Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Ode. "A lyric poem of some length, usually of a serious or meditative nature and having an elevated style and formal stanzaic structure."

Okay, let's just go with meditative nature of short stature. We'll skip the formal stanzaic (what a word!) structure.

BTW, the wife's face has been blocked out to preserve any last shred of dignity she might still harbor.


An ode--
an ode to the cheesehead wife
an ode in honor of our anniversary.
A time for memories and bad photos
reflections on bad hair, pleated shorts, rolled pant bottoms
recollection of travels near and far
Home of Mickey
Home of Vince
Homes of parental units, strewn across the continent.
Little planes, big planes, connecting planes
going to Cincinnati to get to San Diego,
to Florida to get gas to get to Cozumel.

Memories of magenta hornets and Jacob best,
of days before digital cameras
of days before dogs
of days before tattoos.
Cheeseheads Green and Gold
Bucky Badger Red
Blue Bernie Brewer Blue
What's a penny head like me
to do without a Wisconsin grrrrl like you?

I spit on Brett Favre's purple jersey
out of my love for you.

happy anniversary.


Saturday, March 27, 2010

Don't be messing the Warrior Princess

Happy 10th Birthday, Brown Dog! More on your special day in a few paragraphs....I've got to get some blog therapy first.

Today, the neighborhood bully dog attacked us during our morning walk. There's no other way to put it, as this time blood was involved. It's the same stupid dog that's come after us dozens of times. Seems the owner takes a chance that nothing will walk by and lets the dog out without a leash (no fence in the back yard) so it will pee and come back in without incident. I understand this thinking and have done it many a time...but, after dozens of times, I would think--I would HOPE--this lady would catch on. Not so much.

The usual scenario goes like this:
Walking the dogs, walking the dogs....quiet, calm, peaceful morning....Lucy stops, looks--UH OH!
Big, bold, blond hairy dog ROMPING toward us...Blond hairy dog runs recklessly across the street to get to us....circling, circling, growling, snapping, circling...Freckles snaps & Lucy screams...wife piddling...Lady comes running out in bathrobe, Lady screams at her dog, Lucy continues to FREAK OUT. There isn't much we can do--this is one big dog and it doesn't back down despite the gallant efforts of Freckles Warrior Princess. We wait til the bathrobe lady grabs her dog and drags him home. Lucy honks (all that barking and pulling on the leash has choked her), Freckles snorts and pants in exhaustion. No one worse for the wear.

How much fun is that? Not much.

This morning, Freckles decided she had had quite enough of this neighborhood canine bully. Don't be messing with the Warrior Princess. She is small and mighty. She is the alpha dog. She is the bitch! She is the protector of us. She is the protector of Lucy. She has HAD ENOUGH of this nonsense. We are walking this morning when here comes the charging dog, here comes the usual scene, here comes Freckles going into overdrive. Someone bit someone--I'm not sure who or what because I was so busy with Lucy (who was going crazy) and because I was looking into the rising sun, I couldn't see much, but Freckles had blood on her face, so someone was bleeding from somewhere. I saw snarling and white teeth and the wife doing her best to fend for herself. I'm yelling for the dog in an effort to distract it and it comes towards us and Lucy has lost her mind.

You ever see those monkey toys with the cymbals? That's what Lucy looked like--her eyes were bulging and her teeth were in full view, just like the cymbal-playing monkey toy. I've never seen her look like that before, but there she was--Monkey Cymbal Dog.

Suffice it to say, bathrobe lady came out and grabbed her dog, Lucy was honking and Freckles was bleeding, albeit just a dot. Proud, victorious, top dog--our hero, Freckles Warrior Princess. If I find any serious injuries, I will be making a visit to bathrobe lady. In preparation for the next time that dog comes after us, I will program Animal Services phone number in my cell phone.

Don't think I won't call, bathrobe lady! Don't mess with the Warrior Princess OR the Warrior Princess' mama! We are both bitches. Growl! SNAP!

Thankfully, we had something much more fun to do this afternoon--Brown Dog had a birthday party! I can't even fathom that Brown Dog is ten. (I can't believe Freckles will be ten this summer--time flies when you're having canine fun.) Complete with Frosty Paws dog ice cream, Freckles and Lucy enjoyed an afternoon birthday party at the gaybors' abode. Well, Freckles enjoyed it--Lucy, not so much. See, the gaybors have a new puppy--Bitty Bichon--and Lucy just isn't a dog dog. If you look at the party collage above, you can see Lucy sitting in the corner, behind a basket. She did like the frosty paws ice cream and seemed to enjoy stealing Brown Dog's toys, so not all way lost. (Brown dog had oral surgery this week, so she was especially excited to see some ice cream.)

Bitty Bichon, Brown Dog's puppy sister, is a feisty one. Thankfully, Freckles found her to be amusing and only 'corrected' her a time or two (and not with much oomph, quite to Bitty Bichon's mama). At one point of the party, Bitty Bichon took hold of Freckles tail and BB was.not.letting.go. It's hard to take a photo of a puppy biting your dog's tail when you are holding the dog's tail with one hand and taking the photo with the other. Here's a close up of the incident. I think Freckles was so confused by the whole thing that it never dawned on her that a puppy had clamped on.

The party ended when the guest of honor laid down on the couch and went to sleep. It's hard to eat all that doggie ice cream and put up with all the festivities when you're ten years old. I expect that all four dogs will sleep quite soundly tonight.

As for FWP, she doesn't seem to be in any pain and I can't find any injury. I've inspected her mouth several times and don't see any hint of where the blood might have came from. Perhaps she bit her tongue. Perhaps the other dog bit her tongue. Maybe Freckles did some damage to that big bully. Maybe Freckles has an injury I can't see. No matter what, no matter where, my money is always on the Warrior Princess. She's tough, durable...the crabbiest pattiest!

Fair warning, bathrobe lady--MY bite is definitely worse than my bark and I have a lot more teeth than Freckles does....and, I haven't had my rabies shot yet. Sit. Stay!

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Lumpy Armpit Neighbor (and Forty Nine Cent Cones)

I am not going to get all political on you--everyone else is doing a fine job of that for me. (Book de la Face Status Updates are spewing hate all over the place! I've never seen anything like it.) All I am going to say is, "I don't get it." I must be brain dead or on another planet. I don't get it....and I certainly don't get why using anti-gay and racist slurs makes any sense in relation to current events.

Please don't send me hate mail or long-winded explanations. I'd rather talk about Pamela Anderson's performance on Dancing with the Stars last night than talk about all the hate. (Um, I'm not even sure what to make of Pam's dance...or, her after-the-dance antics. I do know that she is gonna get a ZILLION votes from all the teenage boys that happen to walk in the room during her dance. Check!)

I don't get it....but I do get that it's all good because cones at McD's are back to forty nine cents!!!!! That's almost as good as "Free Coffee Mondays in March" at the Double D. If everyone would stop calling each other horrible names and purchased $.49 cones instead, we'd all be in a much better place.

A weird thing is occurring in the Addiverse. I have a lump--swollen lymph node--under my left arm (that's not the weird thing--that's a re-occurring, old news thing--don't get all freaked out on me--it's done this two other times, takes literally about six months to go away, is a real pain). I haven't really said anything about it to anyone (until now, where all six of you regular readers will now be in the know), so it's not like the neighborhood would be privy to such information (which would indeed be a weird thing). I haven't really mentioned the related symptoms, not even to the wife. (Let me reassure you: I've been to the doctor, I am on anti-biotics, it has happened before.) The weird thing? The weird thing is that the lady across the street--a lady with whom I have had no contact--has the exact same thing.

Is it weird that I know this? Yes! Of course, it's friggin' weird!! How many of you know if your neighbor has a swollen lymph node under his/her arm?

Actually, it's the wife's fault I know about this, as the wife was talking to Lumpy Armpit Neighbor (LAN) and it came up in conversation (which is also weird but makes sense when you have all the background information of which I shall not share at this moment). LAN went to the emergency room because of her armpit lump. (I was not a drama queen and did not go to the emergency room, but I understand her thinking. Besides, this is old news to me. She's probably having a virginal lumpy armpit experience.)

I have several theories about the swollen armpit issue:
(1) Alien beings have been coming into our houses in the night and both Lumpy Armpit Neighbor and I have been abducted without knowing it. Alien testing has led to this side effect OR Alien experiments have led to implanted nodules which are now transmitting information to their home planet.
(2) Toxic waste has been spewing forth in our neighborhood and LAN and I just happen to be standing outside at the same time as a nuclear waste cloud wafted past our houses, leading to our armpit issue.
(3) We've both got bubonic plague.
(4) We are both having an allergic reaction to the nonsense going on in today's world and our lymph nodes are trying to escape our bodies in an effort to escape the madness.
(5) We both took on a painful lymph node as means of mortifying our flesh during Lent.

Whatever the reason, I have yet to talk to her, so I have nothing further to go on. If my node sticks around for awhile, I'll take a picture of it and post it here. If LAN's lump sticks around AND assuming she'll pose, I'll take a picture of our lumps together and post them here. If anyone sees Aliens in the neighborhood, YOU take the photos, as LAN will be unconscious on a space ship in a near galaxy.

In the meantime, I'm going to McD's. I hear cheap ice cream cones cure what ails you.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Happiness is a Warm Puppy (who's probably peeing on your carpet)

This blog entry is dedicated to Brown Dog, Cheeseball neighbor and Queen of Connections, in honor of the family addition. May your potty training be worry free.

Quick--raise your hand if you owned this book when you were a kid. If you are my age, you at least read this book. If you don't remember, it's because you've killed too many brain cells along the way and will just have to take my word for it that you read it/owned it. I loved this book. My sister and I were huge Peanut fans and this book was a staple of the Peanuts world. Happiness is indeed a warm puppy.

Alas, that is NOT the kind of warm puppy I am talking about here. I'm talking about the warm, fuzzy, little, peeing, pooping, crying kind that you bring home from the breeder and wonder what the hell you were thinking because now it's snowing out and it's not very fun having to take a puppy outside every three hours in the snow. Getting a puppy is wonderfully traumatic. All that crying the first night (hopefully, the dog crying, not the owner). All that getting up in the middle of the night and letting it out so it gets potty trained. All that money....dog, crate, food, collar, leash, vaccinations, toys, bones, vet visits, parasite medication, heartworm pills, spaying, dog school, photo development....the list goes on. All that puppy breath. All that pee on the carpet.

I write of this because the Gaybors are getting a puppy today.

(Has anyone alerted Brown dog?!!)

A little bichon is moving in next door. Cute, cuddly, white. Being that it is the first day of spring, you would think this an awesome time to get a puppy-- after all, it's getting warmer out and that makes for less-painful potty training. Of course, it's snowing outside today. So much for spring potty training being fun. So much for having a white dog!

How can you not love a puppy?

Here is a photo of five-week old Lucy, on the day I met her. She's a mess and looks like she only has one eye (a space eyeball, at that). You can't really tell how tiny she was unless you take a look at how big my hand is in comparison to her little, bitty body. This is when she was still white and before she started licking her paws, making them this yummy rust color. I met her while at work-- a co-worker brought a cardboard box of puppies to the office. That was quite the master plan--who can say no to a puppy in a cardboard box? It took me 16 years to get my first dog...only two to get the second. Oh, the poor wife!

Anyone who says having two dogs is as easy as having one dog should be slapped in the head. We heard that many a time. I am here to tell you those people are wrong. Two dogs means double trouble! Double poop, double attention, double the bills (which is worth it, but gets expensive quickly). Thankfully, we have two small dogs, so a double food bill and double poop really isn't much at all. Of course, having two dogs means double the love, double the fun.

I remain glad we have two pooches. I am not sure Freckles is glad in any capacity but she's over it by now. It's hard to go from the star of the family, the Canine Good Citizen, the pampered pet to a second-fiddle puppy sibling. If Brown Dog needs therapy or empathy, she should check in with the Warrior Princess, as Freckles will have soothing words of wisdom (well, that or she'll bite Brown dog--it's 50/50 chance).

I can't wait to meet the new pup. Seeing a puppy, holding a puppy, smelling the puppy breath of a puppy will make me have all sorts of stupid ideas like, "we should get a puppy, too!" but the wife will be there to slap me in the head (justifiably so). Lucy will just bark at the puppy and stay far away--she doesn't know what to do with other dogs. We'll be keeping old crabby patty Frecks far away from the new canine until she proves the puppy won't become lunch. Brown dog? I'm guessing Brown Dog will tolerate the new critter, like Freckles tolerated Lucy, until they become the best of buds, just like Freckles and Lucy. They are miserable without each other, even if Freckles wouldn't want to admit it.

As for the gaybors, I anticipate seeing the proud parents on the front lawn at 2 A.M. saying, "go potty go potty go potty" for the next several weeks. I also think they will be very impressed at how little the poop is (as compared to Brown Dog's large poop).

Welcome to the neighborhood, Bitty Bichon! Congrats, dear neighbors! Happiness is a warm puppy....is it my turn to puppy sit yet?

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Addi-licious

As MJagger says, "I be up in the gym, just workin' on my fitness." Yum!

BTW, Shout out to Mama China--hope you are feeling better soon!

The other day I was lamenting on Book de la Face that I wished I were Fergalicious. Caribou Grrrl immediately suggested that I was "addilicious." Loved it, had to go with it.

"Listen up y'all cause this is it...the beat that I'm bangin' is delicious....Addi-licious...make the grrrlz go loco....Addi-licious...So delicious...I ain't promiscuous....And if you was suspicious...
All that **** is fictitious. Addi-licious."

Fergie's got nothing on me.

Okay, so Fergie has an actual six pack and can do one-handed cartwheels down the catwalk and is crazy hot, but besides that, she's got nothing than me.

To keep me from, as Fergie sings, "comin' off just a little bit conceited," I shall now focus on last night's antics of being interviewed by a college freshman for a class assignment. There is nothing more humbling than having an 18 year old ask you, the 47 year old, what year you were born....and, then see the wheels turning while she tries to wrap her head around that. Let's not even mention that I'm attending my 30 year high school reunion this summer, because that REALLY didn't make sense to her....thankfully, my school ring threw her off course for a mini-second. It's hard not to focus on why this 47 year old lady is wearing her class ring for a three decade past high school experience.

Being interviewed by an 18 year old is a good reminder of how much the world has changed and how far the world has come in the past thirty or so years. It really is a whole different world. When I heard myself talking, I was thinking, "this must make no sense to her. It doesn't even seem possible. It barely makes sense to me." I was talking about something she couldn't fathom in any capacity. I'm not saying the world is better or worse--it's just so very different and my old, crusty world is nothing that makes sense to her.

Man, I hope she gets an "A" on this stupid paper.

Man, am I glad I don't have to be 18 again. It was bad enough the first time.

Man, I bet Fergie's jealous of my class ring bling. After all, she's only 13 years younger than me and my world's not that much different than hers.....

.....Four, tres, two, uno! Bling bling! Class ring! I bet she'd like to rock this class ring.

Like I said, Fergie's got nothing on me.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Imma Be Blogging about My Peas

Did I hear someone turned 40 this week? Shout out to Papa Bear George. The forties rock.

Imma be blogging about my peas. For all of you wondering what happened to my grammar and why I'm writing about veggies, I'm talking about the Black Eyed Peas--the band--using the words of their song (Imma Be). MJagger, Ciabatti Bread and I went to the Peas concert Thursday night. Can you believe I went to a concert on a school night? An out of town concert on a school night? Oh my! I'm living on the edge now. 

Happy. There is no other word to describe going to a BEP concert. The whole thing is happy. I suppose you could say fun, energetic, shiny, glamorous, visual, sweaty, loud (my second choice of words would indeed be loud--loud as in hurts your chest when the bass thumps hurt). You can't have a bad time with the Peas. 

Imma be talking more about the Peas in a moment. First, I want to recall our dinner, which for all intensive purposes was not a dinner but rather a test of resolve and patience. Through the whole ordeal, I kept saying, "this is SO blog-worthy!" We met Ciabatti Bread's sister at the Turner Building, as it is right across the street from the Bradley Center (where the Peas were waiting for us). We went there because it appeared to have a smaller crowd than the other bars in the area. It wasn't our first choice but we needed to eat and get to the stadium. Here's a drawing of Turner Hall, from the olden days. (It always to have visuals, don't you think?) When they told us we'd only have a ten minute wait, we thought we had struck gold. Sure enough, they seated us quickly....albeit upstairs in what I fear was not part of the restaurant. You have to understand that the Turner Hall used to be a gymnasium/hall. I think we were in an old gym but I can't say for sure.... 

....It really wouldn't have mattered we were in an old gym if we got served something--anything--food, water, crumbs. Seems there were only two waitresses for the entire gym. Neither would make eye contact with us--which is always a bad sign. I can't sum up the experience without going on for days, so suffice it to say that we had to write our own order on a piece of paper and then basically stalk the waitresses until one of them finally took the paper order down to the kitchen. (I added my own commentary to the order, advising the cook that we were very hungry, we were sick of waiting, that Fergie was waiting for us.) We then had to stalk the waitress for everything, as they never did bring our drinks (not even water) until we threatened harm AND were already eating. I ordered a root beer, as it's supposedly made in Milwaukee and was served--or, supposed to be served--in a frosty mug. I'm hear to tell you that my mug was not frosty, the root beer was not frothy and it was rather luke-warm. Ciabatti Bread ordered a Diet Coke--her's came with a bottle of rum in it (quite to her surprise--you should have seen her face when she took a slug). MJagger's bottled beer was warmer than my rootbeer. As the waitress reported, "we're out of sour cream," (how does a restaurant run out of sour cream during the 5 PM rush?), a patron at a different table came over and gave us her sour cream. I had to go to another part of the restaurant to secure salt, pepper and ketchup. 

You had to be there to understand how entertained I was by the whole ordeal. I laughed through the whole thing because it was so absurd. (I'd say it was ludicrous, as the name of the opening band was Ludacris.) It was easier for me to be entertained than it was for the others, as I had eaten dinner before leaving for the concert--I figured we'd end up in a bar and finding bar food for vegetarians is often difficult if I want to eat anything beyond fried cheese curds and fried mushrooms (of which I have no interest). Anyways, we finally got food and beverages. I attest to you that the waitress had no problem getting the check to us quickly. One must have priorities.  

We were seated in time to see/hear/experience Ludacris. I decided quickly that I am too old to be hanging out with Ludacris. When I say it hurt, I'm serious. My chest ached every time the bass thumped/rocked/shook the building. My ol' pleurisy was screaming GET.OUT.NOW! I love loud music but I've never hurt from it. Thankfully for my pleurisy-scared insides, Ludacris played for only 3o minutes. 

The Peas didn't take the stage until 9:15 PM--the time I usually go to bed. I didn't mind, as the concert was that much fun and kept me very much awake. Two hours of dancing, singing, smiling, laughing, drooling. If you want to read a description of the concert, I'll provide a link below. I'll just say it was really fun. It wasn't Madonna but it didn't have to be, as it's a whole different experience. (It was also way cheaper, which is a very good thing.) I loved that they gave each of the Peas a solo portion of the show--how could I live without a Fergie segment of her mega-hits including "Glamorous" and "Big Girls Don't Cry." I also loved that Ciabatti Bread belted out the songs; who knew she'd know all the words? I loved that Fergie's hair looked just like MJagger's hair--I like MJagger's current look of dark hair with bangs, but she thinks it makes her look like Dora the Explorer. Now she can say her hair looks like Fergie's hair, which is a really,really good (hot) thing. (Yes, Fergie did indeed do her one-handed cartwheel down the catwalk. MJagger may have her hair but she did not do any cart wheels.) 

We were a sweaty mess by the time we left. Imma be smelly. The drive home sucked, as 1.5 hours in thick fog (pea soup fog?) on a dark, lonely road in the middle of corn fields is not very fun, especially when it's way past your bed time. MJagger kept it between the lines. I got to bed around 1:30 AM, which is only a few hours away from the time I get up. Going out so late on a school night makes for a very long work day the following day. 

Imma be really tired. 

 My ears and chest have recovered quite nicely. I am enjoying BEP music and find myself saying "Imma be" before all my sentences. Imma be writing a blog. Imma be eating dark chocolate. Imma be having a headache. Imma be going to the Cheddarlands again today. Imma be enjoying BEP music. Imma be happy because the BEP make everything so shiny and happy. Imma be done with this blog entry. Imma be hoping you have a great Saturday! I've gotta feeling it's gonna be a good night. http://www.jsonline.com/entertainment/musicandnightlife/87454892.html

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Appliances-a-Go-Go

The new appliances arrived yesterday, quite to the wife's delight. Beautiful, new, shiny, flawless, all in working order. I've posted some before and after photos for your viewing pleasure. The wife had been very nervous while waiting for the delivery, as she was concerned the frig would not fit in the space allotted. Turns out she had good reason to worry....but, in the long run, that puppy squeezed in there and all was well in the world.

Now, I know nothing about appliances so I don't have much to say about the actual pieces of machinery that will be of any help to those of you who are looking into a new stove or microwave. I can't even tell you what kind of appliances they are (although several of you recognized them from photos posted on Book de la Face). Here's what I can tell you:

(1) I will be wearing mittens when opening the frig or freezer, as there is NO way I can open or shut the doors without getting finger prints all over the stainless steel. I tried using my sweatshirt sleeve but that doesn't seem to be cutting it. I have some new puffy light blue mittens that will be perfect for opening the frig door. (Lest you think I'm kidding, I'll have to post a photo.) Those stainless steel doors are like magnets to my fingerprints. I don't know how people with kids stand it.

(2) I am very confused as to why the controls for the dishwasher are on the INSIDE of the door and am afraid to ask what I am supposed to do if for some reason I want to interrupt the cycle. I mean, do I just rip the door open and the thing will stop washing? Is it a "too bad, so sad" kind of ordeal? How do I know how long the cycle has before it is done? What if I decide I don't want to heat dry the dishes? Just another reason for me to let the wife run the dishwasher.

(3) There is a metal rack in the microwave. I thought metal in that type of machine was uber-taboo, as in "you'll blow the house up if you put metal in the microwave." I am terrified that we are going to explode. Have the microwave rules changed in the past 15 years? Why didn't someone tell me? Does this mean I can stop worrying about the staples in the take out boxes?

(4) Freckles does not like the new oven's timer beeper thing any better than she liked that last oven's timer beeper thing. She is terrified of that thing. I think over the years she learned to associate the oven's alarm with the pending event of the smoke alarms going off. Unfortunately for her, this oven had all sorts of bells and beeps going off when we were testing it out. She was shaking so hard she was blurry. Thankfully, we don't bake very often....

(5) I don't know where the broiler is. What kind of oven doesn't have a broiler? How am I supposed to make my "soy cheese on a pita" melts without a broiler? Is there a secret broiler that I don't know about? Is the broiler passe? Should I just stick to the George Forman Grill and call it a day?

As for the actual arrival and installation of the appliances, everything was going swimmingly....Delivery was on time. Removal of old appliances went without a hitch. Delivery men were polite and courteous. The microwave was installed quickly and easily. Everything fit in the appropriate places. The frig dispensed nice, cold, fresh, clean water. The chocolate chip cookies turned out perfectly. The inside of the dishwasher was indeed stainless steel. The ice maker was spitting out ice like there was no tomorrow....

....and, then...the refrigerator piddled on the kitchen floor.

Water was coming out from under the frig. As you can imagine, this just about freaked out the poor wife. How could her new frig be peeing on the floor? She hung in there, though. Turns out it was just a minor problem that was easily corrected by a ten minute visit from the appliance guy. No more peeing on the tile....

Well, at least not by the refrigerator.

Saturday, March 06, 2010

Full Plate

A week! It's been a week since i visited the Addiverse with you. In regards to that "missing" week, I wish I could say I was doing something fun (like being on vacation, far away from computers) or doing something profound (I was writing my novel) or I was doing something constructive (other than watching American Idol and playing FB Poker) or that I was doing something to save our planet (like working on my compost pile and donating more money to Kiva) or that there had been some huge happenings (of a positive kind) at the place of which keeps a roof over my head or that I had been busy getting spiritual (going to breakfast instead of church does not qualify as getting spiritual), but there was nothing of the kind. Basically, I was lazy and on strike from my computer. I tried to get back on my farm but even that didn't intrigue me. I played a few hands of on line poker but didn't really get excited, even though I was winning. I played a few rounds of that Jeweled Be game but couldn't get in a rhythm. There was nothing wrong. I guess I was just a late winter slug.

On a positive note, many more meanings have been attached to the recently ordered license plates, thanks to the ever-creative parental units. I'm guessing there are 15 meanings to the plates, if not more. Talk about a gem--this plate is going to get the most mileage (what a fun saying to use for such a situation, eh?) out of all the plates I've owned over the years. It blows those other plates right out of the water. We've got age, we've got other people's ages, we've got ages-to-be, we've got birthdays and birth years, we've got events, we've got goals (lofty as they might be), we've got sayings, we've got anniversaries, we've got calories, we've got accidental mathematical equations. Score!

I included a photo of a few previous plates. They pale in comparison to the new plates. I was going to post a photo of me holding some of the plates but the plates kept over-lapping each other (it's hard to hold three license plates in one hand like a fan) and all you could see was my nose between the two hand-fuls of plates.

Spring must be here: the wife took the Mustang out of storage today. This is an annual event that is much more accurate than some lame-ass ground hog. It is its 10th birthday. Until the wife announced the age of the car this morning, I didn't realize Freckles Warrior Princess, Cheeseball Neighbor's Brown dog and the Mustang were all celebrating their 10th year.

Hey, let's make one of the X's on the plate stand for their 10th year! One more meaning! It's out of control!

The Mustang. A thing of beauty. A thing of angst. How can such a beautifully up kept, spoiled, almost unblemished piece of machinery with such few miles be worth so little money? (Almost un blemished....except for that scratch I managed to add last year.) It seems so unfair that a car in that condition is worth so little solely because of its age. It's never seen snow, it's been washed daily, it's been waxed at least weekly, its preventive maintenance has been kept to the day. That's better than I can say about myself--well, I do shower daily but I can't say I've done all my preventive maintenance and I certainly can't own up to any waxing of any parts. The wife would love a new car, but when you've got a 10 year old car in excellent condition with super-low miles PLUS the Mold Mobile (which is worth basically $1.73), you don't get a lot of trade in value...or, even much from selling it outright, so it's really not worth selling. (I have offered to take it off her hands and trade for my car, but she has not taken that offer. I don't understand.) Sigh. Here's to another year of the Mustang....

The new appliances are set to arrive on Monday. I still say we could have lived without an oven. (There is nothing in the license plate regarding the new appliances. Well, not that I know of. I may have to take a closer look.) I took photos of the old stuff so I can share with you before and after photos. Stay tuned! I anticipate a medium-level ordeal, as they have to run new water lines and are installing an over the range microwave. I could live without water and ice cubes shooting out of the frig, too--I'm such a simple, tacky grrrrl--but, I'm sure I'll appreciate it once I have the option of frig water. The wife is already talking about all the projects related to the new appliances and she's already invited people over for dinner the same week we get them. I'm tired just thinking about it.

The only thing happening next week besides appliances? Black.Eyed.Peas! MJagger, Ciabatta bread and I are traveling to the Cheddarlands to see Fergie and her boys in action. It's not Madonna but it will still be fun. (It's a hell of a lot cheaper than Madonna, too. But, Madonna is worth the money. I doubt I can say the same thing about any other performer. Well, besides Lucy Lawless, as long as she is not singing.)

I'm sure my plate will fill up as the week goes on...but, it will never be as full as that new licence plate of mine. Keep those plate ideas coming....although, the prize has been awarded to the parental units. None of you will even come close to all the guesses (and ideas) they had. I think I may have to get them a plate of their own......