sorry.

This post does not hug trees, but does offer them a polite handshake.

I'm just watching some Planet Earth.  The one about jungles, which I haven't seen before.  Do you think that Sigourney Weaver was their first choice to narrate, or did the first few people decline?  And who else do you think might have made the list?  I'd go with John Cusack, but that's just me.  Although it could have been kind of stellar with, say, Bill Clinton.  Or Ted Kennedy!  Ha!

And have you seen that the History Channel has its own series called The Universe?  As if someone at the History Channel was all "Planet Earth?  Screw that, we're doing the ENTIRE UNIVERSE!  That'll teach those cocky bastards at the Discovery Channel!"

I haven't watched The Universe because I assume it will be about, you know, space and stuff.  And I could not possibly care much less about space.  I like to look at stars and all, but I don't feel any sort of need to know anything about them.  I used to have to take students to the Air & Space Museum...yawn.  While the American History Museum served us tasty food and you know, had exhibits that related to what we were teaching these students, the Air & Space Museum only offered us McDonald's.  And to add insult to apathy, the security people there confiscated my scissors.  As if I were going to hijack the museum!  Really, I just wanted to get some work done while I was busy not learning about air or space and the students were educationally engaged in buying astronaut ice cream.

And despite my fascination with the Planet Earth documentaries, I also don't care that much about...the environment.  I KNOW.  It's not like I'm cheering for the expedited ruination of the earth.  Just, I can't get too excited about it.  I recycle, drive a small car, and try not to waste energy.  And, for whatever reason, I get really stressed out by people standing with the refrigerator door open.  Even if they are doing it on TV.  I don't know why.  So it's not that I'm opposed to environmentalism.  You just won't ever see me out rallying or whatever it is that the environmentalists do.  I did coordinate a trail clean up that was done by my division at my job in Austin, but I did not participate as we were warned that there could be snakes and scorpions present.  I prefer nature that will not bite or sting me, thank you.  And I'm sure the many people I signed up and emailed directions to did a tremendous job.  Go team.

Also, I blame the environment for perpetrating a fraud on all of us unsuspecting carnivores.  Lobsters are shellfish, eh?  Mmm...tasty, tasty fish.  Uh huh.  I have just learned while reading with a student that lobsters are related to spiders.  People, we have all been eating sea spiders dipped in butter!  While part of me realizes that shrimp are rather bug-like in appearance as well, I generally only see them in their fried state.  Which renders them not so much any sort of creature as just little nuggets of battered goodness.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

This post went awry somewhere, didn't it?  Anyway, I've got to get going.  Last Comic Standing is on and if there is one thing I do care deeply about, it is other people making me laugh.

This represents a new low for me, I think*

When I said I was staying here in Madison, I obviously didn't mean here in my same apartment.  No, that would be far too easy.

The thing is, while superadorable and all, my current apartment does not have any off-street parking.  Which is not such a problem now, but once all of the college students come back and there is...whimper...snow, finding a spot will not be easy or fun.  Also, I just got my third parking ticket in less than two months, this one for parking less than two inches from another car.  Who knew that was a thing?  I did not.  And that car was on the end.  I was being considerate and not parking in the car in front of me.  They charge you $20 for this sort of consideration here, FYI.

So my options were to stay here and rent a parking spot a couple of blocks over, or pay $65 more per month and move into an apartment in the building that is actually right next to that parking space.  And has laundry facilities, unlike my current building.

I walked in with the leasing agent, saw the filthy blue industrial carpet, and was ready to turn back around until she said those three little words: "new hardwood floors".  As in, installed before I move in.  I'm listening.  Then there was the small matter of the giant fireplace.  And the built-in bookshelves.  And the whole place being above ground, unlike my current semi-subterranean place, which is also a Cell Phone Reception Free Zone.  (Seriously.  Ask anyone who has attempted to speak to me and had their call dropped anytime I moved from the one square foot of Somewhat Decent Reception Area that requires me to sit on my kitchen table in order to talk.)

I won't miss that about this place.  Or the view from my living room window of the undercarriage of a Saturn station wagon.  Or the pipes along the ceilings absolutely everywhere.  When Jake came over, he said they give the place...character.  In every room, he'd say, "look, more...character." 

I am engaging here in a practice known as manclogging, in which you make yourself feel better about the loss of something by dwelling on its negative qualities.  It was so named by some friends of mine before I knew them.  They consoled one girl that a certain guy wasn't all that desirable anyway, in part because he constantly wore some embarrassingly ugly manclogs, and the expression was born.  It can be used as a verb, as in "Manclogging my apartment makes me less sad about giving up my separate eat-in kitchen" or as a noun, as in "the total lack of bathroom storage is a real manclog of this place."  (Caution: You may try this at home, but DO NOT preemptively manclog.  The guy/apartment/job/etc. must be definitively out of the picture before you begin, lest you talk yourself/your girlfriend out of something that you could have had/are stuck with after all.)

A weird thing about me is that the much larger size of the new apartment was not really a plus in its favor.  I like small spaces.  My current living room is pretty much perfect, in my opinion.  Cozy and all.  I'm not at all sure how I'll fill all of my new space, not to mention the two additional bookshelves that I'm about to have.  I get my books from the library because then they are free and I don't have to move them twelve times in eight years.  But if you have borrowed a book from me at any point, now would be a good time to return it.

And if you're interested in lugging my stuff a couple of blocks over, I'm looking at August 12.  Everyone is welcome (to move my stuff)!

*I think this might be the shortest amount of time I've lived anywhere, although I did only live with my friends Don and Sherri for a couple of months when I moved back to DC from NY.  Me renting their spare room for dirt cheap was supposed to be a nice moneysaver for me and moneymaker for them until they moved back to upstate New York five months later.  Then Sherri got a great job offer there a couple of months early and I had to move again sooner than I had planned.  So that one was not even my fault.

Around here, this is what we call lunch.

(Yes, as a matter of fact, I did drink straight out of the milk jug.  Bachelorhood has its privileges.)

That right there is my very first pie.  My pieginity.  I've baked cakes, cookies, brownies, all sorts of delightful things, but never a pie.  I decided to start with blackberry.  And damn, I make one stellar pie.   Really, really outstanding.

I am currently home alone with this pie.  I am coming up on a week of the month during which there is a real danger of me eating the entire rest of it for dinner one night.  So if you live in Madison, perhaps you'd like to stop by for blackberry pie?  Probably you'll want to bring your own milk.

I am also not a thrice-married Scientologist. Or a crazy person.

Any time that it is cool enough to require socks, I cannot stop sliding on my lovely hardwood floors, all Tom Cruise from Risky Business-like.  Except if it is cool enough for socks, it is definitely also cool enough for pants.

Misanthrope, party of two.

I'm living alone again.  I do so love to live alone.  I recognize that there's some danger in it, since it's entirely too easy to become accustomed to having everything my own way, on my own terms.  Which includes time spent with other people.

Bringing us to one of my most cherished indulgences - hibernation.  On Sunday, I didn't leave my apartment all day.  I talked to some people on the phone, but I had a total fast from actual human contact.  And as always, it was bliss. 

I slept until almost noon (thanks, Upstairs Neighbor, for being so noisy until THREE O'CLOCK IN THE DAMN MORNING), read, watched an Arrested Development marathon, even opened up my NaNoWriMo novel and did a little bit of editing.  I stayed in my pajamas for hours and when I finally showered, I didn't bother to dry my hair.  While it rained all day, I was oh so cozy in old jeans and my big Wisconsin sweatshirt.  Beat that, you with your going places, your doing things, your seeing people.  I didn't think so.

One of the people I spoke to on Sunday was my friend Jake.  We've been friends since high school and he lives here in Madison now.  We got together last weekend and discovered that while we're both very different people now than we were when we met, we still have a real good time together, thanks to some shared interests and a whole lot of sarcasm.  And now we know something else we have in common.

I left him a voicemail on Sunday afternoon to see if he wanted to get together sometime this week.  He called me back that night to say that he was sorry, but hadn't looked at his phone all day.  He was just having some quality no-people time at home to recharge.  Nice.

So we met at Panera today for lunch.  We got our food and he asked whether I wanted to sit in the front or off to the side.  The exchange went something like this:

"Let's sit over there - it's less crowded.  I'm not really into other people."

"That's why you're such a good friend."

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful renewed friendship.