LLLock Out


We are at the LLL, aka the Love Loft, with ten dear friends.  For those of you not in the know, twice a year this gaggle of friends gather for foods, friendship and fun.  We've been doing this since 1993. We go shopping, play games, go on walks, eat food, we even go get tattoos. 

Mainly, we eat food. 

You'd think after almost 20 years, we would have experienced almost everything. Well, today we had another first: we got locked out of the place we are renting.

It was one of those weird events that cannot be explained.  Somehow, the screen door locked from the inside.  It's not a lock with a key lock on the outside--it's one of locks on a screen door that manually locks from the inside.  Perhaps it was the ghost of the Farmhouse, as none of us can figure out how you lock a screen door from the inside when all of us were on the outside.

As the owners live at least three hours away (and, as they didn't answer our cell phone call), we were left to our own devices.  Having to pee and knowing that all those snacks were awaiting our consumption motivated us to get it.  We circled the premises many times to ensure we weren't missing an obvious open or unlocked window or door.  Nothing....

So, we took turns using various creative modes trying to open the door.  We tried pulling on the door, shoving credit cards and other various implements in the door, we tried to open the screen window without damaging the screen. That seemed the best option...had there not been a storm door window in the way, this would have been awesome.  

At this point, you might ask yourself, "how many lebetians does it take to unlock a screen door?"  You would think it would only take one, maybe two at the most.  We had six staring at the door and discussing game plans.  We also had one or two engaged via cell phone.  It must take eight.

We determined the only way we were getting in was to take the hinges off the door.  This required some creativity and expenditure of brain power, as we only had a few assorted tools, none of which were designed to get a door off its hinges.  After digging in my trunk, I found some pliers, an old towel, a socket wrench and some little cheap-ass knock off Swiss Army knife.  (I also found an extra pair of underwear, some electrical tape and my Jack Campbell success book.  I left those in the trunk.) 

Did you know you can use a socket wrench as a hammer?

Thankfully, the hinges came out without much effort.  Oh, there were a few tense moments but really, it was quite uneventful. Once the hinges were off, the rest was a piece of cake.

Cake? Did someone say cake? I love cake.  Get that dang unhinged door out of my way--I know there are snacks in there.

I am pleased to report that we got in without damaging the door and without any injury to persons involved. In victory, we have already peed, eaten and turned on college football.  I am pleased to report I immediately went to the frig and snarfed down some leftover pizza and a huge slice of triple chocolate pie.  As you need salty to go with sweet, I crunched down some sour dough pretzels to balance the pie.  Since you need sweet to follow the salt, I had some dark chocolate to balance the pretzels.

Life is good.

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P.S. As for the door getting locked on its own, we're going with the ghost theory.
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Sigh.......atica

Is anyone else confused? Adam Lambert's photo shoot features him licking tongues with a woman; NWA airline pilots forget to land at their destination airport (I would have loved to hear what the hell they were talking about that was so intriguing that they forgot they were flying the plane), people pretend to fly their children in Jiffy Pop balloons.....what IS going on around here??

Here's a photo of Fatty Patty (aka Pan Face, aka Freckles Warrior Princess) trying to steal Brown Dog's food. This has nothing to do with Adam Lambert, pilots or hoaxes, but it's a great photo, so how could I resist? As you can see, the food is not easily stolen, which is good news for Brown dog. It sucks to be short. Thanks to the Cheeseball neighbor & Queen of Connections for texting us this photo while we were at the LLL last weekend. It gave us a good laugh. (BTW, we sense an accomplice in this action.....are those little fingers I see holding up Freckles by the belly???)

Cheeseball Neighbor & QoC were letting the dogs out while we were busy feeding our faces & watching Einsteina get her tattoo during the LLL event. They are supposed to let the dogs out three times a day and throw food at them once a day, but being the dog people that they are (and, being the good, decent human beings that they are), they spent more time with our dogs than they did with their own dog. We cannot thank them enough. Lucy loves this "spoiled dog" arrangement because it gives her unlimited access to Brown Dog's squeaky toys. Freckles would be happier with the arrangement if she could only reach the food in the elevated bowls.....

I got a new hair do today. Although I love it, I'm thinking it's probably a good thing that I was interviewed on TV yesterday, not today. I'm not sure the masses are ready for my fake cherry red, glow in the dark hair. I'm not sure my boss will be ready for this hairdo, either, but I think it rocks. I took this photo of myself so you can see the color. Of course, in person color is always brighter and more fun than some lame camera phone shot. It's pretty funny trying to take a photo in a mirror. I thought it was funnier making sure the camera phone was prominently featured in the illustration. Red hair dye doesn't usually stick around very long, this may be a very temporary look. I haven't had any fun hair for awhile, so it was about time.

In an effort to prolong my red color, I'm not supposed to wash my hair tomorrow and am supposed to wash it only every other day. People will die if I do that, as I have a really smelly head. If you think I'm kidding, call the wife.

My.head.smells.

It's embarrassing. As long as I wash my hair every day, I'm good to go. I can't even imagine not washing it. So, if you see me in a few weeks and my hair dye is still looking bright red, don't get too near to me, as I can almost guarantee I smell like stinky hair.

Sigh. The wife remains in absolute misery. She missed work for the first time EVER at this job and for her to miss work is really saying something. Her hysterectomy was nothing compared to this. She can't sleep, move, sit, stand, crawl, roll or basically breathe without being in sheer terror. She can't get comfortable and the pain is so intense at times that it literally makes her nauseous, cry and shake. I feel so helpless. The pain looks absolutely horrific.

What's the matter, you ask? Her Sciatica is in full bloom, I answer.

I came home from a short trip to the suburbs last night to find the wife in bed, sobbing. The pain was so intense that she just couldn't take it anymore. I slept on the couch so she'd have plenty of room to flop around and groan. I was a nervous wreck, worrying that I wouldn't be able to hear her if she yelled for help. Suffice it to say, neither of us got much sleep. (Well, Lucy got sleep. She was sawing logs for hours. Damn dog.)

I went to work as scheduled, leaving the wife to fend for herself. Naughty Addi WP. Sigh. I highly doubt she had a very good day. Being the good spouse that I am, I spent hours cooking her some comfort food (okay, I went through the drive through at KFC), fluffed her pillows, pressed her pressure points and promised to do things like take the garbage out. It doesn't help her feel any better but at least I'm trying.

Freckles spends her time looking really, really worried. She stares at the bed with a very serious dog look on her face. At this moment, she is in bed with the wife. Yes, that is completely against all our dog rules, but it appeared to be the only way Freckles was going to live through this. She is literally guarding the wife right now. Don't be messing with her, she says.

It appears my beloved lady chiropractor has been of little help to the wife. (This makes me sad. I like to think MBLC can cure everything, anything, everyone.) Actually, nothing has been of help to the wife. Right before I wrote this blog entry, we were on the phone with a friend who talked us through using pressure points to decrease the pain and to get the energy going. Unfortunately, I'm thinking it hasn't helped as the wife continues to writhe in pain.

If you have words of wisdom that will help the wife decrease her pain, we are all ears. We don't have a hot tub, so don't suggest that. Beyond that, I think she's willing to try anything. It can't involve riding in a car, driving a car, standing up straight, carrying anything or wearing real clothes. I can go get whatever supplies are needed, so make a list of things I need to buy and contact me. If any of you are Reiki Masters, I'm sure the wife would be open to the Universe sending healing vibes her way.

Addiverse readers, don't let me down. If MBLC can't help her, I'm hoping you can. Send your ideas....and, make sure to stand down wind from my head.
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Report from the Love Loft: Nifty Fifty

Before I get to the Nifty Fifty, here's an illustration of the "Boss' Day Dunkin' Donut Overload," as promised in the previous blog. This phone photo was taken before all the donuts had arrived, but you get the idea.

Thanks to Phlange-a-slam for the idea to include more "home taken" photos in my blog entries. My plan is to use my camera phone to capture the moments. Those of you who are creatively challenged stand to benefit the most from this project.

Einsteina Vagina, illustrious member of the LLL (Love Loft) is turning 50 is just a few short days. Now, some of you couldn't care less about 50....for a variety of reasons: because 50 is so far away you can't even IMAGINE being that old; because 50 is so far away from where you are that you can't even REMEMBER that long ago; because 50 is a reason to celebrate with your closest 200 friends; because 50 means you can take a fabulous trip somewhere exotic and get drunk so you don't remember turning 50.....

Ah, but for some of us turning 50 is the perfect reason to get a first tattoo.

To her credit, Einsteina has been talking about getting a tattoo for many years, so this was not a last-minute-I'm-getting-crusty-rash decision. Also to her credit is that she wanted to take me, Queen of the Tacky Tattoos, with her for the momentous occasion. Also Also to her credit is that she thought long and hard about what she actually wanted tattooed on her very being, that being the Anhk, Egyptian symbol of eternal life, which is perfect for such an event. Here is a photo of an Ankh so you can have a visual. Actually, this is the exact photo of the ankh the tattoo assistant suggested, but the size of the planned tat prohibited the detail included here (or, so said the tattoo artist).

Getting a tattoo during the Love Loft is genius in many ways: you have the loving support of dear friends; it's a great way to spend time between meals; it's something none of us will forget; it's something we can make fun of; it's something near and dear to my heart (being that I adore getting & sporting tattoos); it gives you a break from eating non-stop (it's good to pace yourself); it's cheaper than losing all your money on the gambling boat down the road; it's something that leads to story-telling about Love Lofts come and gone.

How can you have a bad day when someone's getting a tattoo? You can't!

Einsteina thought long and hard about where she wanted the tattoo on her body, on how big she wanted the tattoo, how she was going to put her hockey shin guard on the next day after getting the tattoo. She had called the local tattoo parlor and checked it out before coming to this weekend's LLL. Einsteina actually made an appointment and didn't just show up unannounced. She even made sure she could roll up her pant leg so the tattoo could be placed on her being without having to disrobe. I love a grrrrl with a plan.

I love going to tattoo parlors. Call me white trash, call me tacky, call me weird, sick, whatever--I love the smell of tattoo goop, the site of "flash" on the walls, the photo albums of tattoos gone wrong and covered up, the sound of the tattoo machine buzzing in the background. I also love getting tattoos, even though I already have enough tacky ink to satisfy three big bikers. The thought of accompanying a beloved friend to get a tattoo is heart-warming; the invitation to be present during the virgin tattooing experience of a friend is so warming of the cockles that I can barely stand it.

I'm guessing the wife had a pool going with the other members of the LLL that I would come back with a new tattoo of my own. Had I an idea or inspiration, this probably would have been a good bet; however, I don't have any ideas at this moment and I've learned my lesson that spontaneous tattoos are not usually a good thing.

This tattoo parlor was nothing spectacular--it's an "old school," no-nonsense kind of place, which is a good thing in my tattoo book: white walls, lots of flash covering every available space, The two tattoo artists were nicely covered with various forms of ink. There was loud rap music blaring from the stereo. The artist areas were filled with photos artwork they had created. A recipe for an orgasmic experience!

Einsteina was understandably very excited and very nervous. Those of us who know Einsteina know that she is a pretty chatty girl. Okay, she's a really chatty girl. I am here to tell you that she did not shut up once during this whole event, and when I say never once did she stop babbling, I mean she did not stop babbling at all. It was truly hilarious. She asked questions about every detail of the blessed event, she fretted over the design, she spoke aloud her every thought. As she is also one of those "talk with her hands Italian, I'm not sure how she even held still while the guy was tattooing her leg.

Einsteina's gal pal, Pee Pee Peeker, appeared very enamoured with the happening and also asked many questions. I think she was pleased to not see very much blood, as a previous tattoo witnessing had left her woozy from the "leaking of the plasma." I thought she might jump in and get a tattoo of her own, but she left the experience to for the soon to be 50 year old.

The whole ordeal took less than an hour, from design of the tattoo to the last wipe of the plasma, which is relatively short in tattoo time. The result was a fabulous rendition of the exact thing Einsteina had envisioned. (Very reasonable priced, I might add. This made me want to run in there and demand a tattoo. The price was more than right!) Before we knew it, we were in Wally World looking for anti-biotic, non-fragranced soap and some Lubriderm lotion. (Side note: it's really hard to find soap without fragrance; even the old-school Dial has fragrance now. Go figure.) We were soon back at the Love Loft, just in time for dinner, with Einsteina proudly showing off her acquisition while seated at the dinner table.

I know Einsteina is not thrilled about turning 50 but I think the tattoo will make it much easier and palatable. (Fifty. Sigh. Can we really be that old? Is that really grey hair? Are we really in our fifth decade?) I wish her a very happy birthday.....and look forward to turning 50 so I can take her with when I get my own "I'm turning 50 please distract me" artwork of my own.

Yum squared!

Say Cheese
Now that we're back from the LLL, we are busy doing fun things like laundry, watching reality TV, catching up on email, cleaning the carpet where Freckles decided to pee & poop (that'll teach us to go out of town) and laughing out loud at Governor Blago (the narcissistic, anti-social man who puts his name in the same sentence as Gandhi, Mandela and King Jr). Who goes on a media blitz when being impeached? Only in the Land of Lincoln. (I thank the gods that I didn't vote for him. Go, Green Party!) Blago on "The View," Blago on "Larry King," Blago on EVERYTHING! What a pompous, deluded ass. I'm thinking the insanity plea is starting to sound like a sane idea in his case.

......Of course, we ARE all talking about him and we ARE watching him and he's ALL over the news, so he's probably orgasmic at this point. (Um, Rod--isn't it a bad sign when you have to hire Drew Peterson's public relations team???)

The photo (above) of this group of field-tripping teachers & the soon-to-be-ex-Illinois Governor was sent to me by Environtom. Take a good look, as this is one hilarious teacher and an even better photo. (If you need a closer look, click on the photo.)

Politics as usual in the Flat Lands.

Strumming along with the Hero de la Guitar

Hey, I am out of town, borrowing an unsuspecting friend's work computer (man, hope they don't give her trouble for using this machine to write mindless dribble), writing a quick, impromptu blog entry while awaiting my next turn on Guitar Hero.

And, I am ALL ABOUT my next turn at the axe.

You have never seen anything like a bunch of middle-aged women trying to be Guitar Hero-ettes, especially those of us who do not have any sort of gaming system. We are doubly-impaired: we are trying a new skill on a system we do not have.

(I took lots of photos but can't post more than one of them today, as I don't have the camera cord; besides, this isn't my computer and there is only so far I should push my luck. This one shows how much I have to concentrate to play this stupid guitar.)

It's another meeting of the LLL. You blog neewbies are going to have to go back and check out previous LLL blogs so you understand this concept. Suffice it to say there are twelve us us hanging out in a farmhouse many miles from home, eating our way into food comas and torturing ourselves with video games and singing along with Mama Mia (did you know there is a sing-along version?). Me? I'm just praying I poop sometime in the next twenty-four hours. You'd think all this food would have poop shooting out of my butt left and right but for some reason my bowels have decided to stay indoors and have done so since five days prior. (Soon, my pants will not button. There is only so much poop you can keep in your pooch before it's impossible to snap those jeans shut.)

Since it's below zero out, the LLL will spend most of our time eating copious amounts of unhealthy food, playing board games, walking to Leslie Sansone, eating a bit more healthier foods, go back to eating unhealthy food, laughing about everything and anything, building Guitar prowess, talking about bearded dragons (seriously--this is nothing perverted), napping and working on nicknames for the three that don't seem to have any (or, we can't remember the names as we are indeed having those peri and menopausal moments).

I love these women and I love the LLL. I wish we met more than two times a year but I'll take what I can get.

Since I am with eleven other friends, I best not take too much time ignoring them while writing a blog entry. The wife doesn't take kindly to my need for technology. So, I'll get back to you tomorrow or Monday....

......Besides, I have to concentrate on the screen so I can improve my Guitar-hero-ness. Dude!

Living the Love Loft Life

Before I talk about the Love Loft, can I just say, "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MARIE OSMOND on DANCING WITH THE STARS??" One minute she was standing there, listening to Len talk about her dance....the next minute, she was unconscious on the floor and billions of viewers were stuck watching commercial after commercial. I'm just glad she hadn't dropped dead from a heart attack.....now that I know she's relatively okay, I can profess my love for live TV!!! (Don't try to tell me you won't be looking at YouTube to see what happened. All you people without DVR will be searching the net for that clip.)

And, now--back to the original babbling idea about the Love Loft:


(I dedicate this entry to Spotted Owl, as she is a true member of the Addiverse and a reader extraordinaire.)

This weekend was spent consuming massive amounts of food (both home-made and trans-fattingly processed) and hanging out in Galena with our sisters of the Love Loft. There are no better people on the planet than those in the Love Loft group. The photos here give only an inkling of the fun and food that was had by the twelve members of the outing. It was a sort of homecoming for the Love Loft (affectionately known as the LLL or the Triple L and if you don't know what LLL stands for, you have NOT been paying close attention to this blog OR you've only been reading for a short time--for shame!), as we started the "gang" while hanging out in Galena. Due to circumstances beyond our control, the LLL had to move from Galena, so we went to Lake Geneva...and, since they have now knocked down the building we stayed at when in Lake Geneva, we had to go elsewhere.....

......Why not go back to where it all started? Galena!

U Conn Grrrl secured us a lovely farmhouse for the festivities, while the wife lamented over room and meal assignments. Patty Party Pecs watched in horror as her cheesecake had a meltdown (literally--see the photo) but it was for naught, as it tasted just fine. (Patty Party Pecs was on my "shit list" because she brought her new squeeze a bouquet of cookies for Sweetest day--gag!--but since she brought the cheesecake, we decided not to stone & flog her.) We shopped, we ate, we played games, we watched plasma screen TVs, we ate, we debated over future meals....you get the picture.

How much do I like spending time with the LLL? Let me put it into perspective for you: I don't bring my computer with for the weekend.

THAT is saying a lot. I take my computer everywhere--the bathroom, the car....

For the record: there is no way to lose weight (or even want to lose weight) when eating all this great food and hanging out with such great people. Screw the pleurisy pounds! Who can worry about weight when there is homemade cheesecake to be eating at every meal? Why, there have even been meals served in parchment paper--you can't beat that!

Usually, we keep it pretty simple: cooking, watching hockey, getting tattoos, talking about dogs.....and of COURSE I made everyone look at my Xena/Lucy Lawless scrapbook....but this year.....

....We found a new activity to try out in between food frenzies and shopping events--Alpine Sledding!

Now, we are probably too old and injury prone to be throwing ourselves down the real Alps (no offense to you Lofters who think you are spry and sporty) and there certainly wasn't any snow to be found in the area and the real Alps are kinda far away, so we had to settle for sledding down Chestnut Mountain on a man-made track. You hand some guy your money, you pick up a blue sled, you hurl yourself down the mountain on this bobsled kind of course, you hop on the chair lift and you ride back to the top. If you look closely at the top photo collage up above, you can see a bit of the Alpine Track (right underneath the photo of the cheesecake). I must admit that it was very fun and a clever use of a ski slope during non-ski sloping weather. (And, it's not snowing or cold while whizzing down the slope, so I am all over this.)

The trees were in their full glory, fall colors in full regalia. The Mississippi looked mighty and breath-taking. The weather was absolutely perfect. The turkey vultures were hovering....um, I'm not sure circling vultures constitute a good sign, but there they were....and, I didn't seen any carnage on the course....

IF you look closely in the photos, you'll see three sisters of the LLL riding the chair lift--I was taking pictures to keep my mind off how much I hate those stupid chair lifts. I could have just walked back up the mountain, but that seemed like WAY too much work, so I clung to that safety bar with my sweaty palms and made it back up the hill via chair lift. (Again, this goes back to the trauma of a fourth grade incident at Disneyland. Oh, I need some therapy!) The only injury, I am happy to report: Phlange-a-slam had a minor problem when her hat when flying off her head--the lady in the sled behind her managed to run over the hat, leaving it with a serious case of road rash.....better her hat than any of our body parts.

An extraordinary amount of time was spent trying to figure out the food rotation for the next meeting of the LLL. I can't really tell you what happened as I wasn't listening. I just zoned out and smiled and made distracting remarks. I figured it would all end up the way it originally started....and, after an hour, it basically ended up all the same as when it started. See? Sometimes it pays to be attentionally deficit-ed. To be honest, I knew it would be fine in the end and that no one would ever let the LLL experience a food crisis.

The problem with LLL events, as with all wonderful events, is that they always end too quickly. It's like you go to bed Friday night and it's already Sunday afternoon and time to go home. Ya gotta hate it when that happens. Just when the fun begins, we're back at home, bathing the dogs because they stink so badly after their stay at the kennel and I'm cutting poop out of Freckles butt hair and it suddenly matters that the pleurisy pounds have limited my wardrobe to two pair of pants. Well, there's always February, when we'll gather again in Galena.

Until then, I have to get out off this blog and go vote for Dancing with the Stars. After all, Marie needs my vote!

Naughty Lucy, Photos from the Latest LLL & Cheeseball sightings WARNING! CHEESEBALLS SEEN TRYING TO MULTIPLY!
What is this? Ah--choooo! The wife has been very sick, thus she has been going through kleenex like there's no tomorrow. (She was so sick that she went to a walk-in clinic while wearing her pajamas. That's sick.) So, I'm looking for Lucy one night and I can't find her. I look under the bed where the wife has been perched all week.....and there I see a tail (right side of the photo) and a zillion tiny shreds of tissue:
The culprit: Mug Shot of Lucy, the tissue-shredding canine:
She is shutting her eyes in an effort to deny everything. That's one ugly mug shot. (Not quite as ugly as my long underwear, but close).

La Casa de la Presidente: aka the LLL abode for biannual meetings, soon to be the ex-casa, as they are knocking it down within the month. Sigh.

(See a few blogs prior to this blog for a crash course on the LLL and why I might be posting such photos.)

The infamous Crooked Toilet: what would life be like without the crooked toilet OR that luscious wallpaper? This photo does not do justice to illustrating how crooked the toilet really is.

The Parchment Paper Chefs come through again: We have two chefs on staff--er, as members-- of the LLL and they always come up with some fancy food products that are sure to have everyone's mouths a-watering. Here is their latest culinary masterpiece: pork something or other (hey, I'm a vegetarian & was eating portabella mushrooms--I don't know the official title for the feast). Team UConn and Team Tennessee always delite us with their extreme cooking abilities.

Food Coma: I'm not kidding when I say we basically eat, shop, eat, sleep and eat while attending the LLL.

Finally, another cheeseball sighting, this time in the jungles of a local office.....beware! The cheeseballs are coming for YOU!

The LLL: End of an Era (Part I: The Introduction)

Pre-Blog comment: Bear down, Chicago Bears!
Pre-Blog comment #2: Welcome, Cheeseball-flinging neigbhors and friends to the Addiverse
Pre-Blog comment #3: Who the hell ever thought of mixing Red Bull with Jaggermeister and downing shots of this hellish concoction?
Pre-Blog comment #4: Doesn't it just figure that my DOG is doing better in the football pool than I am? Maybe I should have let her make my picks all year long and I wouldn't have come in last place.

I have a confession to make. I belong to a gang. (Stand back while I flash my colors--eggplant and forest green.)

Above: these are SERIOUS gang members. Don't mess with them...or, their food. (I can't share their true identies or we'd have to kill you. Phlange-a-slam, Pee Pee Peeker, Little Debbie Sneezeclumper and Patty Party Pecs take their anonymity with the utmost seriousness....) You didn't think all those tattoos I have were for fun, did you? Those are gang-related tattoes. (that Mickey Mouse is a real rat bastard. Ar Ar.)

Above: getting tattooed during a meeting of the Love Loft. Grrrrrrowl!

This weekend marks the end of an era for the gang to which I belong—the Triple L—or, for those in the know, the L-L-L (pronounced el-el-el). We, the esteemed eggplant-and-forest-green colored-gang members of the LLL had to say goodbye to our lodge of love, the President’s House at George Williams College. It is only fitting I dedicate the next 37 blog entries to the LLL and the loss of our bi-annual abode. (Blogging will be an integral part of my healing about this loss.)

Why? Why must we say goodbye? Because the college is knocking the building down, that’s why. That’s a pretty good reason…and one way to get us off their campus. It is time to move on.

Indulge me for a moment, won’t you? I feel a therapy session coming on.

An introduction: flash back to October 1994 (I had red, shag hair—the only way I can remember when I did what is by what hairdo I had at the time), the wife and I were invited to a friend’s cabin in Doctor-a-day-Fruit Canyon, about 80 miles west of our house. It was a beautiful cabin surrounded by nature’s finest, resting in the Land of General Grant. We really didn’t know most of the participants but we were game, as it sounded like a free-of-cost, alcohol-free food-frenzy of an event. (You read that right—alcohol free. We don’t want to waste calories on booze when there is twenty five tons of homemade food waiting for consumption. If you have a food addiction, this would NOT have been the place to be, but there was no need for alcohol to make this Love Loft fun.)

The hostesses were the Dog Whisperer (aka Ingabor Logjammer) and sidekick Spotted Owl (aka “Where’s the salad dressing?” lady ). The cabin sported a giant loft—hence, we ended up nicknaming it the Love Loft. (The third L in the LLL? That’s for you to figure out. It’s not rocket science, but out of respect to my gang sisters, I leave it at that.) All but two of us slept together in the loft. (Not literally together, you pervert—all in the same loft.) There were these teeny, tiny twin beds, which somehow we managed to sleep two in a bed. (That’s when we were much younger and didn’t mind squashing ourselves into twin beds. I am SO over that idea.) Some slept on the loft floor in sleeping bags or on air mattresses.

The weekend featured nerdy, wholesome things like:
hanging out in the loft,
playing board games,
eating,
lying in the middle of the gravel road looking up at the stars,
eating,
playing touch football in said gravel road,
eating,
staying up late into the night,
eating,
country line dancing in the living room (Boot Scootin’ Boogie, anyone?),
eating,
laughing,
smoking cigars, and
getting to know each other.
Little time was spent sleeping, solving world crises or doing things like makeup.

This first official meeting of the Love Loft gang is the weekend I met my twin sister, Tumbleweed (soon to be known more infamously as Einsteina Vagina)….she earned her nickname during the event when she managed to fall down the stairs at 3 AM, sparks flying from her slippers as she was flying down the carpeted stairs. (She was sober. To this day we are still not sure what really happened—all we heard was the commotion of her free-falling down the stairs and landing with a thud at the coat rack. Perhaps she was in some unusual food coma from the copious amounts of calories shoveled in during the day.) No she was not hurt--well, except for her pride but since she gave us much fodder for future LLL stories, she is probably almost proud of her tumble.

Above: this is NOT a picture of the Love Loft at the President's House but it is a picture of a recent summer meeting of the LLL in an out-of-state adventure. I don't have any photos of the cabin except in my photo albums, so use your imagination. (These are the true members of the LLL, enjoying a parchment papered lunch. That's a whole story in itself. Later...) Notice we are seated at a table, eating a meal. Many an hour has been spent in this position during meetings of the Love Loft.

Back to the cabin: Mouse turds on the counters and nibbles on the bread let us know we had visitors in the night and that we were in rustic territory—of course, the mouse turds in the bed sheets also alerted us we weren’t alone. Well, it wasn’t really THAT rustic, as there was a TV & VCR, an electric darts game, indoor plumbing. Plugs for hair dryers and CD players….. one of the funniest things related to mice is when LLL-ers put this hideous-rather-real-looking mouse in the wife's bed. Wish you coulda seen her face when she pulled back the comforter.....!

As we had such a fun time that first weekend, it was determined the gang would meet bi-annually at the cabin. And thus, we did exactly that. I have four million stories about the LLL, of which I will share 3.9 million of them in the next blogs. (The Love Loft is kind of misnomer, as there wasn't much love aloft in the loft, although we have been accused of much debauchery.) It was all good, even when we gained weight from all that eating matched with sitting playing board games....

......years went by without a hitch....... until the unthinkable happened. The cabin had to be sold. The gang was without a home turf.....

It was hard to say good bye to Galena but we knew we would persevere. All we needed was a place to call our new LLL home. We turned to Freida Food Frenzy (aka the wife) for help. She came through, securing us lodging at George Williams College. The gang went on, although we did miss the loft and ability to visit Generall Grant on a moment’s notice.

Here's a photo of what the campus looks like from the pier. Beautious, eh? It wasn't the cabin but it would suffice.

The story of the Love Loft as it progressed to George Williams College will have to wait--look, even Freckles is yawning by now, as illustrated above. I'll stop here so I can go eat a snack and gather my thoughts about the LLL....I'm in mourning and have to be gentle with myself and besides, I have to go get ready for the neighbors' Chicago Bears Football party.

No, we aren't taking cheeseballs....but, I'm sure they will be drinking those crazy Red Bull/ Jaggermeister bomb shots....

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....

If it's brown, flush it down....

Another weekend, another trip to the Land of Cheese. Get your bikini ready!

We are headed north--AGAIN--to hang out with members of the LLL. Seems I just can’t stay away from the construction-zone-nightmare-of-a-tollway. Why stay home when you can sit in your car, idling along with five miles worth of traveling companions? It's almost an integral part of the summertime to be stuck in construction traffic....  

The traffic wasn't too unbearable but I did have to stop and have a Frappaccino --it's stressful to weave in and out of all those people from Wisconsin who don't EVER move out of the left lane. HEY! GET A CLUE! Learn to drive! Get out of the damn left lane. It's a PASSING lane and the only thing passing are the cars on your right! The wife is a cheesehead, so she's used to my Wisconsin-drivers-need-to-get-out-of-the left-lane-so-us-flatlanders-can-blow-by" whining. RIGHT LANE! RIGHT LANE! MOVE OVER INTO THE GODDAMNED RIGHT LANE, YOU CHEESEHEAD! 

(Apologies to persons of Wisconsin origin. I get crazed over this thing and do not mean to stereotype all Wisconsin drivers. Just the morons in the left lane.) 

Let's not even get me started about the gas prices these days. How do the LLL members get back and forth from the lake on a regular basis without taking a second mortgage?

Only part of our illustrious LLL group was present, as it’s a busy time of year and choices must be made. We went a day late…why? Because Freckles has eye boogers the size of Alaska and because I just can’t bring myself to put the grrrlz back in the kennel only four days after they got out. (The boogers, I am hoping, are allergy-related. Freckles also has developed red spots on her belly, probably from slithering around the front lawn like a G.I. Joe-snake. At least she doesn’t eat her eye boogers. I can’t say the same for two of my clients.) 

The theme of the weekend was, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.” I’m not kidding. There is only so much room in that septic tank of theirs, so we only flush when it’s absolutely necessary. It’s all good—we’re friends. I can take a little pee-pee peeking. Except…

my ovaries heard the word “PONTOON” and went into overdrive. “Let’s shoot that egg out there so we can complicate the toilet situation at the cottage!” There is NO WAY I was able to follow the yellow-mellow rule during such troubling conditions. I mean, you can't drop a clot the size of Cuba and not do something about that. Ugh! I probably took up all the spare room in the septic tank, everything will overflow and Lake Velveeta will be contaminated by LLL e. coli. 

I spent part of the weekend in a fetal ball due to cramps from hell. I also went over my legal limits of "flushes per weekend," but it seemed the only proper thing to do. I left no blobs of liver for any of my pals. They understand my pain--almost all of them are older than me and can relate to the joys of peri-menopause. They were NOT helpful, though--they told tales of horror and woe. I wanted to rip my ovaries out with my teeth by the time they were done with their stories....

The other theme of the weekend will be, “Eat ‘til you barf.” That’s what so’s good about all our friends: they love food and they love to cook and they love to eat and they love to talk about food and about eating. Of course, all this eating and sitting like a blob on a pontoon does not a bikini body make. We are all okay with added more cheesy wiblets to the existing ones, as long as it’s tasty along the way. 

Okay, so one of the participants took a photo of my butt. (Don't ask.) You should NEVER look see your own butt. It's just wrong on so many levels. It is back there for a reason: so you don't have to see it. I'm in no way a cheesy wiblet-covered heffer, but let me tell you, that photo of my butt showed more dimples and wiblets than I EVER want to think about again. I'm going to start walking 30 miles a day and give up once-a-day Blizzards. I'm also going to need therapy after that photo shoot.

When we are not eating or peeing and not flushing, we’ll be riding the waves of Lake Velveeta. Einsteina Vagina and Pee Pee Peeker, our lovely hostesses, have lots of toys besides the pontoon to keep us feeling sporty. Being that we are getting old, we will fight for the shade under the canopy on the pontoon. Is life good or what? 

Pee Pee Peeker has a new nickname: Rot de la Crotch. She got this horrific rash on the inside of her thighs. Those poor things were puffing up like puffer fish on steroids. They were red and swollen and awful-looking. She went to the ER--I would have, too, if my inner thighs looked like that--the doctor was little help..."it's hives. Take some Benadryl." Duh. She could have known that without paying him a zillion dollars. Anyway, she took Benadryl and slept through the remainder of the weekend...but, at least her legs got less red and puffy by the end of the event.

VE and PPP generously offered to let us bring the dogs, but that sounded like a disaster in the making. Can’t you just see Lucy falling off the side of the pontoon and Freckles biting the hostesses’ dog? I’m gaseous just thinking about it. And, I don't want to spend my free weekend staring at eye boogers. Instead, they will be staying home with a dog sitter and I'll pay her to stare at Freckles eye boogers. Lucy's bitter, because she's got her bikini all ready to go, but she'll get over it, as I've left word for the dog sitter to feed them unlimited treats....I figure it's only fair, as I'll be eating unlimited amounts of treats. I just hope Lucy doesn't ruin that girlish figure she's so fond of...

 The poor dog sitter, Kenny Chesney, ended up locking herself out of the house, with dogs standing at her side. We have our house keys scattered all over the universe but Kenny was unable to access any of the three million keys because her cell phone was INSIDE the house...the phone had the contact numbers. Isn't that how life always goes? Thankfully, I recently taught my neighbor how to break in to her own house using a credit card. (That is one use of credit cards the wife does not mind.) She thus helped the Kenny break into our house. Boy, do you feel safe with that locked door? I'd like to add that the eye boogers are much better, so don't throw up thinking about it. By the way, did you know that the official word for eye booger is MAGMUS? Indeed! Those of you LLL ladies not in attendance: we missed you. Pout. Pout. Pout.

And so went our final trip north for the season. Next stop: LLL in Lake Geneva. I feel a new tattoo in my future. All aboard! Now, if I could only get that picture of my cheesy butt out of my head...

Memories of a Ruptured Appendix...the Fourth of July…Dreams of a “Big Blog Bash” for You Stars of the Blog

Happy Fourth of July, blog-ettes. (Poor Freckles. She hates all the fireworks. Her tail is permanently stuck in the down position.) Today marks the third year anniversary of my infamous ruptured appendix. I’m sure the wife, Phalange-a-slam, T-Mulch and Emily the Folkie have some humorous memories of that long night. It’s a story that bears repeating, but since the majority have heard it thirty zillion times, I’ll spare you. I did find a photo of a ruptured appendix on Google, and I’m here to tell you—THIS is what my appendix looked like (photo on the right--tasty!). How do I know my appendix looked like this? Because I made the surgeon show me once I woke up from surgery. E-gads, it was gross. (The grosser, the better in my book.) I am a little nervous about this day, as I was on call for the Fourth of July at the time of my ruptured organ….I’m on-call again this Fourth. Pray for me….

…Speaking of being “free” (you know, a patriotic theme), Harvey’s funeral was today, so technically speaking, she is “free” of this world and of her oppressive body. I am happy to report I didn’t have to throw myself on the casket at any point during the services. I was ready to RIP out any rosary that might be in her hands, but since she wasn’t Catholic, no rosary was to be had, so all was good. Unfortunately, a babbling Baptist preacher rambled on about being in the “house of mourning,” reflecting and making decisions. I think he wanted us to throw ourselves in the Rock River for baptism at the end of the funeral. Remind me NEVER to be Baptist. My favorite part of the service was when we were standing at the gravesite and a cow was moo-ing in the pasture. I’m sure Harvey got a kick out of that. Made it harder to hear that pompous preacher, that’s for sure…

MJagger had a GREAT idea—she suggested that I have a “blog party” and invite everyone who has been mentioned in the blog. I thought that sounded really groovy and thus started digging through the archives to see who would be on the guest list. Besides, who doesn’t like reading about themselves again? There have been family & friends, clients and pets, stuffed animals and spirit guides, co-workers and TV stars, poop lovers and religious icons. Peruse the blog and you find a wild mix of people and critters.

Those mentioned in the blog who have passed on (most notably Harvey the one-boob-wonder, Cloudy the Hamster, all the mice killed by my mouse-surgeon-murdering-boss, the ex-father-in-law) probably will NOT attend the festivities, but they are certainly invited. Actually, I think I have a better chance at having the dead attend the bash than I have a chance of the super-famous-blog-noted types (like Jodie Foster, Madonna, Lucy Lawless, Jesus, Stacy Keibler, the stars of Charmed, the “Pardon the Interruption” guys on ESPN, the Dixie Chicks, Oprah, Reese Witherspoon, the “Little People”).

Grover, my spirit guide, may or may be considered dead but there is no doubt he will be in attendance. He never misses a party. On the other hand, the "mystery pooper" at work will not be invited because if I were to invite this person, it would no longer be a mystery...

Freckles and Lucy are very excited that Mr. Winkle will be on the guest list. Even if Mr. Winkle can’t make it, we know Riley the tree-climbing neighbor pointer will be there (albeit in the corner, peeing on herself—she’s really afraid of Freckles).

Are YOU on the list?

“The wife” gets top billing on the guest list, as she is probably the most mentioned person in the Addiverse, quite to her dismay….and, she’ll get stuck cleaning up after the party, so she best be at the top of the list. It goes without saying that Freckles Warrior Princess—the eldest canine of the family—and, Lucy Bark of Poteidaia—the younger canine of the family—will be waiting at the door for guests to arrive.

Since it was her idea for the party and because she is a friend extraordinaire (who just happens to have a stalker mentality about Madonna & still speaks to me when most people would exude expletives at me), MJagger (the professional seat-hopper at concerts) is also at the top of the list. MJagger’s eldest daughter (the 2nd coming of Jesus) & hubby Officer Friendly will accompany her and their youngest daughter. Bon Jovi—MJagger’s sister who has actually kissed Jon Bon Jovi on the lips (I’m not kidding) will keep the family affair going. MJagger’s mom-in-law deserves a nod, as she went to a Madonna concert with us. Anyone who is willing to drop some serious cash on Madonna needs to be honored.

We need some sports-types, so bring on the bowlers! Wild Mama and Father John (who made the Addiverse possible) will lead the bowling brigade. The sister, Nieces #1, #2 and #3 are mandatory attendees. (Hey, we could hold the party in a bowling alley! My mom and sister could hook us up with some moonlight bowling.) We can call in my brother-in-law, my cousin and my deceased grandpa. Heck, just bring anyone along who likes to bowl….I can always write about them later…

Speaking of family types, how could we party without the Cheeseheads from the wife’s family? Tommy Hilfiger, Mrs. Hilfiger, Cheesy potato sister, the wife’s dad and mom have to bring some Green Bay flavor for shits and giggles. Cheesy potato sister needs to bring some of her world famous cheesy potatoes for consumption during the blog bash or I’m not letting her in the door. There are a lot of other wife-types, but I haven’t written about them yet, so they have to wait their turn. Do you think Brett Favre is free to join the party? (Wait--we can't invite him or MJagger won't come to the shin-dig...)

Let’s see….I need to make sure cousins S&A (two of the world’s nicest people), Grover the spirit guide, Moriah the Medium, The Hedgehogs (god love those stuffed animals), Blue Eyes and Master Reiki and LLL participants are part of the fun. We’re talking everyone from Patty Party Pecs to phalange-a-slam, from Pee Pee Peeker to Ingabor Logjammer….Ms. UConn to Ms. Tennessee, Spotted Owl to Einsteina Vagina, from T-mulch (that's what I'm going to call her after helping us with all that damn mulch) to all those guests of the LLL. I can't forget the Lake Redstone Compound crew. So I look good for the festivities, I’m making sure my hair stylist is ready to go. I am NOT inviting the Hair Nazi—I’m true to my current hair goddess.

Clean queen, Emily the folk singer, HotDiggity (the anal gland-impaired dog), The Mouse-Surgeon Boss and my gynecologist are on the invitation list. On second thought, let’s NOT invited the mouse-surgeon boss and pretend we did. Do we really want a mouse murderer in our midst?

I need to invite the racoon that laid the killer poop that almost killed Lucy after she ate it (remember that from the very first blog?), the vet that saved Lucy's life, the dog groomer who has to try and grab the dogs to groom them and even the doctor who performed my colonoscopy.

I haven't forgotten those of you who read the blog but have yet to be mentioned. Your day is coming, Walshy-calm-submissive-family and the TV.

We can add the ex-husband, Stella the 72 year old Xanax addict, Mary the merry-go-round-riding smelly-crotch girl, Gert the smoking bra babe, Slim Jim Triathlon Friend, Tim Simms, Larry Morrissey, Governor Blago, Bob Ham and even Vicki Shaw. Actually, we can now invite my appendix surgeon, Uncle Sam and the babbling Baptist Preacher. Is this gonna be a hot party or what?

Your invitation will be in the mail.....until then, Happy Fourth...and hang on to your appendix.

A Blog for Republican Tim Simms
Ah, it's a holiday and that means...the wife has me staining the deck. Yuck. It's still better than last Memorial Day when she had me painting the entire interior of over half the house...

Today's Rockford Register Star, the local rag (of which I do appreciate and like and I dig the new printing press) boasted a cover story about blogs in the stateline area. My favorite quote in the May 28th article, as spoken by Scott Richert, was: A lot of what appears in the blogosphere is infantile..." Hey, has he been reading my blog again? I'm about as infantile as it gets in the blog world. Thanks, Mr. Richert, I'm glad you're a fan! My second favorite quote, as spoken by Tim Simms (Winnebago County Board Member), was: "What you get from blogs is worth exactly what you pay for it--nothing." Crabby, crabby. Tim, where's your sense of humor? Do you really want to read only about politics and such? What about poop? If I won't write about it, who will?

The article, as you can see, inspired me to write a politically-focused blog. I choose to dedicate it to Mr. Simms, for no other reason that I can then say it was exactly worth nothing to write about him. (I bet Trent Lott wouldn't be saying anything like that, timmy-poo. Look what kind of trouble those blogs out there got him into. Can you say unemployed?)

To my usual readers, I apologize for the political babbling I will now subject you to. I'll get back to being infantile as soon as I'm done frothing at the mouth.

The United Way in our town no longer has an agenda other than Michael Call's agenda. Why give money to service providers like Family Counseling Services or Center of Hope when you can fund your own right-wing agenda? I beg you: DO NOT GIVE YOUR MONEY DIRECTLY TO THE UNITED WAY! GIVE IT DIRECTLY TO THE AGENCY YOU WANT TO SUPPORT!!! Here in town, your UW money will go to religious organizations and things that support the "traditional family." Poo on you non-traditional families--you should have stayed married and had a plethora of children and gone to church more often. Begging, I'm begging: give directly to agencies. Rockford Sexual Assault, Family Counseling Center, CONTACT....they all will gladly take your money and won't have some secret Michael Call agenda attached to it. They'll use the funds to provide needed services. (Wow. This is sounding very political, don't you think, Mr. Simms?)

Our community doesn't have a 708 fund. For you not in the know, that's county funds for serving people like the mentally ill. We should be embarrassed to be the only two counties in the ENTIRE state not to have a 708 Board. Shame! Shame! No, instead, we have a mayor who wants to make sure all the mentally ill are shipped out of the downtown area. What kind of moron has that kind of thinking? Hizzonor wants the downtown to be upscale for upscale people like him--we can't have any mentally ill or homeless people messing up his nights on the town. Thank god for people like Dave Syverson, who is a champion for the mentally ill. He's a Republican that I can love. (Larry IS cute, don't you think? I like his look, I like that he's an Independent but I can't say much more.....)

Don't even get me started on the Governor (sorry, Allan). I go to work every day not knowing if I have a job or not because the Governor is busy not paying Medicaid bills and placing caps on those much needed services for the mentally ill. Hey, do you know any doctors that have funding caps? I didn't think so. Do you know of any hospital with Medicaid Caps? No, I didn't think so. Why does the mentally ill provider have caps? Is that even legal? Do you really want the chronically mentally ill living on the Governor Mansion property? Where do you think they are going to go if you keep cutting all the funds? Maybe you and the Mayor can get together and ship them to Wisconsin or something....

I will not say one word about the President. Not one word.....ggggggrrrrrrrooooowwwwwwlllllll! (Is that one word?)

Don't get me started on how I haven't gotten a raise in years because our agency can't even pay our bills due to the funding woes. It sucks to watch all the politicians give themselves big fat raise after raise when we don't even get one lousy percent. No wonder I have to do blogs--they're FREE.
(A question for RRS editorial readers: Does Bob Ham have a blog? He should. He could spew all his angry yipping there--for FREE--every day instead of once a month! I love that guy. I know he hates me and my bleeding-heart-liberal- not appreciative-of-soldiers'-sacrifices-for-freedom beliefs..)

There. I have now written my political blog for Tim Simms and the rest of the Illinois Political world. I'd much rather write about poop and the dogs and eating brocolli and having to stain the deck and enjoying a frappacino for breakfast. I'm sure I'll have yet another politic-inspried moment or two, but until then, bring on the poop!

Of Car Keys and Dog Puke

The dogs and I are in the doghouse. 

Again.

Technically I'm in more trouble than they are, but we're all treading lightly at this moment. (Freckles has done nothing wrong but she is associated with me and sister Lucy, so she gets dragged into our messes.)

The problem started when the wife and I were off to visit her family in Cheeseland today. I had the wife's car keys in one hand and my car keys in the other. I was going to hand her the set for her car but got distracted, sat down, shoved the key in the ignition, and....

....you know where this is going, right?  

....I shoved the Saturn key into the Mazda ignition. 

Let me be the first to tell you--a Mazda ignition does NOT let go of Saturn keys. It is in there and it is in there to stay. Two words: Death grip.

Now, if this had been the first time I had ever done this, I might have gotten a bit of sympathy. 

If it had been only the second time I had done this, I would have gotten the silent treatment but of a very short duration. 

I am humiliated to tell you this is the fourth time I have done this. 

FOURTH.TIME.

I pounded my hands angrily and repeatedly on the steering wheel. This, of course, does not help the key come out. No, it is in there, as if there is cement in the ignition. Super-Glued in place. We don't have time for this and I am horrified that I am going to have to call a locksmith.

Again.

The first two times I had both car keys on the same ring, so that was a little more understandable. I blocked out what happened the third time. I have no excuse this time except that Mars is in Retrograde and that must account for something. Or, maybe Saturn is in retrograde. It is a Saturn key, after all.

We take the Saturn to travel to Land of Cheese--using the spare Saturn key--and leave the Mazda-wrong-keyed-car to sit in silence. Despite not being able to do anything about the problem, I fret about this the entire trip. I fret so much that I ask the wife to leave early. I started to perserverate on ways to get the key out. My thoughts become slightly hysterical. I am just SURE Home Depot will have some fun kind of tool that will let me get that damn key out. We left the family party early.

I sink lower on the shit list. It is a SILENT trip home. Not a word, not the radio, nothing.

Home Depot doesn't have anything of the sort; in fact, the man looked kind of horrified when I asked. I'm not sure if his horror is that the key is stuck in the ignition or that I'm asking for a lock-picking-kind of tool kit. He suggested WD-40. Maybe he thought I was going to break into someone's house with this lock-picking tool kit. Maybe he was afraid of me because I did look a little frenzied. Okay, I looked a lot frenzied.

So, we get home and I greet the dogs and....I noticed Lucy smells like puke. That's not unusual in itself, as she does tend to vomit more often that I would suspect a dog would do so....it's just really bad timing if that is puke that I smell. I sniff her and know--she has puked while we were gone. I look down the stairs--she tends to puke on the new rug (why puke on the old rug when there is a new one?)--and there, almost glowing, are two large red stains of old puke. Red from the luscious treats she has eaten. Red, crusty puke that has had time to set into the new carpeting. 

I start shoveling Girl Scout cookies into my mouth. We are all is so much trouble. More cookies. More sweating. The wife is on a meltdown. A silent meltdown, but one nonetheless.

While she is cleaning puke, I am on line trying to find out how to get the Saturn key out of the Mazda ignition without having to call a locksmith. They have EVERYTHING on the Internet, don't they? I google like there is no tomorrow. Most of the sites I read are of no help--basically, they indicate that I'm screwed. I visit a few locksmith sites and recognize some of the tools the last three locksmiths used....but, I do not have access to such tools.

It will be a long, cold, silent night. The dogs and I will huddle together for safety and warmth.

It was time for drastic measures. 

I went to the basement, dug through every tool, every piece of metal, every piece of art stuff I owned. I grabbed the tool kit (thanks to my sister we actually have a tool kit), a tool from my ceramics class in 1983 (I'm not kidding) and a piece of a picture framing thingy made of very, very thin metal. I marched out to the garage, took the pliers and tried to pull the piss out of the key.

It didn't budge. 

I shoved the little piece of metal frame thingy into the ignition and made a bit of headway but still the key didn't budge. (It's kind of like pulling that sword out of the rock story.)

I say a quick prayer to the Baby Jesus and take the tool from Ceramics class in hand. This is the final opportunity for glory. 1983 was a good year so I am feeling confident. I loved ceramics and this ceramics tool served me well over the years. I shove that puppy in there like there's no tomorrow, give a yank....

....both the key and the tool come flying out! 

I weep in glory and proudly hold the key above my head as if I have just won the Nobel Peace Prize, a gold in the Olympics, the Disco Ball trophy for Dancing with the Stars. I run quickly up the stairs and dangle the keys in the wife's face. I am saved!

Thankfully, the wife does not slap the keys out of the way. I get a scowl and a nod of acknowledgement. Good enough for me. 


As for Lucy, I gave her a bath so she no longer stank of dog puke. I am forgiven. Life is good. Mars is out of Uranus and my anus, retrograde be damned.



For the record: once Lucy's bath was done, I marked my Mazda key with bright silver paint. Lots of silver paint. 

A fifth time is not an option. I can't keep Lucy from puking but I can try and keep myself from doing stupid things.....

Well, THIS particular stupid thing.  For other things, all bets are off. Girl Scout cookies for everyone.