Who knew the production companies really were evil?
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Giving Thanks
It has been quite a week. It began normally and spiraled so far beyond any thing I thought possible. Let me begin with the beginning.
Mondays are Mondays--there is a reason Garfield hates them. Mine, however, are not usually too bad: I have the house to myself by day (ahhh, the quiet!) and Hubbers and I play Bridge with his folks at night. Before You mock me for the "ole fogey" game, I...oh, crap, there's no defense: I'm old. This particular Monday the In-Laws came to our place, so I cooked a chicken dish and boiled up some edamame, and part'ner Father-In-Law (FIL) and I proceeded to get our donkeys kicked by Hubbers and Mother-In-Law (MIL). Hubbers, being the sweet and conscientious man he be, handled the kitchen clean-up. A bit later, I noticed the garbage disposal was just a titch slow and gurgley. Then, as I went to the laundry room to gather my Unmentionables, I stepped in Lake Superiorly Nasty. Being a dog owner, my first thought was to blame the critters, but even they couldn't produce THIS MUCH liquid. The entire laundry room out to the dining table was a Mess. It turns out Hubs got a bit zealous and pushed ALL of the edamame shells down the disposal at once; this, of course, triggered the back-up of water through the washer hose. It took 17 thick towels to sop up the Lake. But it takes more than a Lake springing up in the house to quench our spirits!
Tuesday was Rock Band day. Not a bad day, all told--just loud. Somehow, though, mischievous elves must have broken into the kitchen because, as the sun set that evening, there were dirty dishes piled a mile high and crumbly crumbs scattered on the counters. This was a bit of a shock, as I had cleaned the kitchen thoroughly the night before. Still not daunting, though.
Wednesday evening is when the fun really begins. Brother #1 and SIL came over to rawk. I had too much of a headache to hang with the band, so I worked on din-din in my even messier kitchen--more dishes, crumbs, and towels everywhere. After the food I felt a little better and was just going to tidy a teeny bit (in prep for Thanx Meal the next day) before re-joining the group. And then I stepped in another puddle, this one distinctly doggy-made. My first thought was, "Dammit! I just put on these fuzzy pink toe socks!" The second was, "I'm going to kill those fucking dogs." You see, it has turned wet and my spoiled little pooches do not deign to dip their paws in anything remotely rain-covered. Despite extensive doggy books and doggy training and doggy whisperers, it has become An Issue. I did, however, refrain from killing my fucking dogs; instead, I disciplined them and put them outside while I went to get the carpet-cleaner vac. But I couldn't get the vac out because the washer had been pulled out from the wall so we could towel-up the water pool. And I couldn't reach the towels behind the washer either by hand or by tong, and stabbing at them with the broom handle just pushed them farther from me, so finally I used the handle to shove them as close to the wall as possible, letting me skootch the washer back into place enough to get the vac through the passage way. Now I should tell you about the carpet-cleaner vac: it is broken in two spots, the soap dispenser and the top of the water tank. But both of these problems are easily worked around--we use a spray bottle for the soap and just don't fill the water tank up to the brim. Well, as I went to spray the puppy puddle, the bottle jammed. I ended up carefully pouring a capful of detergent over the spot, then went to fill the water tank. As I filled the tank to its 3/4ths full position, I made a fatal error: I grabbed the tank by its handle. Up by the handle is where the hole is. Yup, You guessed it: tank tumbles to the ground, dumping water all over the kitchen. Now, my head is throbbing, my kitchen is covered in crap through no fault of my own, I have pee soaking into my living room carpet, the group is oblivious murdering songs at the top of their lungs, and I have caused the second Lake in 3 days, but have no towels left to clean it up. I use all my remaining kitchen cloths to wipe up the water, re-fill the tank, and finally clean the piss carpet. While I'm at it, I just clean the shizz out of the rest of the kitchen--after all, I have to do food prep yet that night 'cuz the next morning will be spent at the Cathedral where the Catholics have a service to commemorate a very Protestant holiday. Oh, well. I'm getting paid for it. Yet when I start to tell Hubs about the evening, after BIL and SIL leave, I weep--because there is also a STANK coming from the fridge that I have to find.
Thursday: Thanksgiving Day. The day itself goes well, despite having to be in downtown PDX by 8:30am for Mass, despite the garbage disposal acting up again when Hubs feeds it an orange peel, despite my annoyance at Bro #2 and his wife who try, at the last minute, to get the rest of the family (15 members) to change the time of dinner around their toddler's sudden nap, despite Hubber's Indian co-worker, who, upon meeting me for the first time, blurts out, "You look VERY different from your photos!" Photos which were taken a number of years ago--photos in which I am skinny. But there is joy and laughter and a general feeling of contentment. At home that evening, however, our friend Mt'nMan, a big dude who has been living with us for 9 months while he gets back on his feet, sits awkwardly in our rocking chair and SNAP! It is smithereens. So now I have a gigantic Rock Band box and packaging materials and broken rocking chair bits all over my living room.
Friday is a day for more family outings. The Gals and I see Enchanted (which is absolutely wonderful!) and it lifts my sinking spirits. That evening we are due at the In-Law's to see Coz J and her beau--the first time he is meeting the whole damn fam, poor dude. He was sweet and funny and kind, but upstaged.
And this is where it gets scary. We had to rush MIL to the hospital: she had no feeling or strength in her right hand and leg. For 18 hours, the diagnosis most likely seemed to be "stroke." They gave her a battery of tests, CAT Scans, and MRIs. Her potassium dipped to "critical" levels. The CAT showed a small lesion on the left hemisphere of her brain indicative of a minor past stroke, but the neurologist's reading of the MRI data ruled the "episode" a T.I.A., a kind of mini-precursor stroke. All said, MIL was in the hospital for 48 hours and 2 nights, struggling with potassium and numbness. The effects were not permanent, but she is looking at lifestyle changes.
And this is where I give thanks. I love my MIL dearly; she is one of my very best friends. I love her in a way I don't feel like I can love my own mother. She is a disciplined and creative thinker but indulgent with her affections, warm and effusive. Thanksgiving is a celebration of bounty, of harvest, of the richness of the soil and our toil upon it. I am thankful for the unchecked bounty of my MIL's love, of the wonderful times with her I have yet to harvest, and of the ways she helps me grow my self and my spirit. There is never enough Time, but I am thankful for the More we have been given. I am thankful.
Mondays are Mondays--there is a reason Garfield hates them. Mine, however, are not usually too bad: I have the house to myself by day (ahhh, the quiet!) and Hubbers and I play Bridge with his folks at night. Before You mock me for the "ole fogey" game, I...oh, crap, there's no defense: I'm old. This particular Monday the In-Laws came to our place, so I cooked a chicken dish and boiled up some edamame, and part'ner Father-In-Law (FIL) and I proceeded to get our donkeys kicked by Hubbers and Mother-In-Law (MIL). Hubbers, being the sweet and conscientious man he be, handled the kitchen clean-up. A bit later, I noticed the garbage disposal was just a titch slow and gurgley. Then, as I went to the laundry room to gather my Unmentionables, I stepped in Lake Superiorly Nasty. Being a dog owner, my first thought was to blame the critters, but even they couldn't produce THIS MUCH liquid. The entire laundry room out to the dining table was a Mess. It turns out Hubs got a bit zealous and pushed ALL of the edamame shells down the disposal at once; this, of course, triggered the back-up of water through the washer hose. It took 17 thick towels to sop up the Lake. But it takes more than a Lake springing up in the house to quench our spirits!
Tuesday was Rock Band day. Not a bad day, all told--just loud. Somehow, though, mischievous elves must have broken into the kitchen because, as the sun set that evening, there were dirty dishes piled a mile high and crumbly crumbs scattered on the counters. This was a bit of a shock, as I had cleaned the kitchen thoroughly the night before. Still not daunting, though.
Wednesday evening is when the fun really begins. Brother #1 and SIL came over to rawk. I had too much of a headache to hang with the band, so I worked on din-din in my even messier kitchen--more dishes, crumbs, and towels everywhere. After the food I felt a little better and was just going to tidy a teeny bit (in prep for Thanx Meal the next day) before re-joining the group. And then I stepped in another puddle, this one distinctly doggy-made. My first thought was, "Dammit! I just put on these fuzzy pink toe socks!" The second was, "I'm going to kill those fucking dogs." You see, it has turned wet and my spoiled little pooches do not deign to dip their paws in anything remotely rain-covered. Despite extensive doggy books and doggy training and doggy whisperers, it has become An Issue. I did, however, refrain from killing my fucking dogs; instead, I disciplined them and put them outside while I went to get the carpet-cleaner vac. But I couldn't get the vac out because the washer had been pulled out from the wall so we could towel-up the water pool. And I couldn't reach the towels behind the washer either by hand or by tong, and stabbing at them with the broom handle just pushed them farther from me, so finally I used the handle to shove them as close to the wall as possible, letting me skootch the washer back into place enough to get the vac through the passage way. Now I should tell you about the carpet-cleaner vac: it is broken in two spots, the soap dispenser and the top of the water tank. But both of these problems are easily worked around--we use a spray bottle for the soap and just don't fill the water tank up to the brim. Well, as I went to spray the puppy puddle, the bottle jammed. I ended up carefully pouring a capful of detergent over the spot, then went to fill the water tank. As I filled the tank to its 3/4ths full position, I made a fatal error: I grabbed the tank by its handle. Up by the handle is where the hole is. Yup, You guessed it: tank tumbles to the ground, dumping water all over the kitchen. Now, my head is throbbing, my kitchen is covered in crap through no fault of my own, I have pee soaking into my living room carpet, the group is oblivious murdering songs at the top of their lungs, and I have caused the second Lake in 3 days, but have no towels left to clean it up. I use all my remaining kitchen cloths to wipe up the water, re-fill the tank, and finally clean the piss carpet. While I'm at it, I just clean the shizz out of the rest of the kitchen--after all, I have to do food prep yet that night 'cuz the next morning will be spent at the Cathedral where the Catholics have a service to commemorate a very Protestant holiday. Oh, well. I'm getting paid for it. Yet when I start to tell Hubs about the evening, after BIL and SIL leave, I weep--because there is also a STANK coming from the fridge that I have to find.
Thursday: Thanksgiving Day. The day itself goes well, despite having to be in downtown PDX by 8:30am for Mass, despite the garbage disposal acting up again when Hubs feeds it an orange peel, despite my annoyance at Bro #2 and his wife who try, at the last minute, to get the rest of the family (15 members) to change the time of dinner around their toddler's sudden nap, despite Hubber's Indian co-worker, who, upon meeting me for the first time, blurts out, "You look VERY different from your photos!" Photos which were taken a number of years ago--photos in which I am skinny. But there is joy and laughter and a general feeling of contentment. At home that evening, however, our friend Mt'nMan, a big dude who has been living with us for 9 months while he gets back on his feet, sits awkwardly in our rocking chair and SNAP! It is smithereens. So now I have a gigantic Rock Band box and packaging materials and broken rocking chair bits all over my living room.
Friday is a day for more family outings. The Gals and I see Enchanted (which is absolutely wonderful!) and it lifts my sinking spirits. That evening we are due at the In-Law's to see Coz J and her beau--the first time he is meeting the whole damn fam, poor dude. He was sweet and funny and kind, but upstaged.
And this is where it gets scary. We had to rush MIL to the hospital: she had no feeling or strength in her right hand and leg. For 18 hours, the diagnosis most likely seemed to be "stroke." They gave her a battery of tests, CAT Scans, and MRIs. Her potassium dipped to "critical" levels. The CAT showed a small lesion on the left hemisphere of her brain indicative of a minor past stroke, but the neurologist's reading of the MRI data ruled the "episode" a T.I.A., a kind of mini-precursor stroke. All said, MIL was in the hospital for 48 hours and 2 nights, struggling with potassium and numbness. The effects were not permanent, but she is looking at lifestyle changes.
And this is where I give thanks. I love my MIL dearly; she is one of my very best friends. I love her in a way I don't feel like I can love my own mother. She is a disciplined and creative thinker but indulgent with her affections, warm and effusive. Thanksgiving is a celebration of bounty, of harvest, of the richness of the soil and our toil upon it. I am thankful for the unchecked bounty of my MIL's love, of the wonderful times with her I have yet to harvest, and of the ways she helps me grow my self and my spirit. There is never enough Time, but I am thankful for the More we have been given. I am thankful.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Miss Landmine, 2007
I'm not sure what I think about this. It certainly draws attention to a Serious Problem, but does it offer a Serious Hope? "Beauty" pageants in general are exhibitionist, but this one feels down right exploitative--the grand prize is a brand-spanking new prosthetic leg.
Still Crazy, Still Loveable
So Hubbers recently joined an Intel basketball team, of which he is the youngest member by a decade. One of the older gents thought they should give their team a real whiz-banger of a name, something to intimidate the other teams; the gent came up with Super-Heroes In Training.
That's right, beloved Blatherscopians, my husband plays for S.H.I.T.
That's right, beloved Blatherscopians, my husband plays for S.H.I.T.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Maybe Crazy, But Still Loveable
Overheard while Hubbers (always putting the "hot" back into "hot nerd") was online playing computer games with his bros:
"Dammit, I'm covered in A.T. guns!"
G*d, I hate when that happens to me.
"Dammit, I'm covered in A.T. guns!"
G*d, I hate when that happens to me.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Her Holiness
Working in a Catholic church, members often ask me if I "would ever consider converting." When I say, "no," the sweet, older ladies persist with, "What is standing in your way?" I politely answer that I see no reason why women cannot be ordained as either deacon or priest. The sweet, older ladies blanch as white as their up-dos and change the subject.
Well, the times, they are a-changin'.
Click here, here, and here for more.
Well, the times, they are a-changin'.
Click here, here, and here for more.
Blisssed Out
I have seen Heaven, and it is paved with Books.
I spent the weekend at Wordstock, Pdx's annual gathering of Word Nerds. It sprawls over the Convention Center, bon mots handed out like bon-bons, a maze of booths brimming with Publishing's jewels, and authors smiling hungrily at passersby.
There were cool indie publishing houses bragging about award-winners and latest "finds." There were alterna-book pushers and mega-chains representin'. There were workshops on writing, editing, publishing, promoting, and generally beautifying your masterpiece. There was stage after stage of these inventor-philosophers we call writers, each doing their best to discuss, enlighten, entertain, and leave their audience utterly entangled in their work.
I feel full.
I spent the weekend at Wordstock, Pdx's annual gathering of Word Nerds. It sprawls over the Convention Center, bon mots handed out like bon-bons, a maze of booths brimming with Publishing's jewels, and authors smiling hungrily at passersby.
There were cool indie publishing houses bragging about award-winners and latest "finds." There were alterna-book pushers and mega-chains representin'. There were workshops on writing, editing, publishing, promoting, and generally beautifying your masterpiece. There was stage after stage of these inventor-philosophers we call writers, each doing their best to discuss, enlighten, entertain, and leave their audience utterly entangled in their work.
I feel full.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Hilarious Or Horrible? You Decide
What child wouldn't want to enter a Magic Attic through books? And then beg his or her parent(s) for the matching doll? And then become addicted to phone sex?
Ahhh, yes, you read that correctly. Phone sex. Children.
When the Magic Attic series could no longer sustain the magic, their club folded, causing the phone company to re-sell their old telephone number. To a sex hotline.
Ahhh, yes, you read that correctly. Phone sex. Children.
When the Magic Attic series could no longer sustain the magic, their club folded, causing the phone company to re-sell their old telephone number. To a sex hotline.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Ain't English The Bees-Knees?
Fissilingual /FISS il ING wool/ adj * Possessing a forked tongue.
Lask /LASK/ v * To be afflicted with diarrhea.
Cully /KULL ee/ n * Someone who is easily imposed upon, especially by a woman.
Unasinous /yoo NASS in us/ adj * Equally stupid.
Pilgarlic /pil GAR lik/ n * A sorry-looking bald person.
Agelast /AJ uh last/ n * A person who never laughs.
Challenge: Can you write a story paragraph that ties all of these words together in an artful manner? I will post my attempt later in the week.
*As always, I give reverence to Novobatzky & Shea's Depraved and Insulting English for their collection of the obscure.
Lask /LASK/ v * To be afflicted with diarrhea.
Cully /KULL ee/ n * Someone who is easily imposed upon, especially by a woman.
Unasinous /yoo NASS in us/ adj * Equally stupid.
Pilgarlic /pil GAR lik/ n * A sorry-looking bald person.
Agelast /AJ uh last/ n * A person who never laughs.
Challenge: Can you write a story paragraph that ties all of these words together in an artful manner? I will post my attempt later in the week.
*As always, I give reverence to Novobatzky & Shea's Depraved and Insulting English for their collection of the obscure.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Word of the Day
Osphresiophilia /oss free zee o FIL ee uh/ n * Sexual excitement from smells.
"Being a perfume tester was a dream job for a woman with osphresiophilia, but Nancy's frequent trips to the bathroom began to raise some eyebrows in the lab."
Source: Depraved and Insulting English by Peter Novobatzky and Ammon Shea.
Knowing the eagerness with which my devoted Blatherscopians seek to expand their lingual dexterity, I will, henceforth, present a regular dosing of dialectical delights, straight from the forked tongues of Monsieurs Novobatzky & Shea. Yes, Loyal Readers, until such time as I am sent a cease-and-desist epistle, I shall hold the candle of language aloft in the darkness of a world in which "R U red E 4 2-dayz test?" constitutes a sentence.
And, in case anyone was wondering, that co-worker who constantly sprays saliva when he/she talks is sialoquent.
"Being a perfume tester was a dream job for a woman with osphresiophilia, but Nancy's frequent trips to the bathroom began to raise some eyebrows in the lab."
Source: Depraved and Insulting English by Peter Novobatzky and Ammon Shea.
Knowing the eagerness with which my devoted Blatherscopians seek to expand their lingual dexterity, I will, henceforth, present a regular dosing of dialectical delights, straight from the forked tongues of Monsieurs Novobatzky & Shea. Yes, Loyal Readers, until such time as I am sent a cease-and-desist epistle, I shall hold the candle of language aloft in the darkness of a world in which "R U red E 4 2-dayz test?" constitutes a sentence.
And, in case anyone was wondering, that co-worker who constantly sprays saliva when he/she talks is sialoquent.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
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