Monday, December 31, 2007

Hasta La Vista, 2007

Some of you are watching the ball drop in Times Square.
Some of you are at the "The Night of 1000 Beavers."
Some of you are playing board games with MJagger's family.
Some of you are spreading cheeseballs across the nation.


Me? I'm sitting on the couch because I'm sick.

.......better make that "The Night of 999 Beavers."


Oh, it's just a cold so don't
get your undies in a bundle. But, you know what it's like to have the first day or two of a cold. It sucks. Your head hurts, your throat hurts, your body hurts, you can't think, you're dizzy and crabby and cold. (Don't worry: I subscribe to the motto of "Feed a Fever, Feed a Cold," so I can eat just fine--in fact, I've had a bag of McDonald's cookies and Hagaan Daz Ice cream along with three meals, so I am not having any problems in the eating department....unlike Master Reiki and Blue Eyes, who are still spewing things out of their orphaces due to the flu.)


The wife has gone a-partying,
stopping first next door to the north of our house to visit the neighbors (who invited us over while the wife was outside shoveling). The wife will then go to the "The Night of 999 Beavers" party to the south of our house. I will sit on the couch and be crabby about it, just shy of having a pity party. (I say just shy because I'm too sick and crabby to expend that much energy to have a full pity party.)


Being home alone, pitiful and clogged, gives me plenty of time to fix my iPod/iTunes snafus (like re-recording all my Madonna CD's. Somehow, my iTunes "ate" my Madonna songs. What's up with that?). I have lots of catching up to do with the iPod and that doesn't take a lot of energy (although I will have to go out to the car to get my Madonna "Confessions on a Dance Floor" CD). Listening to Madonna makes me feel better, anyway. Makes me think of all that money MJagger and I spent to see her in concert.....

As there isn't much to do as CDs are sucked into the computer/iTunes, I thought I'd look back on the year and reminisce. Let's see....what happened?



Well, I DID meet Lucy Lawless and went to a Xena Convention...


Okay. Enough said. I mean, what could be better? (Um, I am not going to answer that. I am having a visual....either that or it's a visual hallucination from the cold medication.)

I could write a whole 'lot more about 2007, but that would be a waste of space....you can just scroll thru all the blog entries for the year and catch up better than I could ever do in one germy-cold-funk....

......Okay, okay, so here are a few pictures of a few memories of 2007: I got to watch the Sausages race at Miller Park twice this year; I got to watch the Knights of Columbus process by while serving as my niece's confirmation sponsor; I got some Jackie Warner hair.









Other photos include of "The Compound" at Lake Redstone (home of the Pleurisy Birth); Gay Pride in Chicago; Twirling around Great America with Sister and Nieces. No, I am NOT on the rollercoaster...but the wife and nieces are. (I was on the ground having a cold bottle of water, thank you very much.)

I am ending the year by getting a new job. I'll tell you more about that later but I'll have to kill you if I tell you any more right now. It's top secret. (ha ha. you think I'd put something top secret in this blog? You're killing me!) Same employer, different job. We'll see how it goes.
Might as well go out of 2007 with a bang.

So, happy new year to you. Say hi to the Times Square Ball for me. I'm going to bed.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Go, Pack, Go!

Well, the wife and I made the trip safely to and from the mecca--Lambeau Field--today, as scheduled.....Ah, Green Bay in December: toasty warm!

Ha ha.

If you don't mind fog and a bit of spitting snow and below freezing temps and really ugly snowpants, it's all good.

Even if you mind those things, it's worth it to experience Lambeau Field in such conditions. It's not like this was the "Ice Bowl" or anything. Just remember to wear your long undies, drink hot chocolate and go to the bathroom if you're really cold (cuz it's seven million degress in there).

So, to answer your questions:






Yes, it was cold.

Yes, it was fun.

Yes, there were bare bellies (and even women in bikini tops).

If you're too wimpy to bare your belly, just wear your best orange hunting gear and you'll

fit right in. Fashion has no place in football, so don't worry about how ridiculous you look, especially in December.


Yes, there were really 70,000 people there.

(That's a LOT of cheeseheads.)



Yes, Big Foot was there.





Yes, people really wear cheeseheads. Can't afford a cheese wedge? Just paint your head like a helmet:






Yes, Brett Favre is still the man.


BONUS! It was Brett Favre bobble head doll day!!!

Mrs. Hilfiger and her daughter Sporty Hilfiger were great hostesses during this freezy event. They gave the wife the tickets for Christmas, provided us a place to spend the night & a ride to the game, they provided words of wisdom about surviving the game....like, they were smart enough to rent us some bleacher seat thingies so our butts wouldn't freeze to the metal bleachers. (Um, does anyone else think it's a bad idea to have metal bleachers in a place that is so cold?)


You know that kid in "A Christmas Story?" You know, the one that is so bundled up he can't move and then can't get up when he tips over? That's what we looked like. Thankfully, none of us tipped over.

(This Lion's fan used his head to suggest firing the Detroit GM. How can you not love that?)

Besides watching the game, the wife ate some real Wisconsin Brats while I ate a rather cold but tastily salty pretzel. We drank hot chocolate out of fancy souvenir mugs, we wiped our noses with napkins, we helped Sporty Hilfiger put cheese on her pretzel, we watched the Packers TROUNCE the Lions. We went to the bathroom even when we didn't need to because it was so warm in there.


Most importantly, we watched Brett Favre play, albeit only for a quarter. History in the making!

Okay, so we really weren't really too cold. I'd like you to think we were suffering but we weren't. Only our tootsies were complaining. I don't understand why our tootsies were cold because we all had our special socks on, we had those foot warmer things in our boots, we tried to keep our feet out of the water, we had our best winter boots on. Still, the tootsies got kind of frozen. It got colder as the day went on but that's only because we weren't drinking beer. Being sober does have its disadvantages, I guess.

We didn't see Deanna Favre and we could only barely see the guys in the Fox booth, but we did see Tony Siragusa walk by, so that was mildly exciting. No sign of Suzi Kobler, Pam Oliver or Jillian the Weather Lady, though.

The wife announced that this was the best Christmas present she has EVER received.

You know what? I can't argue with that.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

What day is it, anyways?

The holidays have me all befuckled.
I can't figure out what day or date it is, I can't figure out when to take out the garbage, if I'm supposed to go to work or stay home, if it's two days or three days until we go to Green Bay. What day is it, anyways?


Good news for all you blog readers who have been around since last year.
You may recall the Cheeseball 2007 New Year's events from "Cheeseball Neighbor" and friends. Do you recall how cheeseballs and chocolate cupcakes found their way around the neighborhood...on the front lawn, the street, the driveway, car windshields.....? Never fear, she's having another party for New Year's Eve and I'm SURE there will be many new stories to share with you. Now, I'm not sure Cheeseball Neighbor would want me publishing her email invitation, but how can I resist? Here is a snippet of her invitation (I'm not making this stuff up, I swear):


"This year's party is officially entitled- " A Night of a Thousand Beavers-I Mean Laughs". What is this all about you might be asking yourself..... We'll it's pretty simple- you must come prepared to laugh and make others laugh!!!
Now I know some of you are thinking- "Great now I have to do something for this supid party besides show up and drink my 50 out of a brown bag". It's really not that difficult!!! We are always making each other laugh! However, if you're stuck and can't come up with an idea- here are some that others will be doing this New Year's: [Double C] have offered to bring their karaoke machine. Now you know this will bring about some laughs. Who won't be crying when [D and Mama C] belt out "I Like Big Butts" while wearing their Kangaroos and break dancing. [Elder Sisters]are going to bring over their DVD version of Family Feud. The best part though is they are both going to dress like Vannah White. (I didn't want to tell them they have the wrong game show because I can't wait to see them in their full length evening gowns! I bet they are pink! and have bedazzle on them) [Jello Shot Grrrl] once again has offered to bring 100,000 Jello shots. Come on- you know that will bring some giggles. Who doesn't remember last year when [Dancing Queen] was dancing around in her g-string and sports bra after engulfing 50 Jello shots???? FYI- cheeseballs, twinkies and snowballs --- not funny! Remember- funny --not destructive."


Doesn't that sound like a party to attend? (Well, besides the name of 1000 beavers. I'm not going there and am not responsible for the naming of said party. I just print the facts.) I'm thinking cheeseballs are definitely going to show up at the party. In fact, I will be SOOOO disappointed if they do not.

The wife and I will probably NOT be at the party, as we will be with Master Reiki and Blue Eyes for a quiet night of fun and friendship. We'll be home before the New Year and will then have opportunity to laugh at the Cheesball Neighbor's antics. I'm sure they will come aknockin' before the night is over.

Until then, I'm going to focus on figuring out if I'm supposed to go to work tomorrow or not...

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Brett Favre for Christmas

Merry Christmas!!

Before I get to the story about how the wife got tickets to this weekend's Packers game as her Christmas present, let me wish you a happy holiday season, as posted by the HR department:

"Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral
celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2008, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere. Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wished."

Merry Christmas, indeed!


....Last night we spent the evening with the wife's family. The festivities were, of course, held in the land of Cheddar, Green and Gold. I knew what the wife was getting for Christmas--a ticket to the weekend's Packer game. (You have no idea how perfect of gift this truly is.) I had to go along with this without accidentally spilling the beans and I am here to tell you--that was NO easy task. Tommy Hilfiger's wife (aka the sister-in-law, Mrs. Hilfiger) called and asked me to pretend she was asking about the wife's present (so I should answer accordingly) but added that she was really going to ask me about tickets to the Packers game for Christmas. Here's how the conversation went:

Mrs.H: "Addi, I'm getting (the wife) tickets to December 30th's Packer game. Is she free that day?"

Me: "Um...yes, blue and brown."

Mrs. H: "So you think she can go to the game?"

Me: "Well, yes, size large."

Mrs. H: "Ask her what color her coat is."

Me (to wife, sitting across the living room from me): "Hey, what color is your coat? Mrs. Hilfiger wants to know."

Wife: "Blue and grey." (There is no relevance to this question except to throw the wife off.)

Mrs. H: "Great! See you Christmas eve!"

Of course, now that I knew about the ticket and the Packer game, I had to figure out a way to make sure the wife did not make plans for that particular Sunday....so, I involved the ever-resourceful MJagger. I told the wife MJagger had invited us to a football party on December 30th, so save the date. MJagger went along with this, even telling the wife to bring nacho chips. We had the wife fooled! MJ and I used several opportunities to build the story. It worked like a charm and it saved me from blabbing as I had someone I could actually talk to about this blessed event.

In the meantime, I went to Wally world and got the wife a stack of those hand-warmer hot pocket thingies you crack and they warm you up. I got them for her pockets, her hands, her boots. She's gonna need 'em--she's going to the Frozen Tundra!

Fast Forward to Christmas Eve. The party is rockin,' wrapping paper flying everywhere, general melee of gifts avalanching down. Then, it's time for the wife to open her gift from Mrs. Hilfiger. I get the camera and get in position for the most candid shot. First box: A Packer ornament. Hmmm. Second box, a Packer Santa hat and a Packer scarf. Hmmmm. Third box....
Packer tickets!

Wait a minute--the wife is holding TWO tickets....

I look at Mrs. Hilfiger. I am SO going to the game, along with the wife, Mrs. Hilfiger and her daughter. I am making out like a bandit in this! (I hope the wife will share the hot pocket packets with me.)

The wife's brother chimes in: "I think Mrs. Hilfiger went over the $50.o0 gift limit!" That gets a chuckle out of the entire group. I'm still sitting there, thinking about how I am going to a Packer Game in the middle of winter. I'm not worrying about being cold--I'm worrying about how the hell you go to the bathroom with all those clothes on. I mean, you must have to plan ahead so you have time to strip your thirteen layers off....

As you can imagine, it was a very happy holiday party for the wife. (It was great for all of us adults... but for the wife it was the best, indeed.) The kids, however, were in "meltdown mode," as it is very hard to be on your best behavior for hours at a time, then shovel sugar down your throat, then get inundated with piles of presents and then demand more candy.

Here is a photo of a niece literally in meltdown mode:









Ah, to be a child at Christmas.....

Friday, December 21, 2007

Stemware and the Holy Spirit

NEVER make fun of the Holy Spirit while washing a in-laws stemware....

I was at the wife's sister's house last Sunday....for a little informal dinner. Well, sis (another one of the religious folk in the wife's family) doesn't do anything simple--she had the works, from Mikasa Crystal stemware to napkins in those fancy holders. It was tasty and delicious....

One of my jobs is to wash the dishes. Actually, I volunteer, as I really don't mind and I'm always grateful that they fill me with food. Well, while washing the Mikasa Crystal Stemware (a discontinued type of glass, of course), I started talking about my niece and the whole Confirmation thing...if you don't remember, suffice it to say the wife and I had told my niece that when getting confirmed, the Holy Spirit SWOOPS down and sets your hair on fire unless you are wearing curlers--then your hair is saved...and, that the role of the Confirmation Sponsor was to quickly pat the fire out. (I know, I know, sacreligious.) I'm laughing as I say, "and the Holy Spirit SWOOPS down" when two of three crystal wine glasses sitting in the sink CRASH and shatter. I'm not kidding. I wasn't even touching them.

I was just sick. The shattering of the crystal was so loud that Sis' hubby came running to see what the hell just happened. I eke out that what had happened, adding the blurb about making fun of the Holy Spirit. He looks at me, with a very serious stare and says, "THAT'S why we don't make fun of the Holy Spirit in this house."

Gulp.

Suffice it to say I spent the reminder of my night searching the Internet for those discontinued glasses so I could replace them. I am here to tell you that those puppies are tough to find, especially when I didn't know what they were officially called. (That took a lot of searching. I think I got it right. It will really suck if I didn't.) Even replacement.com didn't have them. The Holy Spirit must have had pity, as I incredibly found two of them on eBay and actually won the auction. I won't talk about how much I paid but it was worth it so I can redeem my soul and relationship. I'm having them sent directly to her as a token of my penance.

So, no more taunting the Holy Spirit. And, maybe no more dishwashing.....

....hey, that just might work out.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Giving a hoot about Owl Poop

First, may I say my new soul-mate-boyfriend is a man-whore. EVERYONE knows him. I am just a tiny speck in his gigantic universe. Well, I guess I can share...

I don't know what you've been up to, but I've been discussing (arguing?) with co-workers about what owl poop is called. Really.

It all started because of great horned owl hooting outside in the backyard for the past couple of weeks. The wife and I have heard the owl before but not yet this year, so we were very excited to hear of its return. You haven't really lived until you've heard the beautiful, loud, easily-recognizable call of the great horned owl. (And no, those aren't horns or ears--they're just tufts of feathers--sure makes it easy to tell if it's a great horned owl or not.) I, of course, had to share the event with co-workers, who do NOT appreciate the fine merits of bird-watching.

Say it with me: BUBO VIRGINANUS!


For you blessed readers that do not know of my amateur Ornithologist status, let me educate you.
When my ex-husband used to ask me on dates (don't try to understand), he would often take me bird watching. While I found this to be interesting on most occasions, there were other times I confess my eyes were shut as I pretended to look through the binoculars. I guess one of the best times to see birds is near the time of dawn, so that meant getting up really early (college-age standards, that is) so we could be in birding position at the dawn.
I believe I probably was drunk for some of those bird outings, as the time of dawn isn't exactly very "far" from the end of bar closing time, but I digress.

During those hot dates, I was exposed--on more than one occasion--to owl poop, as pointed out by the Gentle Giant. The ex was very thorough in his passion for birding and thus I was educated on everything from the various calls to the finding of poop to locate specific birds. Owl poop was the best and easiest as it is big and is full of things like bones and fur....

Somehow, the wife has also picked up a passion for ornithology albeit from the
back porch. (Hang in there, I'll get to the owl poop in just a second.) In true nerd fashion, we have a book where we keep a list of all the birds we've seen out our window. It's pretty amazing (well, amazing to a bird nerd like moi) that we've seen everything from a red-tailed hawk literally perched on the deck railing (creepily staring into the kitchen, staring at Lucy) to an American Oriole chirping in the tree (no longer called the Baltimore Oriole) to a tiny humming bird flitting around the wife's flower boxes....don't you just want to run outside with some binoculars and enjoy the birds in your neighborhood???

Suffice it to say that the wife and I have spent many a minute with the binoculars pressed to our little eyeballs looking at the great horned owl in the tree right at the end of our yard. In fact, I was late leaving for work one day (well, late for me--I was still an hour before the actual scheduled time of my work hours--don't try to understand that, either) because I was too busy looking at the owl to leave for work. (If you ever have to choose between watching an owl or going to work, always pick the bird.)

Back to the owl poop. So, I'm out for holiday cheer with MJagger, Cheesabatti Grrrl, Tututony and the rest of the work gang when the subject of my owl-siting comes up. As you can imagine, this leads to much good-humored teasing and laughing, me included in the laughter. And, as you imagine, this leads somehow in someway to discussion about owl poop. For some reason, none of us can remember what owl poop is technically called but we all seem to know it has a special name. We all seem to know that owl poop is full of gross things like bones and fur but none of us can recall the specific name for this product. Of course, I cannot go on one more minute without knowing, so I use a handy cell phone and call the wife, as I know she will be at home perusing the internet.....

.....For some reason, she doesn't really seemed amused by my intense need to know what owl poop is called. I don't understand! (I swear to you that NO alcohol had been consumed during this dinner. None. My co-workers were saving the booze for later. It's very important to be sober when discussing owl poop and talking about man-whore soul mates.)

This is what Owl poop looks like. Yum!

I talk the wife into typing "owl poop" into a Google search but I can tell it's not going well. (Looking back, had I asked her to type in "owl droppings," the search would have gone swimmingly. "Owl poop" is not so good in the search department. I was under pressure--I couldn't think straight.) No, the wife is SO not amused. I'm laughing and yelling orders about what to type and she keeps saying things like, "I can't understand you." (Meaning: because of my laughing and background noise, not because she cannot understand me and my need to know what owl poop is called. She has long given up on understanding me.) In the meantime, four other people are trying to get the answer before I do. This launches the competitive side in all of us, if there can be such a thing related to bird poop.

Feral Cat Women is on the phone with her ex-husband, who thinks the word is "guano" but I reject this, saying that is the word for BAT poop. MJagger is on the phone with her husband as the knows his dad will know the name of this prized poop--they, too are saying it's guano, but I know this is not what Gentle Giant called it. Trucker Boy finds a Haiku poem entitled, "Owl Pellets" while using his new fancy cell phone with the touch screen and full keyboard. (He should win extra points for finding this, as how many people can find let alone write Haiku about owl poop?

This then leads to my "no-so-a-ha-moment-moment" of knowing that owl poop is technically known as pellets. (By this time, I am no longer on the phone with the wife. Trust me, it was safer to end the call than bark out more demands about Google Searches. If only I had one of those fancy phones!) Many still seem skeptical that "pellet" is the correct term, but they had better things to worry about (like getting to the bar) than nerd terms for owl poop. I'd be on my own for the rest of the search.

You know I came home and looked up this crap (pun intended), don't you? By the way, I am here to tell you that A LOT of teachers have "units" about dissection of owl pellets. Above is a photo of some kid holding is owl pellet. Ya gotta love those teachers. (I don't think the wife has ever assigned anyone to dissect an owl pellet but there is still time.)

(I don't know what that gray stripe is all about. Just ignore it.)

According to owlpages.com, "Pellets are very large, about 7.6 to 10.2 cm (3- 4") long and 3.8 cm (1.5") thick. Pellets are dark greyish-black and compact. Skulls as wide as 3 cm (1.2") are regurgitated whole. Pellets are regurgitated 6 to 10 hours after eating."

Wait a minute--regurgitated?

Yes, indeed! "....birds produce solid waste, though this is regurgitated through the mouth in pellets. The owl is well known for the production of pellets." It's not poop at all! Technically, owls are PUKING, not POOPING. Why, I even found a book on line focused exclusively on "owl puke." Is this a great country or what? And, let me tell you--there are even OWL PELLET DISSECTING KITS for sale on line! (Santa: What do you want for Christmas, little girl? Addiwp: "I want an Owl Pellet Dissecting kit.")

So you have a visual: ViaNegativa.us, "
When an Owl is about to produce a pellet, it will take on a pained expression — the eyes are closed, the facial disc narrow, and the bird will be reluctant to fly. At the moment of expulsion, the neck is stretched up and forward, the beak is opened, and the pellet simply drops out without any retching or spitting movements." What a descriptive passage regarding the passage of the pellet! I so want to go out and watch our owl shoot a pellet! Maybe I could watch the owl choke out a pellet and pick it up while it's still fresh!


People write poetry about this "shit:"
Owl Pellet by Erica Funkhouser
(completely presented her without permission but it's about owl pellets, for crying out loud--Erica, please forgive me!)

I was crossing the field -- that is all --
longing for nothing more than a color,
when I found the owl's pellet
coiled in the grass.
Beneath the glistening veil of mucus,
a mass of conflicting ingredients:
squirrel fur, rabbit hip,
feather of flicker and jay.
Farther in, I came upon crow quills
splintered and wrapped into balls,
tidy parcels of polished bone,
a frog's spotted fingers.

Robin Yim (springthawpoetry) writes his poem:

Its a compression
of fur and bones
an owl leaves behind
after digesting a mouse;
a life now ready
for resurrecting
in a lab tray
by school children
studying the natural world.


And, thus you now understand why I give a hoot about owl poop.
It's a beautiful thing, almost as beautiful as the owl itself. I'm going to send this blog link to all my co-workers so they, too can give a hoot about owl poop....

....god only knows what I'm gonna find on my des
k after sending them this link......

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Soul mate, Bowl mate

Okay, so this story might get a little complicated and lengthy because it's complicated and lengthy.

I'll start by saying I met my soul mate last night....no offense to the wife....my soul mate is a quirky-looking 71 year old bald man who I met at a fund raiser last night.

The wife says my guy looks a bald Jack LaLanne
. My soul mate and I were meant to be together--after all, I was the most under-dressed person in the room and he was the second most under-dressed person in attendance.

Before I can tell you about Doc Bowlman, I have to backtrack. After all, what fun would it be to go right to the meat of the story about this complete stranger talking about trimming nose hairs and floating turds right during the benefit dinner? Besides, I have to backtrack to last year's disaster of a fundraiser art project before I can talk about this year's event and meeting my man.

Let's digress. My dear friend, Belvidere Adams, is a big wig with a a regional food pantry. Each year, they hold a fundraiser where artists make bowls and sell them during a silent auction, with all bowl proceeds going to the panty. As Bevidere Adams and I go way back, she asked me to make a bowl. I most willingly and excitedly agreed.

So, I'm thinking: HUNGER. Yeow, that's a serious subject. I'll make a bowl about hunger. (I have no idea that this benefit will be filled with crusty rich people looking for crafty projects--I'm thinking ART, not craft here--and the wife will tell you I make some pretty weird, tacky art.) I consider hunger--it's painful, it hurts, it's black, it's worse than most Americans can understand as they aren't hungry. I even go to the Bible and find a verse about hunger and pain: "You Shall Be Filled." I'm thinking, hot damn, this is PERFECT! I get to making my bowl, making sure it looks black and painful but still conveying hope as illustrated by this Bible verse.

I think I am WAY profound. You can't really see it here in the photo, but the bowl has shards of glass and sticking-up thumbtacks representing pain. Hunger is glamorized at times by the press, so I made some of the bowl shiny and pretty and tacky. I put the Bible verse in there several times to give the hope that the Pantry can and will make a difference.

I
finish my bowl and proudly set off for the fundraiser.

Imagine my surprise when I get there and it's filled with all these cutesy, craftsy bowls. I start to realize how scary my bowl looks next to all these other cute bowls. My bowl looks downright TERRIFYING next to these sweet as sugar nice bowls.

I panic.


Worse, I panic and there is nothing I can do. I think about stealing the bowl and run screaming down the street, but it's too late for that. Worse worse, no one bids on my bowl. They don't get it. They are looking for cute candy dishes and pretty things to display on their Holiday tables. This leaves the wife, god bless her, to make the only bid on the bowl......

We are now the proud owners of "The Scary Bowl." THAT'S true love. What a wife!

It becomes a standing joke all year about my scary bowl....so, I was VERY surprised when Belvidere Adams asked me to make a bowl again this year. I thought she was kidding, but to my surprise, she was not. This year, she gives me these ying-yang type bowls and I'm all a-glow. I decide why not? I'll just make a craftier, cuter bowl this year--after all, I now know the audience.......


Come on, you know I can't make a cute, crafty bowl. I tried and I talked a good game and I could picture what would work for the crowd, but as the wife says, "Does everything you make HAVE to have glitter in it?" Yes, I'm tacky and I'm an artist and I can't do crafty no matter how much I want to do this to eliminate world hunger. Although I talked a good game and had great intention, it's another scary bowl (albeit not as scary as last year's bowl).
I panic again, only this time Belvidere Adam's 11 year old daughter stops by the house and reassures me that the bowl isn't scary at all.....I like the bowl, but I liked last year's bowl, so I have to take the word of an 11-year old that the bowl will be okay. I make her swear on the Girl Scout's promise that she doesn't think the bowl is scary.


We go to the fund raiser, Not-so-scary-scary-bowl in hand, and find ourselves seated with two strangers, along with Belvidere and her husband No-Knees Parkman.
Turns out this guy is a retired doctor and he's got all sorts of fascinating, hilarious, adventurous stories. I'm just glad this guy--who is basically wearing the same shoes as I am--is sitting at our table. I hate to be alone in my fashion faux paux-ness. His wife is very funny and engaging and I find myself literally in tears twice during the meal. C'mon, I can't even think of the last time I laughed so hard I cried....and here, I do it twice in one meal. Doc and wife are very interesting, down-to-earth people and their sense of humor is unparalleled. I don't know how Doc and I didn't manage to get ourselves thrown out with how hard we were laughing. It doesn't seem funny while I'm sitting here typing this, but I promise you, the wife and I had a great time (I had a better time because the wife is much more an upstanding citizen than I will ever be.)

I tell Doc & his wife the story of the scary bowl, adding that the wife had to buy it because no one else bid on it. Belvidere and No-Knees try to make last year's scary bowl sound appropriate for the event but the wife and I explain that this crowd is not ready for scary or tacky and I am both in the art department. He asks me which bowl is mine this year and I tell him it's the scary ying-yang bowl that would make a nice ashtray.

For most of the meal, I didn't know this guy was a doctor and there was NO WAY I would ever have guessed he was 71 years old. He was really a humble guy, when I think about it...and his wife was really down-to-earth, talking about the merits of stretch pants after the age of 45. When I found out he is 71, my jaw hit the table. I would have guessed him to be 60, tops. This made him even more intriguing....but honestly, I was much more interested in his stories and naughtiness than his age. We're laughing and hooting and I'm crying I'm laughing so hard and the wife is laughing and his wife is laughing and I find myself eating his wife's half-eaten chocolate dessert and they are drinking our wine (we don't drink so it was a great trade--wine for chocolate) and No-Knees is speechless and the bowl bidding went on. Doc Wife is bidding like a banchee--she's bidding on all sorts of things, price be damned. As she's drinking more wine, she's bidding more. After having a Chocolate Martini, I think she just threw the charge card on the bidding table and tried to buy everything.

While she's out bidding, I'm listening to Doc talk about how he shaves his head once a week and that's also when he trims his nose hairs. I burst out laughing, as (1) I can't imagine anyone has to cut their nose hairs weekly, and (2) I can't believe somebody but me just said this at the dinner table. He can't believe he just said this and he starts to apologize but I tell him he has NO IDEA who he is talking to and how much I would appreciate anything about nose hair trimming. He then tells a story about going on a trip with a friend where her turd (his word--I would have used "Poop") wouldn't flush and he eventually just pulled it out of the toilet and threw it away. I announce loudly, "I'VE FOUND MY SOUL MATE!" Bodily function stories, here we come!

Side note: the wife and Doc's wife seemed quite fine with this announcement, as the two of us really did appear to be two tacky, low class peas in a pod. I did follow my announcement with a quick statement to his wife, assuring her that she has nothing to worry about. Trust me, she was not worried but rather very entertained.

The wife comes back to the table with great news--TWO people have bid on my bowl--I am elated, as (1) she won't have to buy my bowl again this year; and, (2) I feel a morsel of success in the art department (it's hard to have confidence when no one bids on your bowl). Two strangers have bid on my bowl. It's a banner night!

The bidding ends, the wine is gone and it's time for me to pay for the bowl I bid on (I was the only bidder--lady, I know how it feels--it's a nice bowl, nothing I would ever make or could make--very creative, I thought.) Doc's wife is all giddy as she "won" like ten bowls.....

.....imagine my surprise when Doc walks up to our table and puts my bowl on the table...
that rat bastard outbid those other two ladies and bought my bowl.

That was one really nice act of kindness. I'm rather speechless.....

The wife announces she's just glad she didn't have to buy the bowl this year.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Birch Butt

If you are wondering where I've been (please tell me someone was wondering where I've been or I'll need more therapy for abandonment issues), I'll tell you where I've been. You know that ice storm we had this weekend? (Maybe you don't. Well, there was this ice storm on Saturday evening.) The wife says to me, "I hope the trees are okay." I scoffed at this--I mean, our trees are large enough to fend for themselves, and besides, it didn't look that bad outside.

Foolish, foolish me.

The wife goes to let the dogs out the front door for the "last pee of the night" when she announces she can't get the front door open b/c of all the ice on the stoop. I sigh and offer to take the dogs out myself via the garage. (How much is a fence?) I get all dressed up, right down to the snow pants, hook up the dogs and exit the garage door......when, what do I see but our beautiful river birch in the front yard literally bending over, branches from the top touching the ground, one large clumb snapped off, lying painfully on the ground. My jaw dropped to the ground, just like that limb. I shooed the dogs back inside and went back out to save the tree.

I had to try. It's our favorite tree and I couldn't bear the thought we'd lose it. I grabbed the loppers and the pruning saw and set out on my mission. I started pruning the piss out of that tree. Limbs were flying. Branches were crashing to the ground. I'm huffing and puffing and sweating, limbs shooting upward as I am able to cut free the ice-laden ones weighing everything down. I am covered with ice but I persist.

The wife comes out and asks me what the hell I am doing. It does look like a tree massacre out there. I tell her I am trying to save our tree. We mutter back and forth while I keep sawing and lopping and sweating. It's raining, I'm soaked, I'm tired, I ache, I am desperate. I can't recall the exact details of our "verbal interaction," but I do know when I screamed "SHUT UP!" that the verbal interaction ended.

Suffice it to say, I saved that damned tree, or at least I like to tell myself I did. The yard was a disaster but the tree looked better. I didn't go back into the house until each limb seemed it could hold its own. I also moved the giant clump away from the rest of the tree so no further damage would occur. That was a very dumb move as it was very heavy and my neck, my back, my butt and my pleurisy pain did not appreciate my bravery. I became a victim of "Birch Butt:" sore muscles in the big ol' butt. I don't even want to talk about the rest of my body. I see how people have heart attacks when shoveling.

In the morning, we go outside and take a look at the carnage. Tree limbs and branches are EVERYWHERE. The wife and I get into words again, quite to the delight of our neighbors, I'm sure. She's muttering about needing to shovel the driveway before it all freezes, while I'm trying to shove branches and limbs into paper lawn bags. I am NOT having fun. The wife is NOT having fun. Even the dogs aren't having fun anymore. More than SHUT UP was said during this trial and tribulation.

After many words and many ruined muscles, the wife got the driveway shoveled and I got those damned tree parts picked up and shoved into bags. It took everything in me to not just lay down on the ground and wait for the spring thaw. I'm not sure the tree clump will be saved. We'll have to wait and see on that one. If you drive by, make sure to look at the tree as it's pretty funny to see all these half-branches way up at the top of the tree--it's like you have to ask yourself, "How did they prune way up there?" followed by "WHY did they prune way up there?"

It's supposed to snow five inches tonight. If that's true, I'm gonna go out and find some neighbor kid and pay him like five hundred dollars to shovel the driveway. At least it's not supposed to be ice. I don't think I could have round 2 with that tree. I'll also have to keep the wife out of the bars--when she sees that snow, she'll probably need about thirty drinks. She hates winter.....

....maybe we can snowshoe tonight and see what other muscles we can hurt.....