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.....

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

SLUGG-OOOO


What is up with all the slugs and snails in my life????? 

This morning--I SWEAR to you this happened-- the wife says to me, “What’s on Freckles’ belly?”

I walk over and grab what I think is a fuzzy or a leaf or some piece of poo in her fur….I grab that sucker and suddenly realize (as the cold, slimy goosh is gooshing in my fingers) that it was a SLUG and that I just squished it in my bare hands and I FLING it across the room and it sticks to a picture frame hanging on the wall. 

The wife is NOT amused at my flinging of the gastropod, but she would do the same thing if it had been her to squish the slug in her hand. I am disgustedly distressed and run quickly to the bathroom. 

I do NOT want to start my day with slug guts on my parts.


So, I find myself wondering why all these slugs are coming into my life at this exact moment. Is the universe trying to tell me something? Am I being a slug? Am I supposed to be a slug? Am I feeling sluggish? Am I supposed to be a hermaphrodite? I need to figure this out so these damned snails stay out of my life! (Think back—not long ago there was a slug on my shoestring and one on Freckles leg; there was the one on my plant last week, now there’s one squishing in my hand. Ugh!)

When all else fails, go to the internet. I figure if Google can’t help me, nothing can. What to type in for the search? I mean, I can’t exactly enter, “slugs snails universe message.” I start with dream interpretation related to slugs, as that seems a good enough place to be.


My first stop is a blurb by Annie Berthold-Bond at Care2.com. She writes, “There's a scene in the latest Harry Potter movie where Harry's friend spits up slugs. Yuck! Doesn't that just sum up the way most of us feel about slugs and snails? The very thought of the slimy little things is not a pretty one, and absolutely nobody wants them ruining their garden!”

Yes, that is just what I’m thinking. I don’t want slugs in my life.

I try some dream dictionaries.
One suggests that to see slugs in your dream indicates that you are progressing through life in a slow, steady, and persistent manner,  painfully and slowly moving toward a goal. To dream that slugs are coming out from inside your body” (OH DEAR! THIS IS CERTAINLY NOT WHAT IS HAPPENING, THANK THE SLUG GODS), “suggests that you are having difficulties expressing some aspect of your emotion. Consider where in your body are the slugs coming out from." 
 
Or, it is suggested: Snails--To see a snail in your dream, suggests that you are being overly sensitive. You may feel inhibited but desire to be more outgoing and energetic. Alternatively, it suggests that you are making steady progress toward a goal. You need to go at your own pace."
Okay, so I can deal with being overly sensitive. But feeling inhibited? Not exactly me.

I go on, checking out the Soul Future Dream Dictionary: “Dream symbol: slug. Interpretation: Lacking in energy or vitality, functioning below par; Being unenthusiastic; Slow but steady progress; A devious, unmannered or deceitful person, a slug or slime ball; Somebody who is lazy; Feeling vulnerable or that you're without defense; Being spineless, acting in a cowardly manner;Approaching something with force…Dream symbol: snail. Interpretation: Making slow but steady progress; Lacking in vitality or enthusiasm; Needing to slow down or speed up; Being on the ready to protect or defend yourself; Feeling at home wherever you go.”

I am SO not thinking dream interpretation is a good means of figuring out what the universe is trying to tell me, although I do like the idea that I can feel at home no matter where I go.

An interesting turn of events happens—a web site or seven suggest that the slug is related to problems with the body’s elimination system or colon. NOW we are getting somewhere.

I need more info, so I click on http://velvetdragon.com/cyberslugs/realslugs.html to find the meaning of a true slug lover. (The comments in parentheses and italics are my comments; the rest of this is directly gleaned from the website):
 
“The slug is a fascinating creature. If you ever get up the courage to touch one, which I do all the time, you'll notice some interesting things (okay, I’m worried about touching slugs and that someone actually WANTS to do this)

 ….First make sure you rinse your hands, but don't dry them. I'm not sure how much truth is in the tales, but since salt hurts slugs and your hands are salty, touching a slug may hurt it….if you pet it along it's keel (usually that looks like a small line along its back), the slime will feel slippery (again, I ask why anyone would want to PET a slug). 

The slime comes off your fingers fairly easily unless you are disturbing the slug (such as being rough with it)….. 

When slugs are disturbed or injured, the slug slime becomes more sticky. That's why when you step on one early dawn barefoot the stuff sticks on for a very long time (or, it sticks to your dog’s fur and you end up squishing it in your hand)…. 

Another fascinating thing about the slime is its a natural anaesthetic. If you lick a slug enough, your tongue will go numb. In fact, some Native Americans used to put slugs in their mouths when they had a toothache and let it crawl around. I don't recommend licking a slug, because I'm sure it's not good for them (darn, and I was just thinking about popping one of those puppies in my mouth)….

One of the most interesting aspects of petting a slug is touching the optical tentacles (also called eyestalks). If you gently poke them, the slug will pull its 'antlers' in, hiding. If you are patient, the slug will slowly come out and continue on its way.” (Um, I do NOT want to poke an optical tentacle. I’M CALLING PETA!!)

As I've already told you in previous blogs, slugs are hermaphrodites, meaning that each slug has both male and female parts. Because of this, any pair can breed. Is this part of my message? I certainly hope not. I am in NO MOOD to be a hermaphrodite. I have enough trouble as it is.

I've decided to go to the masses for assistance in deciphering this bizarre turn of events--being stalked by slugs. There is some meaning in this and I know you can help me. Don't leave me alone with the gastropods--I need your help! Email me, send me beer and salt, eat some escargot in my honor.....

Monday, October 09, 2006

Only 800 miles more to go....

Columbus Day weekend means only one thing: Time for the LLL to convene! Twelve feisty women, three hundred pounds of food, nine miles to town. Ah, this is the life! We pack our belongings and head to George Williams College in Williams Bay, Wisconsin to join our ten friends in a frenzy of food, fun and frolicking. There are many a story I cannot print here, for fear the LLL will swoop down upon me and forbid me one more piece of homemade cheesecake.

As you may or may not recall, the wife and I have been a "member" of the LLL since October 1994. I can only tell you that the LLL stands for something that includes the words "Love Loft" in the title; the rest is up to your imagination. And no, we don't all sleep in a loft anymore but we used to....we used to meet in Galena but had to switch to Lake Geneva many moons ago. (Side note: we also convene on Lake Wisconsin once a year but when I think of the LLL I think of mildewy houses and not enough bedrooms on the campus of George Williams College.Previous posts about the LLL can be found in January and August 2006. Perhaps you'll recall the tattoo from January 2006, secured during our last LLL trip to Williams Bay.) For the most part, LLL participants have remained the same, with only a few changes in the major players. (A divorce here and there; a sports injury or two...) These are good people and I mean that. My mother would approve of each and every one of these wonderful ladies. Not a bad apple in the bunch (well, besides me, but I don't count.) These are the kind of friends you want to have.

1994 was a LONG time ago. Do you know how many hairdos, jobs and cars I've had since then?

When we are not busy eating, preparing for the next meal or cleaning up from the last meal, we are shopping, knitting, reading, sleeping or walking. Above is a photo of the walking path we traverse every fall. Here's a photo of what we look like by the end of the weekend:

(Actually, this is a photo of a pregnant man from India or something, but it does illustrate how I feel after all the eating that takes place during the LLL.)

In an effort to burn off the 1,220,334 calories we consume during the weekend, a group of us forage the tundra from Williams Bay to Lake Geneva--a 9 mile walk in the woods. A lot of things happen during this annual weekend, but for this blog, I shall focus on the walk....

....It always sounds like a good idea when we start.

We start out on the campus (here's a photo of the Yerkes Observatory, located on the campus) and move east:

Three hours later, we are not so sure it was a good idea, but we know there is a Starbucks at the end of the road, so it's almost worth it. This year, our pal Einsteina Vagina (remember her from the August 2006 LLL trip?) decided to embark on the walk despite her scheduled knee surgery for the following Wednesday. Now, I don't know about you, but if I'm having knee surgery, I'm guessing there is something wrong with my knee and I probably should not be walking nine miles in the woods. However, Einsteina, being Einsteina, didn't want to miss the fun or pain of the event. God love her, she made it but I think I saw blood spurting from her eyes during the last two miles. I don't think she even knew we made it to Starbucks; I think she was delerious and thought she was in Cancun.

Above: The sign you have reached Mecca--you have survived another LLL Walk.

Nine miles gives you a lot of time to talk and bond; it's my favorite event of the weekend. At first, we gab a lot. We catch up on each others' lives, share fun stories of our recent happenings, tell jokes, hum happy tunes, confess our darkess secrets, think about singing "Only 800 miles more to go....".

After two hours, we are chit chatting sporatically and the humming has stopped. (Pretend that is a picture of us hiking the world. It's not us and only one of us had a walking stick, but this is what I imagine us to look like as we walk down the path....) At the seven mile mark, several of us are staring down at the path and praying to St. Jude for survival without bloody stumps for feet. There are still a few perky people, but they are in the front and I am taking their names in vain. By the time we're done, there is silence (well, besides a weak whimper here and there and muttering about needing a bathroom--did I mention there is nary a bathroom on the trip unless you want to pee in the woods?). We weep with happiness when we get to the town we've been aiming for. We would dance in delight, but we can barely walk, so dancing is kept to a minimum. Thankfully, someone always picks us up at the end of the trail and drives us the fifteen feet to the Starbucks. We sit there and suck down our Frappaccinos or lattes or other caffeinated, sugar-filled beverage. We really shouldn't sit down, because once you sit down, it is very hard to convince your legs to get back up. I know, I know, nine miles is NOT far but it's far enough that I need a Frappaccino to live through it. Even better than the ride to Starbucks is the ride back to where we started. After all, there is another meal waiting for us at the house and we wouldn't want to miss one bite of food over the weekend.....

Unfortunately, they are tearing down the mildew-filled hot spot we stay at, so we are open for options. If you have any reasonably-priced ideas for 12 women and 300 pounds of food, let me know. There's a piece of homemade cheesecake and a Venti Frappaccino in it for you if you come up with something we can use....

Friday, October 06, 2006

At a snail's pace


So, I go to work and I'm watering my plants because that's what you do with plants and I notice this THING on one of the stems of said plants. I furl my brow, bend over for a closer look, scratch my head.

I don't know what THAT is.

It is not one of those fungi growing in our yard at home, as described in the previous blog. It's small and kind of looks like a rock stuck to the stem. I call one of my coworkers over and ask her what the hell THAT thing is. She laughs and says....

....It's a snail!


That's right. It's a SNAIL.


For pete's sake, how the hell did I get a SNAIL on an indoor plant in my office? It's not like I have a window that opens or that my plant walked outside on smoke break.

She grabs the thing and holds it in my face. I'm not really amused but I am drawn to looking at it, just like watching a train wreck....I want to turn away but I can't. It dawns on me that last week I was thinking about this hole in one of the leaves on this particular plant and I remember thinking, "hey, that looks like those snail holes on our hostas at home," but I really didn't think about what I was thinking and never actually thought there might be an uninvited snail in my office.

I am wondering: are snails like mice? Meaning, where there is one mouse, there is an entire FAMILY of mice.....are there more snails to be had? Do they run in packs? Where did that snail think it was going anyways? Obviously, the snail came with the plant. Since it was a gift, I immediately talk to one of the persons who sent it to me, who just happens to be the person who ripped that sluggy buggy right off the stalk. She smiles and says it's a pet and they paid extra for it. I am not amused.

I quickly contact the wife, as I know she will appreciate my problem. What does she do? She bursts into laughter.

What kind of empathy is this? For god sake, I have a snail infiltration!

She can't stop laughing. I have really lousy luck with plants. I just threw out more plants after they were overrun with disgusting bugs. (Trust me, I tried to kill the bugs. I left the plants out in a storm in an effort to drown the bugs. I sprayed horrifically-bad smelling crap all over the bug plants. ) My plants wilt, die, get bugs, fall over, get uglier by the minute...and, now they get snails. Since the wife has no empathy, I hang up on her.

Instead of continued whining, I decide to look up information on snails. That's why they invented the internet, right?

I learn something most interesting: Most land snails and slugs (aka gastropods) possess both male and female parts. Wow! Who woulda thunk it?

(I probably would have known this if I hadn't been drunk the entire time I was in Zoology.)

As the backyardnature.net website indicates, "In some species, an individual [snail] may behave as male for a while, then as a female. When snails mate...two individuals pull up next to one another, arrange themselves so that the male part of one is opposite the female part of the other, and then each ejects male sperm into the female opening of the other. In a few snail and slug species, self-fertilization occurs -- an hermaphroditic individual mates with itself and produces offspring."

Wow again! I am SO going to embrace my inner snailness.

I decide I will focus on this tasty tidbit instead of lamenting over the mucous-y, shelled part of the slug in my plant. I have also decided that if I find another snail I am taking it to the florist the plant came from and I'm putting it on their counter and I'm going to say VERY loudly that the plant they sent me has snails and that I would appreciate if they kept their gastropods to themselves.

Maybe I'll get a free plant out of it....or, maybe they'll just give me another snail to keep  my self-fertalizing pal company....

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Don't put your lips on it....

The wife, aka Garden Girl, was out cutting the foilage for fall fun today when she made this "EEEWWWW!" sound. She called me over and pointed to this...this...thing growing out of the mulch. As I wandered over toward the growth, she sputtered out that it--whatever IT was--looked like a dog's....a male dog's....well, you know, it's......for god sake, just look at the photo and you figure it out. (I couldn't believe she said this out loud, but darn it if she wasn't correct.)
(Photo from David Barker, god love him.)

So, I get over to where the growths are growing and think, boy these are some REALLY ugly weird things popping out of the garden. Neither of us has ever seen ANYTHING like this in the gardens, and we've seen a lot of weird things in our time. This was a befuckling garden moment, if I might say so.


(Here's another photo, this one from Pam Kaminski. Why people are taking photos of these ugly things, I have no idea, but I'm glad they did so you, too can see what we are looking at...)

I cut one open with the loppy-cutty garden tool-thingy, but nothing really happened except it mushed apart and was really rather gross. The wife was torn between wanting to get a closer look and running quickly to the nearest bathroom.

Of course, being the nerds that we are, we had to find out what we were the proud "parents" of in the garden. The wife ran directly to the source of all information--the Internet--and entered "fungus identification" for the Google Search. (She was putting her money on the fungus route.) She was right--before we could say "dog pee pee," we were looking at photos of the very things springing out of our lawn. Now, I KNOW you, too want to check out the action, click on: www.mushroomexpert.com/mutinus_elegans.html

Yes, this is how we spend our free time.

I think the wife felt much better once she knew there wasn't something dangerous growing near the house. She'll have to decide whether or not she has the oomph to remove those puppies (pun intended). The name of this fungus is Mutinus caninus, otherwise known as some type of Stinkhorn, and as you can see, is actually named after canine because......well, you figure it out...

The other nature-relatish thing from this weekend was a dead bird photo op. Master Reiki and Blue Eyes had this bird SPLAT into one of their windows at the new house--the poor feathered friend plopped right on the front stair, never to fly again. It was a beautiful bird--about seven inches long, white belly, long pointy, scary beak. I like to think I'm an amateur birder (from my days with the ex-hubby--we used to go bird watching on dates, believe it or not), but I was not familiar with this bird (I'm telling ya, I've seen lots of birds...where the hell is the ex-husband when I need him?). This was no yellowed bellied flicker or rose breasted grossbeak. I get giddy when I see an American Oriole and I am reminded of Petite Lake when I hear the call of a Blue Jay....but, this was neither. This dead bird left me stymied. It looked like this (only dead):

We returned to our house and dug out our bird book. At first, I guessed it was a Eastern Kingbird, only the dead bird has a much longer and scarier beak than the "Birds of Illinois Field Guide" kingbird photo. The wife's first vote was a flycatcher, but I poo pooed that right away. I thought about calling it the "white-breasted nuthatch," but it seemed too big to be that and a nuthatch's tail is shorter than the dead bird's tail was.....the only thing we could do is take pictures of the thing. So, we stood in the brush and took photos of the dead bird. I got some great close-ups. We then went home and compared the photos of the dead bird to photos of birds on the Internet. (We are SO NERDY. Who sits around looking at bird photos on the Net on the weekend?) Thankfully, I found that the photos of the nuthatch on the internet looked like

the dead bird, but like I said, alive. We were able to go to bed knowing that we had identified two incredibly wonderful things about nature this weekend. Here's to Stinkworm!