Sunday, December 31, 2006

A New Year, An Old Rivalry


How to tell if you're driving too fast:

Happy New Year's Eve 2006! Today finds me preparing for the big event tonight--no, no, not the New Year's countdown.... 

....the Bears/Packers game this evening! 
Yes, the final game of the regular NFL season features the Bears/Packers on New Year's Eve night. 

Being a Bears fan by birth and a Packers fan by circumstance, I am feeling conflicted. In fact, today when I ran to Walgreens, I had my Packers sweatshirt on while wearing my Bears coat. Go figure. I'm an insult to the true fans of professional teams. 

I like to think it's because I have the ability to rise above team colors....but, maybe I'm just not made to be a purist. 

We'll watch the game with Master Reiki and Blue Eyes. They'll spend the time eating the wife's crock pot-grape-jelly-and-chili-sauce-appetizer meatballs and I'll be eating chocolate. I have no plans of eating meat in 2007. I assume everyone will be wearing green and gold, as I believe this is a Packer's Party. I will gladly don my Packer gear but I'm not saying aloud for whom I'm cheering.

The Bears-Packer gig is one of the oldest rivalries in the league, so it's always a doozy.  The copious amount of alcohol consumed at the game will add to the athletically-motivated festivities and cheese-filled debauchery. We, party-goers at home, will remain sober, allowing us opportunity to eat more food and actually remember what the hell we did and who won the game

This is a very serious rivalry. I'm already exhausted. God help me if the Packers lose.....
Let me remind you of the wife's passion-addiction-fanatisism for the Pack. She's Cheeseland born and bred, so that means her blood is green (and gold, if she has the flu). Every Packer loss is like a personal tragedy. Every interception is like getting your eyes poked out. 

To illustrate my point: the first time I was with the wife's family for a Packer Game (on TV, mind you), I looked around and everyone was crying.....

Why? Because the new wide receiver had just caught his first touchdown in a Packer's uniform.

I am NOT making this up.
I am silent about my Bear-fan-status when visiting with the wife's family. It's easier that way. I put on some green and gold and go with the flow. I am truly glad to do so and am all good with cheering as the Pack wins another one. But, they know I am from Chicago. They know I am not born with green and gold blood. They know that I still reside south of the cheddar curtain. So...

...Christmas Eve 2006, I wore my Chicago Bears coat to the wife's family festivities. I proudly marched in, blue and orange fully on display. As soon as I entered the room, one of the young nephews looked truly horrified. His first words weren't "Merry Christmas" or "hello" or anything of a holiday greeting. His words, yelled with horror:
"TAKE THAT OFF!" He started crying. Dear god, crying over my coat!


I, being the sensitive type, responded by singing the Chicago Bears fight song. 

I saw more than a few shudders. I'm lucky most didn't see the coat until AFTER I had opened my presents.
To the left: We interrupt this blog to ask what has Freckles done with Santa and why is she smiling like that?

Back to New Year's Eve. Does anyone go outside anymore and bang pots and pans at Midnight? That was one of my favorite things to do as a kid. I'm going to try and talk the wife into doing that tonight. We must have some old pot that she doesn't care about. (I don't think I'll use her good cooking pots--what if she ever decided she wanted to cook something?!! Tee hee!!)I'll ask the wife to bang pots and pans outside only IF we are still awake at Midnight. I'm notorious for sleeping right through the New Year. I figure it will still be there in the morning, so I don't worry too much about it. I'm feeling lucky right now, so I'm gonna go out on a limb and say we'll be awake when the Time Square ball drops.... that's because that will happen at 11 PM our time. I guess we can't bang pots and pans at 11 PM. Not only would that confuse the drunks, it would be just plain wrong.  

As for me and midnight, my guess is that Lucy and I will look like this:
ZZZZZZZzzzzzzz....

Happy 2007, friends of the addiverse! Go Bears!

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

What's Cookin' for the Holidays...

"Spaghetti Burgers ala Wild Mama." A family favorite, or so they tell me. They're actually hamburger patty-shaped meatball sandwiches, as far as I can tell, but the wife LOVES them and can't get enough of these traditional delicacies. Here they are, simmering before the Christmas Dinner.
(Word of wisdom: don't make vegetable lasagna for your meat-loving family--they won't eat it.)
(More words of wisdom: do not criticize the wife about the lack of food products for the Christmas meal when she is in the process of making said meal.)
(Biggest words of wisdom: order a pizza and call it a day.)

Bah Humbug! Freckles has had enough of the holidays AND enough of this hat.
Lucy finds out "there is no Santa Claus."

The newest in shoes: youngest niece shows off her rollerskate gymshoes. Ho ho ho! She zipped around the kitchen like it was a roller rink. No one was hurt but the wife did experience a few moments of sheer terror when youngest niece went flying by the baker's rack and into the refrigerator....

My cup runneth over.....this is the new "sport" for the masses--speed stacking. I'm not kidding. Some drunk in a bar probably created this game and is now a zillionare. Much time was spent on Christmas day cup stacking. I've gotta tell ya--it's a lot harder than it looks, especially when challenged by a 13 year old professional speed stacker of a niece.
Finally, if you are bored and lonely and have run out of cups to stack and you have some time on your hands new years eve, go to www.20Q.net
I don't know how it does it, but it's mighty fun. Oujui oujui!!!!

Friday, December 22, 2006

Here's the Scoop, Poop!


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....

Today was a great day and a real downer at the same time. (I would have said it was a shitty day but there was no shit to be had, so it really just kind of sucked.) I refuse to give any "power" to today's yuckiness and instead focus on the poop. Literally.



I'm thinking of Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo, from South Park. Merry Poopy Christmas!

My beloved employees, who know me so well it's almost scary, got me a "Monthly Doos" dog poop calendar for Christmas. This may not be your cup of tea, but it certainly is mine. In addition, they got me a poop key chain, a poop pen and a poop ornament for the tree. (That's one ornament the wife won't be hanging on the christmas tree.) It's poop overload, only better. 




How can you not just love a gnome with a wheelbarrel heading for the dog poop?



(Go to www.zymetrical.com to see the poop-related items, including this calendar--described on their website: "Finally, a calendar dedicated to the colorful achievements of man's best friend! In the fifth edition of this cult classic, no mound was left unturned in search of the perfect shot. With 12 nauseating and somewhat disturbing high art photos inside, this work of crap gives new hope to boring calendars everywhere....") Tasty!

Since I'm babbling about poop, I'd like to share that the Colon Care Formula has made my life a little more....pleasant? I can't thank Suziki DiFranco enough for helping my bowels become one with the Universe. See? Now my bad day doesn't fell so bad. A few minutes of infantile poop talk and I'm good to go.....well, not literally, in this case. Maybe in 12 or 14 hours....

In addition to my poop gifts, my beloved employees made me a "The Scoop on Poop" Book. It looks like they gleaned a lot of the information from www.heptune.com/poop.html The information includes facts on:why poops stinks, what poop is made of, why poop is brown (usually, that is), why some poop floats, even the origin of the word poop. The Poop Thesaurus is especially entertaining--there are more names for poop than you can shake a stick at. 

Give me a holler if you're looking for twenty or thirty slang words for poop. I'm sure that will come in handy during Christmas dinner.....

Friday, December 15, 2006

Tis the season....



Sorry I have been away from the blog for a week. I've been in a food coma...
....unable to even button my pants. 

Tis the season for overeating....parties, potlucks, dinners, cookies, chocolate presents....to the left is an example of the problem I am experiencing: MJagger's cheesy potatoes. No offense to the wife, but MJagger makes some KICK ASS cheesy potatoes. After my third helping, my stomach no longer had any room--I swear the cheesy morsels of delight were in my esophogus. Woof. I'm still in pain and I ate those three helpings yesterday. 

Here is a photo of the famous sausage balls, of which I did not partake--but, they got rave reviews at this morning's departmental breakfast. 


To help you get into the holiday spirit, I thought I'd share memories of a few favorite gifts and foods over the years. 

Take, for instance, the Christmas when I was five years old. If I'm not mistaken, we were living in Boston at that time and had returned to the Windy City for the holiday festivities. We stayed with our grandparents that year, with Lil Sis and I taking over my aunt's bed. This was an AWESOME Christmas, as Santa brought me a G.I. Joe Machine Gun! Now, that's a good present. (I'm serious!) Although that was a mighty exciting part of this particular holiday, finding Santa in the bathroom was the highlight of Christmas Eve....

...While trying to sleep on Christmas Even (you know how hard that can be), I was peeking out of my supposedly closed eyes while "sleeping" in my aunt's bedroom. I was facing the doorway. It was still mighty dark out. Suddenly, I swear to you that I saw Santa walk into the bathroom and shut the door. I was so excited I could barely contain myself! 

SANTA is in the BATHROOM!

He's HERE! HE'S HERE! 

(Even Santa has to pee, doesn't he? I mean, that's a LONG journey he takes.)
 
I quickly SQUEEZED my eyes shut, as I figured Santa would take the gifts back if he knew I was awake. I prayed I wouldn't squirm in delight.  

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T LET SANTA KNOW I'M AWAKE!!! SANTA, I'VE BEEN GOOD ALL YEAR! PLEASE DON'T LET ME BLOW IT NOW!

Thankfully, Santa did not see me and thus the machine gun was mine for the taking:Looking back, I assume it was my grandfather in the bathroom, but who REALLY knows???!

Over the years, I've been given some awesome presents: a telescope in fourth grade, a new 10 speed bike in eighth grade (yellow! Woo woo!) and even a yellow hat with a siren on top when I was in tenth grade. I think my favorite gift in the recent years was the Poop Calendar I received from a co-worker last year. I know, I know, that is so juvenile, but it was the best calendar I have ever received--dog poop every month! You KNOW how much I love to talk about poop--well, this just gave me permission to talk about dog poop at any given moment during the work day. (It IS a fine line between staff and client, I tell you.) If I weren't in such a food coma, I'd tell you more about holidays gone by. Until I "pass" those cheesy potatoes, I won't be doing much of anything, so you'll just have to wait....a few hours...a few days? Please don't make it a week....

Friday, December 08, 2006

Friendly Neighbor with a Snow Blower: Disaster of 1998



This is a difficult story to tell without visuals (such as me using wild Italian-ish hand gestures), but I will do my best to illustrate the disaster through wordy words. (Thus, I employing the photo above, from solisnetwork. It's not exactly what happened but it sure is funny.)

Just so we’re clear, it’s all the wife’s fault. Keep that in mind while I’m telling this saga.

Back in the day—oh, 1998 BD--before dogs--the wife always accused me as being “unfriendly neighbor.” This title was earned because I really didn’t spend much time interacting with any of our neighbors. She claims I didn’t even wave to them, but it was more that I half-waved and then went into the house. (Okay, so that might be a LITTLE unfriendly but it wasn’t like I was giving anyone “the finger” or lighting poop-in-a-bag on the porch or anything.) I admit I wasn’t half as friendly as the wife was; she was always visiting or talking or discussing gardening—whatever. I was in the house having a cool beverage while she was yipping. It seemed better that way.

As I ALWAYS listen to the wife, I finally took her words to heart. On a very, very, very snowy evening, I decided to be FRIENDLY NEIGHBOR.

The wife had just purchased a new snow blower and I was very excited to see the snow, as this meant I would have the chance to use the new machine. I am SO about snow blowers. I was in winter bliss as I plowed up and down the driveway. Once done, I looked up and down our street. Hmm. No one else was snow blowing yet and the snow was piling up......

I decided that it would indeed qualify me for friendly neighbor status if I snow blowed a few driveways for our nearest neighbors. I plowed the neighbor to the north’s driveway, I plowed the neighbor across the street driveway, I plowed the neighbor to the south’s driveway. That seemed friendly enough. I was covered in snow and sweating like a pig, so I thought I’d call it a day. After all, there is only so much friendly one can take in one outing.

Then, I thought I should do one…more….driveway—the neighbor kitty-corner from us. They were a young couple and I knew they didn’t have a snowblower. What’s one more driveway? So, I pushed the snow blower across the street and gave one more round of Friendly Neighbor snow blowing….

….I should have stopped.

So, I push the snowblower right down the middle of the driveway, heading from the street to the garage. I’m not kidding—right down the middle—not to the left, not to the right—the middle. (This will be of significance in just a few moments.) I’m halfway to the driveway when there is this bloodcurdling SCRREEEEECH....
 
....the tree to the right SNAPS down toward the ground 

....the tree SNAPS right back up.....

....the Christmas lights come RIPPING off the tree....
.....the snow blower SCREAMS like it’s been hit by a truck....
....the Christmas lights come RIPPING off the garage gutters, B

AM BAM BAM BAM like a machine gun shooting off rounds. 
The brand new snowblower comes to a grinding halt.

Our neighbors had a large orange extension cord running down the MIDDLE OF THE DRIVEWAY. Now, why anyone would have an extension cord in the middle of the driveway, I do not know, but I DO know that it was attached to the Christmas lights on the garage and to the Chistmas lights on that poor little tree that bent in half as the lights ripped off of it. I couldn’t see the cord because it was under a foot of snow.

There I stood in the partially-plowed driveway, extension cord and Christmas lights sucked into the snow blower that no longer worked. (These lights, of course, were not the cheapy kind most people use these days. Oh no, these were the old-fashioned big lights, probably from their grandparents as a gift cuz those poor neighbors couldn’t afford new lights. These were the expensive kind you can’t buy anymore.) The gutter was hanging slightly off the garage. The lights, of course, were off and no longer softly glowing in the falling snow. How I wasn’t killed by electrocution, I’ll never know.

Since it sounded like a truck hit the house when this all happened, the neighbors came running out (in their bare feet, I might add). What could I do but say….

….”Uh, hi, I’m your neighbor.”

Suffice it to say that after a half hour, the neighbor guy got all the cords out of the snow blower (he had put his shoes on by then), the driveway never got plowed and I felt like a complete moron. (Just for the record: While I couldn’t replace the lights, I did buy them a new extension cord. It’s the least I could do. And, I didn’t try and snow blow their driveway ever again.) I sadly and slowly pushed the jammed snow blower back across the street and to the garage, not knowing if I had destroyed the new machine in addition to destroying the neighbor’s holiday decorations. Thankfully, the snow blower was no worse for the wear but it was still awful having to tell the wife about the dreaded snow blowing disaster of the day.

To be honest, those neighbors moved that spring.

So much for that friendly neighbor crap.

Friday, December 01, 2006

Snow Day!
Hell hath no fury like a teacher waiting to hear if it's a snow day or not.
I've been living with a teacher for the past forty zillion years and I can tell you one thing: Teachers like snow days more than kids. They live for it. It all starts with a simple weather report. Teachers hone in the word "snow" the minute it falls out of the meteorologist's lips. Snow? How much snow? When is the snow scheduled to fall? When is the snow scheduled to stop? This is followed by the "look-out-the-window-every-thirty-minutes" ritual to see if the snow is falling, how much snow is falling, how much snow is on the ground.
You think I'm kidding? Ask any teacher...
So, the weather report indicates snow in the forcast. The snow starts falling in the middle of the night. This is a good thing, as it ups the chances of a snow day. Why? Because the roads can't get plowed for the buses if the snow starts in the middle of the night. If the snow falls "too early," the roads get plowed, the buses run, the teachers have to work. Wind also helps. If the wind is blowing more than less, the visibility is less than more and this, too, increases the chance of a snow day. If the snow starts falling too late in the morning, the classes will probably go on as scheduled but class will get out early. This is NOT what a teacher wants to happen.
Then there is the "magic moment--the announcement" on the TV, radio and Internet--the words that schools are closed...or not.
I guarantee you that teachers get up a LOT earlier than the kids to see if school is cancelled. The wife scans the TV listings like a true snowday professional. The worst moment is when a whole bunch of schools are listed but the wife's school is not listed. Oh, the horror! This is very painful for the non-teacher. There's bitching and moaning and complaining and swearing and really bad moods. This leads to more watching of the TV and more pissy-ness. The wife, in my case, goes outside and swears as she shovels. (I stick to snowblowing. I don't want to die of a heart attack. She's already all pissy and angry--let her have the heart attack.) The wife then slams off her boots and goes back to the TV, the radio, the Internet....
If, by chance, the school of employment is listed, the mood changes instantly. Snow Day! Snow Day! Snow Day!
It's like winning the teacher lottery. (Of course, the rest of us sorry saps still have to go to work but the teachers do not.) I don't know what teachers actually do on their snow days--I think most of them go out shopping, which in my mind means they really could have gone to work if it weren't for those damned buses not running for the kiddies.
Today is a perfect example of a snow day in the Addiverse....
There had been a call for 6-12" of snow. This madness started yesterday, which means the wife started fretting over 24 hours before the snow actually showed up--and, as the weather goes, you never know IF the snow is actually going to show up at all. (My weather motto is: see it to believe it.) She was up looking out the window in the middle of the night--I caught her. That's what teachers do--they peer out the window--it's her job to uphold this tradition. It's snowing! And, what does she see? Why, it's snowing like a bitch and it started in the middle of the night and it's really windy and the plows aren't out yet and this is the perfect recipe for the beloved snow day.
The first thing the wife did this morning? Turns on the TV and starts lamenting that her school isn't yet listed on the closing list. The wife then gets on the phone--damn! No school closing listed on the message. She then gets the computer and goes on line. I don't even think she's peed yet and she's going through the teacher-snow day-ritual. It's time to go shovel and be pissy. This morning, the garage door wouldn't shut--you can imagine how pleased this made the wife. Not only does she still believe she has to go to work, the garage door is stuck wide open and snow is howling into the garage onto her beloved Mustang. It cannot get much worse than this.
It is hard to calm down a teacher counting on a snow day when the snow day has yet to be confirmed.
There is no rationalization, no words of soothing, no words of wisdom. The only remedy is that the TV, radio and Internet announce that the school of choice is closed.
Then, it happens--the wife's school is announced as closed...........but, only for half the day!!!!
This is almost WORSE than no snow day at all! How could they do this? Everyone else is closed the entire day! (This is the point when I decide it is time to go to work. It's safer that way.)
Ah, the teacher and the snow day. It's something most of us won't ever understand unless we, too, become teachers. Me? I'm just going to go to work and leave the wife to the snow days... five bucks says she'll go shopping....

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Thanksgiving Leftovers


I'm feeling squirrley! A few leftover words from the 2006 Thanksgiving holiday.....after all, Thanksgiving is all about the leftovers....

(Enjoy this now. I warn you: I’m going to return to talking about poop in the very near future. Between Poop and the holidays, I’m sure I’ll have lots to write about. My friend “Suzuki DiFranco” has assured me that “Colon Care” will get things moving faster than a speeding train. You KNOW I will have to talk about this…perhaps some photos….and my sister gave me a book called “The Truth about Poop,” so you know that will become blog fodder….)

The wife’s family had their traditional Thanksgiving dinner, complete with the 7-hour reflection of praise and thanks.

Praise the Baby Jesus!

The wife's family makes an amazing feast, fit for the most scrawny of Pilgrims. They make everything from scratch and make an over-the-top spread that borders on obscene. The food isn't the main event, tho....

See, the wife's family is an uber-religious group of folks, moved by the spirit and Jesus on the cross. God love them. Between prayer and praise, the Thanksgiving Thank-a-thon is almost an Olympic Event.

This year, the prayer and praise was unfortunately interrupted when a sister-in-law fell down the stairs, breaking two teeth and her jaw. I’m not kidding about this. She really did go tumbling. Something about her boot getting caught on the stair's carpeting. All I know is I heard the tumbling and crashing of an adult flying down the stairs.

As the injuries unfolded, the wife's youngest sister did an interpretive dance to some Christian Rap.

I.am.not.kidding.

I’ve never seen anything like the wife’s family—they cry when they are happy, they cry when they are grateful, they cry when the Packers win, they cry when the Packers lose, they cry when someone else is crying. They cry when someone does an interpretive dance to Christian Rap.

Interestingly to me, they do NOT cry when someone falls down the stairs. I was stymied by this. All that crying must be saved for everything except physical pain. It appears the wife's family has a “toughen up” mentality when injury or illness is involved. Since there was no blood spurting out of the sister-in-law's eyes, I guess they thought she was no worse for the wear. I vote that breaking your jaw and teeth is reason to shed tears. Heck, even the timing of hurting your mouth at the  Holiday known for eating should allow for tears. Alas, there was no sympathy to be found; in fact, I never heard her husband ask her directly if she was okay. The only first aid provided was by me and a brother-in-law, who brought her some frozen peas and carrots to use as an ice pack. One's gotta do what one's gotta do.

As for the interpretive dance, I am speechless.

Getting through the annual proclamation of “thanks” is like swimming in a pool of tears and snot. It is something to experience and cannot be accurately described in a mere blog entry. You have to be there to understand the volume the tears and snot. Just know that I’m the only one not crying. I don't cry while they cry and I don't understand why they are crying. I mean, I'm happy and grateful and all but I am not moved to tears.

I don't them much to work with in the thank you department. I keep it short and simple. It's safer that way. I am a woman of few words when it comes to the Thanksgiving Thank-a-thon. More time for them.

This year, I said I was thankful for antibiotics. I’ve been really sick and let me tell you, I am certainly praising Jesus that I finally started to feel better, thanks to medication. This proclamation seemed to really entertain the wife’s 4-year-old nephew—he liked that I was thankful for medication....

....He then added to my shamefully non-emotional proclamation of thanks: “and you’re thankful for Jesus, too?”

What else could I say but, “of course—Praise Jesus!”

As far as “my” family, we kept it short, sweet and simple. The only crying that was had was when I was laughing so hard I almost peed in my pants. (That’s the kind of crying that I like.) It’s a long story, but suffice it to say that the wife and I spent much time torturing Eldest Niece about her upcoming Confirmation in the Catholic Church.

What kind of Godmother am I, mocking the Holy Spirit?
  
I told her the Holy Spirit was going to swoop down upon her head and set her hair on fire...

....thus, she would have to wear curlers in her hair to protect her head.

Then, the Sponsor would put the fire out by patting it and pouring water on her head. 

The whole curler thing was inspired by some poor 12 year-old coming into the restaurant of which we were frequenting....she had curlers in her hair. I didn’t think they even made curlers any more. Poor thing. That is just so wrong making her go in public like that. Didn’t anyone ever tell her about the invention of the curling iron???

I told Eldest Niece that her confirmation name would thus be “Curly.” We also told her she would have to renew her baptism by going naked into the baptismal font.

Eldest niece was on the verge of tears. Not the kind the wife's family shed, but tears non-the-less. Who can blame her? No one wants to have hair on fire by a swooping spirit. No one wants to be called Curly.  No one wants to be a prancing naked teen in a baptismal font. I'm sure that 12 year old across the restaurant didn't want to be wearing curlers.

I’m not sure Eldest Niece wants to me to be her Confirmation Sponsor any more. I'm not sure the Baby Jesus will let me near her or her curlers. I'm not sure the wife's family will let me near anyone. One must not make fun of the Holiest of Spirits.


Maybe next year I can do an interpretive dance while wearing pink curlers. I think that will get me back in with the wife's family, my niece and the Baby Jesus.

Leftovers 2006:  Sacrilegious banter, yes. Tears, no. I'm lucky no one put a turkey carcass on my head.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Jingle-all-the-turkey-trot-way


(the photo to the left--a photo of a photo--is provided for illustration purposes and to prove I actually did what I have claimed to have done in this bloggish story.)

Since my last entry was about Thanksgiving and as it is that time of year, I thought I’d share a few other Thanksgiving memories. (Wait til I get around to telling stories about Thanksgiving dinners with the wife's family!) For this blog entry, we’ll have to go back a few years for the “Turkey-trot-broken-ankle-christmas-tree-shopping-cart” story, so stuff that Turkey and hang on for the ride.

Back in the olden days (when I was still sporty and running oodles of miles per week—we’re talking 1989 here), I enjoyed nothing more than spending Thanksgiving morning participating in the “Turkey Trot.” This annual 5K romp was held in the woods/on the hills/across the tundra of a local park. (When I say hill, I mean mountain. It’s a grassy side to the dam, so picture a ridiculously steep incline.) My running partner Flash and I loved the Turkey Trot. We loved it almost as much as we loved eating Thanksgiving dinner (and, running a race the day of Thanksgiving allowed one to eat more without guilt). This year, the ground was snow covered and although it was beautifully sunny out, it was freezy and rather treacherous. Flash and I stood around at the starting line with our closest hundred running friends, huddled together for warmth. The starting gun went off and we jogged slowly away from the starting line. (We were not sprinters. We were joggers and proud of it.)

The course led us up the giant ice-covered slope of the dam and then into the woods. I mean forest, complete with snow covered path and hidden tree roots peeking out of the ground. (See where this is going?) The air was crisp, the chatter was friendly, the footing was…..unfortunately for Flash, the footing was not so good. After all, we were running in the woods on a snow-covered trail with evil tree roots here and there.

Flash caught her foot on one of the unseen roots and tumbled to the ground, like a tumbleweed rolling across the desert.

It was rather downhill at this part of the trail, so she literally rolled while I watched in horror. She came to a stop and didn’t move. As this was a “friendly” race, people actually stopped to help (in competitive races, people would have trampled her and kept going). She denied being hurt, but once helped up, we could tell she was in no shape to walk, let alone run. Being the tough runner that she was, Flash insisted that she was fine and that she would finish the race. (Besides, she didn’t have much of a choice—we were in the woods and there was no way a car could get to where she was.) I stayed with Flash as she limped slowly along. She didn’t look so good—she was green with pain. We made fun of our stupidity for running in the snow on a holiday, we talked about our plans for the holiday, we talked about anything besides the pain she was obviously in. A 25-minute race took us over 45 minutes. She couldn’t go any faster and that really pissed her off.

Once we got to the finish line, our runner friends helped her into a car. She refused to leave before the frozen turkey drawing was held. God love her, Flash’s name was drawn and she won a frozen turkey. Turkey in lap, she drove off to the nearest emergency room.

Turns out Flash had broken her ankle. When her husband chastised her about this, she simply said,

“but, I won a turkey!”

He was obviously NOT a runner.

As the next weekend was the big “Jingle Bells Run for Arthritis,” and as Flash and I had raised oodles of money for the run, and as we had already made our holiday costumes for the run, I could not participate in the run without her. We agreed to meet at the starting line—at the local Walmart--decked out in our best holiday costumes. I was dressed as a Christmas tree, complete with Star on my head and garland flowing in the breeze. (Wild Mama and Baby Sister helped create this tree. It was quite the running attire.) I felt miserable about having to leave Flash at the starting line. We had worked so hard to get ready for this run….

....so, in a bout of insanity or stupidity or brilliance, I came up with the idea of putting her in a shopping cart and PUSHING her for the 3.1 mile race. Crutches and all, our running friends lifted her into the cart and off we went. (see photo of photo above to grasp what I'm talking about.)

Okay, so the first part of the race was fine, as we were in a paved parking lot. This was soon not to be the case, as the race route veered off onto side streets, road shoulders, grassy patches. Let me tell you, pushing a grown woman in a shopping cart while running across grass is NOT an easy thing to do. It was hard enough pushing her along the paved streets. I was huffing, puffing, sweating, bending, even walking at times. Flash wasn’t having any fun, either—who woulda thunk how painful it would be to bounce around as a grown woman in a shopping cart?

By the time we reached the finish line (and, let me tell you, we were at the back of the pack), I was dripping with sweat, my ornaments were falling off my costume, the star had fallen off my hat and Flash was suicidal. At the end, we hugged each other and she professed her thanks to me for not leaving her behind. Come on, leaving her behind would be like leaving your injured comrade on the battle field. I couldn’t leave her behind. We vowed NEVER to make such an idiotic decision again and I assure you that I have never pushed a grown woman in a shopping cart since that day.

I must say that the shopping cart run has always been a favorite memory of mine and I think of Flash every Thanksgiving. I am thankful for the great memories and good laughs and the cold, crisp November air and the camaraderie of running with people like Flash, especially now when I am no longer able to run.

And so, I am grateful to Flash for a few of the wonderful reasons to be so thankful in life.

Isn’t that what Thanksgiving is all about?

Gobble Gobble.

Monday, November 13, 2006

The Great Turkey Disaster of 1996



As Thanksgiving is quickly approaching, I thought it best to share my “Great Turkey Disaster of 1996” story. That way, you can be VERY thankful I’m not having you over for Thanksgiving dinner this year.

It all started out so innocently. I had decided (for some very unknown reason) to invite my family to the house for a traditional Thanksgiving Dinner. This was in the day that I was still not welcomed at the wife’s family dinner, so I must have thought it a good idea to have my family of origin over for the day.

As I am not known for my cooking prowess, this should have struck all of us as a bad idea.

The wife traveled off in the wee hours toward Cheddarland, leaving me behind to create the perfect culinary delight of thanks. It was a horrible, miserable day—wind howling, dark grey clouds hovering, garbage blowing by in the cold November breeze. I was a bit worried about the wife driving on such a lousy day, but I had a dinner to worry about, so I put her out of my mind and turned to the stove.

First things first—I stared at the turkey, looked at the belly button, read the directions, stared at the turkey. I knew enough to pull the giblets out of the inside of the bird, so I had a moment of pride in the kitchen. I plopped those frozen goodies into the sink and returned to staring at the bird. I took out one of those turkey baggies—you know, one of those plastic cooking bags—and wrapped ol’ Tom Turkey in the bag. (I think I wiped him down with some butter before wrapping him up, but I can’t say for sure.) I tied up the bag, shoved the bagged bird into the giant aluminum pan and turned on the oven. I am all puffed up because I am on schedule and I am in charge of my turkey!

Then….30 minutes later…..

….the power goes out.

No oven. Can’t open the refrigerator. No heat. No microwave.

I don’t panic because there are four hours before anything needs to happen, as it’s four hours before my family will arrive. Still, I get a bit nervous….the turkey has only been cooking for 30 minutes. Everything I need besides the corn is in the refrigerator and I certainly can ‘t open that door. I pace.

I realized it was going to get mighty cold in the house without heat.
So, I decided to make a fire in the fireplace as means of heating the house and giving it a warm, cozy holiday feel.

Words of wisdom: DO NOT make a fire in the fireplace on the windiest day of the year.

I start the fire even though I hear the wind whipping down the chimney and into the fireplace. It doesn’t dawn on me this might not be a good thing. I get that puppy burning and then wind whips in and FILLS the house with smoke and soot and ashes and embers. I’m not kidding. Soot everywhere! I look at the what used to be white lampshade and think OH SHIT! This is SO not good. I’m trying to put the fire out, I’m trying to stop the soot, I’m dumb enough to close the flue in an effort to keep the wind from howling in, but this only means ALL the smoke now comes into the house. I reopen the flue, choking through the dust.

Insult to injury, the fire alarms start going off, so I now have to open the windows and doors. And, I thought it was cold before all this nonsense started.

I am in sheer panic. It’s been two hours without electricity, the house is freezing and smoking, the turkey is rotting in the oven and there is nothing I can do….

….so I call the wife, who is just sitting down to a delicious home-made dinner with her family. Like she can do anything.

Three and a half hours later, the power comes on. I leap up in joy, crank the heat, crank the oven, start opening cans and boxes like mad, put the pie in the oven next to the turkey.....

I figure turning the oven WAY up will make everything cook faster.

I’m serious.

The family shows up and I explain what has happened and my father, who has been in the food service business his entire life, gives a skeptical-we-are-all-going-to-die-if-we-eat-that-turkey look to me, but I prevail. We have to wait several hours for dinner, as the turkey needed time. Of course, I forget about the pie and burn the PISS out of it. (Black crust. Mmmm. Tasty.) In the meantime, I’m heating canned corn and mashing potatoes. I peek in at the turkey and notice….

….hey! I can’t see the belly button!

Where did it go? I know it was in there when I started cooking this thing. I call my father over and point out that I can’t see the belly button anymore. We decide it must have popped out and thus the turkey must be done.

He helps take the bird out of the oven and I ask for his assistance with the carving of the turkey. We look at the bird and kind of have quizzical looks—something is wrong here, but I can’t put my finger on it. He goes to start carving….and nothing. There is like NO meat. I FREAK. This is like a 20-zillion pound turkey and he’s carving bones. He looks at me, looks at the turkey, gives me that smirk look he has and then turns the turkey over.

I have cooked it upside down.

When he flips it over, we can see the belly button. Go figure.

Suffice it to say, the turkey was like eating a hockey puck, the pie was black, the corn was cold and the potatoes were lumpy. Well, at least the Stove top Stuffing wasn't a complete loss. It was a nightmare of a meal. My father, always one to have the last word, says, “no one ever said you could cook.”

Touche.

I’ve been a vegetarian ever since.

Gobble Gobble!

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

(Keep reading to learn about my new baby iPod!! I'm in love!)
Faith No More
The winner... Carrie-I'm-so-grateful....
...the loser....whaddaya-mean-I-lost-to-that-12 year-old--Faith Hill.

In case you are one of the three people left on the planet who didn't see Faith Hill be a VERY sore loser at the Country Music Awards Monday night, click here and watch her face when she loses to Carrie Underwood"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2WLYYonzx4

Hmmm. Looks like she thought she was a shoo in, eh?!! That's gonna take a lot of PR to put that naughty behavior to rest.


*****If you want to see the whole female vocalist award thingy as it was seen on TV, click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3o27sqPmSU&NR *****

Of course, that's what her manager is busy doing right this very minute. In fact, the word being put out is:

"The country music superstar says she was just joking
when cameras showed her screaming "WHAT?"
"The idea that I would act disrespectful towards a
fellow musician is unimaginable to me," Hill said in a
statement. "For this to become a focus of attention
given the talent gathered is utterly ridiculous. Carrie
is a talented and deserving Female Vocalist of The
Year."


Gimmie a break! Who screws around like that on TV when a zillion fans are watching? You be the judge! So, click on that link if you haven't already.

(By the way: I love Carrie Underwood and her album kicks ass....but, I don't think she should have won the big female award. She isn't the most talented in the bunch--in fact, ALL those ladies nominated are better singers than young thang Carrie. She is still learning how to carry a tune while singing live. She does have nice legs, don't you think? woof! Anyway, Carrie just happens to have a HUGE selling album and plenty of young fans, which is a good thing and that gave her lots of momentum to win. Being said, she deserved a lot more than ol' poopy pants. Faith, what WERE you thinking?) (I dedicate that last line to Governor Blagovich. If you're from Illinois & own a TV, you'll understand.)


Finally, on a much happy front, I just received my new iPod Shuffle in the mail today!It is TEENY WEENY and I'm destined to lose it....it's so small and cute and fabulous and inscribed with my name (Addi Warrior Princess, of course)! I don't know how I talked the wife into using the charge card....it was a weak moment...I really need (well, okay--want) some new shoes but this was too cute to pass up and I love music and my last iPod died (rest in pieces).

Huh. Wonder if I'll put any Faith Hill music on it?

Of course I will! She can still sing. She's still married to that cutie Tim McGraw. She's still hot. Faith will just be relegated to the back seat, behind all those Carrie Underwood songs....

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

God Bless America
Well, I certainly have never seen a picture of Uncle Sam giving the finger before, so I thought I'd include it in my very patriotic-let's-get-out-there-and-vote blog.

There I was, trying to vote for my Green boyfiend Rich Whitley when I thought a fight was going to break out at the polling place. Voting has never been so exciting! Seems the elections board or whoever is responsible for the whole this-is-where-you-go-to-vote people screwed up and sent a bunch of letters to voters to go to the wrong polling place. I usually vote at a Baptist church, of all places. But, since the church is having some kind of big shin-dig, the wife and I got letters telling directing us to a local hotel to vote....

Unfortunately, for some voters, they too got the letter but weren't supposed to...and, this hotel is in the boonies of our town. Thus, angry voting man became irate when finding out he was definitely in the wrong place despite the letter sent to his house. Those little old ladies (and I do mean old--the average age of the polling place people was about 105) were in a tizzy. Here's this guy, frothing at the mouth, screaming at them (like they had anything to do with it), demanding this and that. I thought he was going to hit someone he was so hopping mad.

I guess he must be VERY passionate about this whole voting thing. 

Those little old ladies were on the phone, shaking while trying to dial the number of someone to help them with this man. He's yelling about how all these people are going to start showing up because of these @!##@% letters and they are going to be VERY MAD. I was never so glad to vote and get out of there.

Speaking of voting, I got to fill out a paper ballot. None of this computer-fraud-crashing thing for my polling place. I was glad to know my vote for Mr. Green Party would be counted.

Green party? Yes. It allowed me the glory of not having to vote for the guy who was doing drugs with his male prostitute friend. Oh wait, that was a different state. I hope that wasn't actually on our ballot. Not that that wouldn't be true in this great state of ours. Our governors are more likely to end up in prison than anywhere else.

I think I'm much more excited that those stupid campaign commercials will be over than I am over voting. One more negative ad and I might have exploded. The governor and his opponent are both morons, slinging mud like it's going out of style. Like I want to vote for either one of them. I don't understand the whole mud slinging thing. Why? why must they do this?

Green Party. It's definitely better than picking between two evils....those two big politics politians can sling mud from here to eternity. I'm getting out of the way. Go Green Party!

I'm sad to report that I forgot to pick up "I voted" sticker to wear today, so you'll just have to take my word for it that I fulfilled my patriotic obligation. Hope you did, too....

....and, hope you ended up at the right polling facility, be it a church, hotel or brothel.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Halloween Crabbing....GRRRR!

BOO! Happy Halloween! (See that rabid squirrel? The one above, that doesn't really look like a squirrel? That's how I feel today. GRRRRR! Get out of the way!!!! Soon, I'll be frothing at the mouth. You have been warned.)

I was going to write about the "Great Snowblowing Disaster of 1998," but I'll save that for the next blog entry. I promise you will be VERY entertained by that story...

....in the meantime, I'd like to say a few words about Rush MORON Limaugh--as "Blue Eyes" said at her recent dinner party, he's an "Oxy-moron." (Get it? Oxycontin addict? Moron? Oxy-moron? I thought that was pretty clever of her.) Anyone who is STUPID and RUDE enough to say Michael J. Fox is FAKING his symptoms of Parkinson's Disease in an effort to secure votes for the Democrats is ONE SICK PUPPY. Take another pill, Rush and SHUT UP! YOU ARE A JERK!

Since I'm on the topic of media-related things and I'm already in a surly mood, may I add my two cents about the Madonna-adoption-fiasco? For pete's sake, if Madonna wants to adopt someone from some country where everyone is dropping dead of AIDS and she's been raising all sorts of awareness (and money) for AIDS for as long as I can remember and she's been planning this for a decent amount of time, LEAVE HER ALONE! (Spoken like a true Madonna addict.) Her concert featured an entire video and song about the plight in Africa. It's not like she just woke up one morning and said, "Gee, Guy---let's go out and buy an orphan today."


Shoo! I feel better already....

For those of you keeping score: No, I still do not look like Lisa Rinna; I am still limping from my football injury; Hotdiggity Dog's anal glands are still intact; the new leafblower is fine; the wife and grrrrlz (aka Freckles and Lucy) are adjusting to the time change; the person who walked off the job last week returned yesterday; and, no one is pregnant at work. It's Halloween and that's a good thing. How can you have a bad day on Halloween? (Well, unless you eat too much candy or you get a candy bar with a razor blade in it?) I feel better knowing it's one of my favorite days of the year. When else can you dress up like a rock star or a vampire or Spongebob or your spirit Guide (Hi, Grover!) and not get too many stares for doing it and get handed candy for FREE???? Do any of you remember "Trick or Treat for UNICEF?" I think me, my sister and my cousins are the only people on the planet who remember this. We went house to house with our little orange UNICEF boxes and asked for pennies along with our candy. How worldly and ahead-of-our-time was that? (We probably financed an orphan or two for Madonna to adopt with all those pennies we collected. Kidding.) Does anyone still Trick or Treat for Unicef? I hope so! Maybe I should get one of those little orange boxes and go door to door tonight. If nothing else, maybe I can get some free candy....

Wednesday, October 25, 2006


My hands are bananas.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RO10s_HK6d0 (click on this link)

...and my preacher has gas...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xItR-nh9cYM (click on this link)

...time to sign up for Xena Fan Club #12:

Sorry I've been away for awhile. I've been busy chasing slugs, scraping mildew, gaining weight, limping, spending too much time on youtube.com and saving money to get my latest Xena Fan Club kit. Then, there are the layoffs, the bypass surgery, the broken glasses, the peer walking off the job (literally), the probable pregnancy, the reassignments at work, the problematic Morton's toe.

(Not bypass surgery for me--for the CEO. Not my pregnancy: a peer's probable pregnancy. Don't get your undies in a bundle. Why, you ask, do these things have any bearing on my life? Trust me, you don't want to hear that dribbly story. Suffice it to say that it has major impact. I'm sure I'll whine about it later.)

It's been just plain weird around here. Even the wife has been saying it's weird. If the dogs could talk, I'm sure they'd vote for weird. That's why I HAD to post those two youtube.com links above. It's stress reducing to sing about having bananas for hands and to listen to the farting preacher.

Even Elmo thinks it's been really weird around here.....

Side Note: Sully and Mike are included at the top of this entry because MJagger is having a hell of a time getting her 3 year old daughter to go to bed at night. See, there are monsters in her closet. And, anyone knows you cannot go to bed if there are monsters right in the room. Moreso, everyone knows that it is very hard to convince a 3 year old there is NOT a monster in the closet. (Moral of the story: do not let 3 year olds watch "Monster Inc.")

Weird? Hey, my hands aren't bananas.....but someone's are...and besidess, some have hanger hands.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-mwQxovMVc (click here if you really wanna see weird on a local level!!

Final words: I have two words for you--EMMITT SMITH. That's my man! I'm going to write him in for Governor of Illinois. I am going to vote for him til the dancing is done. I'm going to write in Jerry Springer for Lieutenant Governor. (If you haven't been watching "Dancing with the Stars," don't even speak to me. Go get some banana hands, you naughty tidbit!) Who woulda thunk Jerry Springer would be so delightful on that show? So delightful in general? Brings a tear to the wife's eyes.....SMITH/SPRINGER--Making Illinois Dance.
THAT would be weird, indeed.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Flag Football for Jesus


I answered the phone last Sunday—it was our our neighbor—she invited us to come play flag football with a bunch of her friends. I muttered something like “thanks, gosh that sounds like fun, don’t expect to see us,” as I am in no physical shape to be playing sports such as football. I tell the wife about the invite and she gets all excited, adding that we never say “yes” when the neighbor invites us to do things, so we should take part in some flag football. Well, I did think it would help me be sporty, so I acquiesce and put on my Oakland football jersey. If I'm gonna take part in such a debacle, I might as well look good.

Once at the park, I quickly surmised that I was going to be the oldest person on the field. In fact, there was one player who was literally 20 years younger than me. Pride being what pride is, I was not deterred by such sights. I put on my flags and got ready to play.

Thankfully, there were an uneven number of players. I practically knocked myself unconscious in an effort to volunteer to be referee. This worked out delightfully... until another player showed up and I was forced to take part in the actual game. I didn’t strain myself—I made sure not to run any long patterns and never offered to blitz a quarterback.

Halfway into the game, this guy in a beat-up pick up truck pulls up to the park. We don’t think much about him, as we are in a public place, but there he is, looking at us. I take another look. I don't like it. Something is wrong with this picture. My hackles go up. I know that he is going to say something. I don't like this at all. No one else is paying attention but this guy is on my radar. Bad, bad, bad.

Sure enough, while standing by his truck, he calls out, “can I join in?” We stop play and look at him. He’s kidding, right?

It takes but a second to figure out no, he’s not kidding. He crosses the street and slowly approaches the huddled-up teams, all puffed up and ready to play.....

...the guy stops when he realizes we are a bunch of WOMEN playing flag football. It is easy to see this confuses him and gives him pause. He laughs and says, “oh, I was going to ask to play--I thought this was a bunch of guys.”

I'm not sure if we should be offended by this or not. We continue our game, doing our best to ignore him.

He walks closer, which I find weird. He stands there for a few minutes and then asks if he can ref the game. Some moron in the group says yes, so he joins our pile of people. I stop playing. I want to etch into my mind what this guy looks like in case he turns out to be a psycho mass murderer. I contemplate strolling toward his truck to get his license plate number but decide better...this is no time to wander away from the safety of the teams. Someone asks if he lives around here; he says no but motions up the road and says he goes to church right up there.

Great. Football for Jesus. I knew it! I have a really bad feeling about this. I'm sure the real Jesus likes football but we don't need a local Jesus playing referee for our Sunday outing.

Local Jesus is giving me the creeps.

Local Jesus talked on and on about church and his participation in the holiness of said church...suddenly a lightbulb goes on and he stops talking, mid-sentence.

DING! Ol’ Local Jesus realizes this is not a bunch of housewives playing flag football while the hubbies are at home enjoying the NFL on TV. 

No, this is a plethora of sinful, heathen-esque lesbians playing flag football.

(Maybe it’s the giant “L” we all have on our foreheads.)

Local Jesus looks a bit frazzled. He backs away from us, like we are lepers, and then…..literally….I’m not making this up…..he starts to bless us! I mean a biblical, holy blessing of the most Godly, Old Testament kind. Prayer oozes from his being.

Local Jesus is going to save us from our most sinful ways.

Everyone is silent. Oh sure, NOW they have nothing to say. No one moves. Just our flags flap silently in the breeze.

Should we be thankful, horrified or amused? He contiues to walk backwards, never taking his eyes off our sinful selves. Praying and walking. Thankfully, the more he walks, the less we can hear his prayers. We're still not playing football. We are frozen.

I’m just glad he drives away. I feel a profound sense of relief as his truck fades into the distance. The real Jesus deems it is time for the game to resume. It is great fun.

The next morning, when I am unable to get out of bed, I curse Local Jesus. I am sure he has done something most decidely unchristian to my soul. My 44 year old muscles have decided that walking is not in their best interest and it’s all I can do to limp to the bathroom. I realize my left ankle has a problem. Not a muscle soreness problem—a sports injury problem. What was I thinking when I said yes to playing that game? I cannot put all my weight on my left foot. This is not good.

I limp to work. I'm not letting any local Jesus get the best of me.

Co-workers are VERY entertained by my noticeable limp and make all sorts of jokes about my age as related to flag football. I limp through the day, downing handfuls of ibuprofen. They laugh even more when I blame Local Jesus.

Four days later I'm still limping. I'd go to the doctor but he'd just say I pulled a muscle or a ligament or sprained my ankle or something and that I should take ibuprofen and stay off of it. I figure if it still hurts in another week or two, I'll give in and go. Until then, I vow to stick to the football pool and to the NFL on TV instead of playing actual football of any kind.

I envision spitting on Local Jesus but then realize it'd be better to pray for him.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Three entertaining women and random thoughts on a Sunday...

...Warrior Princess Singer, soon to be non-dancing-divorcee and Dr. McAddi....

So little time, so much to write. I thought I'd go with mindless babble today...TV babble, at that.

The photo on the left is none other than my favorite LUCY LAWLESS, the singing-Battlestar-Gallacticing-Warrior Princess of the world. I only got to see her standing on the stage facing the judges each week on "Celebrity Duets," because somehow we ALWAYS missed changing the channel until she was done singing. As she is a classical trained singer, I think Lucy was probably able to hold her own. Still, I miss Xena....although I do love the blonde hair. For those of you not in the know, Lucy's hair IS NOT dark, like it was on Xena. In real life, it is much lighter (although I doubt it's THAT naturally blonde!).....

....middle photo: Poor Sara Evans! Her husband is a SLEAZE BALL, with a capital SLEAZE. Sara's announcement that she would no longer be on Dancing with the Stars sent me into a tailspinning depression. The wife and I almost drove right off the rode when we heard the news on the radio. A few minutes of mindless television-watching gave us our answer: Sara filed for divorce on the same day she announced she wouldn't continue on "Dancing." Who can blame her after hearing about her sick-o husband's antics:

" Among the claims made by Evans in the filed documents are: Evans alleges that Schelske “has frequently verbually abused, emotionally abused and harassed Wife.”
Evans alleges that Schelske “frequently watches pornography” on the family’s computers and that on September 28, 2006, the couple’s oldest child “confronted [Schelske] at the parties’ residence… when he was watching pornographic material on the television.” Evans claims that Schelske keeps more than 100 photos of Schelske “posing with his erect penis” and “there are several photographs showing the defendant having sex with other women.” Evans also alleges that Schelske browsed personal ads on the Internet site Craig’s List for “three party sex” and “anal sex.” Evans also claimed that Schelske frequently threatened her and “told her that she is crazy,” threatened to take the children to Oregon and “continually interferes with [Evans’] possession of and parenting time” with their children. She has been granted a temporary restraining order against Schelske, which prohibits him from harrassing Sara, being intoxicated in front of their children and taking them to Oregon. She was also granted temporary custody of the children and possession of the couple’s home in Franklin, Tennessee....According to a statement from Evans’ lawyer sent to Access Hollywood, “Sara felt she had no choice but to do what she did.” Access Hollywood has not been able to contact Schelske or a representative for comment. Schleske, a Republican, had an unsuccessful bid for Congress in 2002 from Oregon’s 5th District. Ironically, one of the singles off of Sara’s latest release “Real Fine Place” is called “Cheatin’.”
What a sick pig.
As for Grey's Anatomy, the wife and I have found our newest obsession: watching this soap opera comedy of a medical show. I'm so glad they moved it from Sunday nights at 9 PM to Thursday nights at 8 PM, cuz there was NO WAY we could stay up that late on a Sunday night. Since the show has McDreamy and McSteamy, the wife and I thought it would only be fair to call Addison "McHottie" but I thought I'd call her "McAddi" in honor of the Addiverse and her character's name being Addison. (How can we go wrong with that name?!!) I especially loved the last episode, as Dr. Grey had her appendix removed and you know I'm all about that. Meredith was one fun chick on morphene. (How come I didn't get any of that during my appendectomy???) I want you to know that we WILL NOT be answering the phone during Grey's Anatomy, so just leave a message after the tone and we'll call you back once McAddi has left the building. Paging Doctor Addison!
.....and what WILL Izzy do with 8.7 million dollars????
....at least I didn't write about slugs....

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Sick of Slugs yet?



Okay, I've decided the Native Americans and animal totems are the way to go with the whole snail/slug thing. I promise to move on from the snails to fun stories of the mentally ill and regarding the dogs, but for this minute,  

I am OBSESSED with the gastropod.

I trolled (slimed across?) the internet and found that totems (spirit animals, if you will) certainly can be snails. Most of the sites suggest that the snail is a sign of perseverance and tender nature despite a cold facade. Linsdomain.com indicatres that the snail is "a reflection of the protective spirts that surround each of us."

Well, that sounds good.

Uh oh--she adds, "the appears of a snail in your life reflects the need to be more protective in your environment. Be aware of your surroundings and keep your guard up."

These are not comforting words to a paranoid freak like me. Thanks for nothing, Linsdomain.

Anyway, she (I'm assuming it's a she) states that "snail people often present a hard shell to the world when they really have a tender heart and strong feelings." Yes! That's more like it. Kind of like Cancer, the Crab--crusty on the outside, soft and tender on the inside. 

Wait a minute--am I a snail people now? I'm not sure I want to be a snail people. How bout a hawk people or a dog people or a tiger people?
According to sayahda.com, the snail "reminds us to take the easiest path to reach our destination. When snail appears in your life, ask yourself if you are taking a harder path than necessary."

Damn, I'm ALWAYS learning things the hard way. Dang snails showing up and throwing this in my face. Rat bastards! And, hard headed--just like a snail shell--yeah, I can't argue with that.

Sayahda adds, "[the snail] holds the teaching of patience, perseverance and respect. It asks us to be mobile and fluidic as we move through life, always aware of how our actions or lack of them affect others. ...when the snail enters your life, your reputation is under review. Past situations come to the surface to be healed or balanced in some way....snail asks us to right whatever we have wronged."

Geez, more life lessons, more scrutiny, more guilt! The good news is that is sounds like I can right what wrongs I have done. Um, that is SO going to be a long laundry list.

I liked it better when there were no slugs and snails in my life. And, that whole patience thing--I didn't get any of that when they were handing it out at the front of the line.

So, that is my snail of woe. (Ha ha, get it--tail of woe, snail of woe? Well, I thought it was punny.) I think I'll move on from snails to figuring out why our garage and lower level smell so much like mildewy, stale smoky yuckiness. 

Maybe there are snails living in our drywall.....