Forwards, O How I Hate Them

Okay, not all of them. Some are cute, harmless, amusing, etc. But sadly, my Dad likes to send me whole batches of them every so often, and while some of them are kind of funny and I don't mind those, it's the ones like this that I wish he'd quit sending. In particular it was this section that made me almost, but not quite, send Dad a tart little response asking him not to send me stuff like this anymore:

"Whether you like it or whether you don’t God was a part of building this great nation. To remove him is to take away the very foundation of what this country was all about.

I don’t care about your political correctness!

I don’t want to know your sexual preference!

I could care less about all of that. Stop making it the headline of the day!

That’s not America."

I didn't send him the tart little email, but only because I have to ask him not to come install some damn pyramid-scheme air filter system in my house, "just so you can write me a letter of testimony, you don't have to buy it." If I reject both his air filter and his emails, he'll get all sensitive and think I don't want to see him anymore. That's what he did when we requested he and his wife, whom I do not like but to whom I am perfectly civil, find somewhere else to stay the night we brought our daughter home from the hospital when she was born. We just felt that we would like to spend our first night home together as a family without visitors, plus we were totally overwhelmed and didn't need to have to take care of anyone but ourselves and our tiny new person. Naturally he interpreted this as, "You're mad at me for not being able to come see you the night the baby was born because I had a doctor's appointment that was evidently more important, even though I said I'd drop everything and rush to your bedside the minute you called," and attended a motorcycle rally the first weekend of her life after stopping by to visit for a whole twenty minutes because, "We paid for this rally a month ago and it wasn't cheap!"

Um, no, I don't have any childhood baggage about my Dad, why do you ask?

Okay, so first of all what bothers me about this kind of thing is the whole "this is a Christian nation," thing that I've come across here and there, generally in connection somehow with my Dad. I once attended a service at his church that happened to be right around July 4th, 2002, so it was the first Independence Day after 9/11 and also right around the time that they were arguing that whole Pledge of Allegiance thing about whether to include "under God" or not. You can imagine how they took that ball and ran with it, and so I was forced to listen to how this was a Christian nation founded by Christian men on Christian ideals blah blah blah and that taking God out of government and prayer out of the schools was directly responsible for Satanism, teen pregnancy, drug use -- oh, and homosexuality.

I was utterly mortified since, as some of you know, I am a drug-using, teenly-pregnant, devil-worshiping fag. Okay, not really, but I am a lesbian who has never really used drugs, didn't get pregnant as a teen or any other time until I had pay two grand for the privilege, and so far as I know have not practiced Satanism, unless it was inadvertant and then I suppose I could blame it on an allergic reaction to painkillers like all the celebrities do...

And, um, didn't the framers of the Constitution deliberately separate church and state so that people who didn't want someone else's belief system shoved down their throats by the government could live in peace? Wasn't that part of why they came here and stole this continent from the people who already lived here? I mean, I know it's a little late for us to pack up and leave it to the Native Americans, but can't we at least maintain the semblance of giving a shit about freedom from religious persecution? And hey, news flash: that includes Christianity!

I would also like to state specifically that my Christianity bears very, very little resemblance to whatever brand of "Christianity" that these people profess to practice.

And secondly, who's making an issue out of who else's sexual orientation? Not preference, you hate-peddling moron. Orientation. It's funny how if you're in the minority and you bring up a point you have an agenda, whereas if you're on the other side of the issue, you're just "morally right." Funny how that works. Really. Funny.

Okay, enough soap-boxing. I just woke up itching for a fight, evidently. Carry on.

One Down

One class completely finished, one to go. My mother (a finer woman never walked this earth) has offered to take young Princess Delia off my hands for an entire day, and even -- gasp! -- for the night on Saturday, leaving me to study my brains out without interruption. I plan to have the event catered... Although, we're not sure if we can bear to part with her for the night too. Plus she might yell a lot and you know, the 'rents aren't getting any younger, they need their beauty sleep. But, I think I'll send along the necessary accoutrement and see how it goes.

Then after a three week break or so, it's on to the next term! Anatomy and physiology, featuring real cadavers... or parts thereof. I'm not sure how I feel about this yet but seeing that I have little choice (i.e. none whatsoever) I guess I'll just figure it out as I go along. As I understand it, we don't dissect anything human, we just observe. Yeek. Still tough.

Watched "RV" tonight, with Robin Williams (I mean he was in it, he didn't stop by to watch it with us or anything). Although it was pure Hollywood hokum, it was fun and had us howling with laughter at times. Our threshhold is pretty low, given, but still. Good times.

Well, all this blogging is cutting into my WoW time in a big way. :)

Kute Kid Kwote of the Day (tm): Delia was goofing around and sort of hopping rearward and very excitedly paused to announce, "Look! Guys! I'm backing wards! I'm backing wards!"

Lately she's been saying, "I have to go!" But we're not sure where she thinks she has to go. Also, "My teeth is getting bigger and bigger." And, "I promise!"

She couldn't get any cuter. I hope we can all deal with it when the cuteness fades into surliness in the teen years. I miss her already...

Little Bender

Threw a little shower for my fine and decent friends Karen and John. Knowing them as I do, I figured that the usual hateful shower games would be especially loathed by one and all, so we had an impromptu Interpretive Lego Sculpture Juried Exhibition, with first and second place decided by popular vote. The topic was, "What do you think Karen and John's baby will look like." If the winning entrants are at all suggestive of the actual outcome, the baby will either need a good plastic surgeon or an exorcism. Ha ha! Just kidding, Karen and John. We all know your baby will exit the womb not only super cute, but quoting Monty Python lines and playing a musical instrument, and doing both better than I can at the age of 38.

The plan is to name the baby after Bender Bending Rodriguez, unless of course they want to dash an old woman's hopes and settle for something boring like Zorak or Postlethwaite or something average like that.

Step 1: cast ye your Legos as ye may, on the floor for everyone to fondle. Note the rather robustly pregnant Karen, center stage.

Step 2: assemble your masterpiece from the Limited Edition Floor Sweepings Collection (featuring obscure shapes and colors, and four frozen Han Solo slab pieces leftover from the Star Wars kits)

Step 3: photograph finished works in front of cake for posterity

Step 4: distribute prizes
Step 5: allow your two-year-old to disassemble said works while you are distracted on phone

.... Okay, that last step is probably optional, but at least it was after the guests had all gone home.

A good time was had by all, and with a minimum of wrapping of toilet paper around any part of anyone else's anatomy (to my knowledge).

Factoid

Our hall bathroom has a vent under the vanity that blows outward (not upward). When we run the a/c, the cold air blows straight onto the base of the toilet. As a result, trips to the restroom are extra refreshing on those hot summer days...

WoWeeeeee

OMFG World of Warcraft is huge. I may never surface...

I Feel the Earth... Move... Under my bed...

Woke up at 1:38am this morning with the bed shaking madly. Thought it was a dream, nobody else woke up -- checked the TV, nothing in the news, back to sleep. Then my Mom asked me on the phone later: So did you feel the earthquake last night?

My second one, the first was in San Diego when I was 15 or so, same general scenario. I was the only one who woke up that time too. Evidently I am a light sleeper. When we had the infamous Spring Break Quake I was out of town; if memory serves, I was in Los Angeles, the earthquake capitol of the world...

Got a quiz back today, 24 out of 25. Not too damn bad!

Today I went to gas up the car and as we pulled away from the station, Delia leaned forward in her seat, craned her little neck, and waved to the nice gas station saying, "Thanks for the gasolines!"

She is an utter delight.

She had to spend the evening with Pastor Dave since I needed child care in a hurry in order to get to school, and she very obligingly ate a huge dinner, played long and hard, and settled right into bed without any fuss at all. She's either suffering from an attachment disorder or just very, very secure. It almost pains me a little how much she doesn't seem to get bent out of shape when I have to leave her with people, but then she did have a hard time staying at the gym the first few times, until it became familiar to her. Thus far she's only spent 1:1 time with people she is pretty well acquainted with, from church mostly or relatives. So I should be pretty happy that she's okay with me being away, that she knows I'll come back.

Must run, much to do...

Summit to Surf

Okay, so thirty-four miles with a bike seat stuffed up your sizeable ass is still thirty-four miles, even if much of it is downhill.

Start: Mt. Hood Meadows, end: Hood River. Scenery: fabulous. Top speed: 37.4 mph. Approx. time spent on the bike: 3 hours. Time spent coasting: about one hour, near as I can figure. Coolest things: the mountain, all craggy and with glaciers here and there; pear orchards so heavily laden with fruit that the branches are propped up with 2x4's; cattails nearly as tall as I am; fancy-lycra-pants bicyclists changing their skinny, expensive flat tires while I zoomed on by on my crappy twelve-dollar commuter tires; lip-balm-cozy freebie from the Subaru tent: my Chapstick and I need never part!

Busy week, busy night, must run.

Stolen Meme

I got this off yellojkt. I may be sorry for it too someday, but what the hell.


GRUB-OLOGY
What is your salad dressing of choice?
Safeway Organic something or another. It's like an Asian thingy. It's fat free too.

What is your favorite fast food restaurant?
Hm. Taco Bell is where I go for the least guilt. Burgerville for the milkshakes...

What is your favorite sit down restaurant?
We go to this local Vietnamese/Thai place for salad rolls, pot stickers, pho (beef noodle soup), and other stuff. But the meal I come back to a lot is this one time we met up with a friend and went to a restaurant called Geno's, had like a shrimp scampi thing, good conversation, etc. It was the perfect night, kinda late, kinda cold out, felt cosy and intimate and warm in the restaurant.

On average, what size tip do you leave at a restaurant?
About 20 percent. We round up a bit generally; way, way up if the baby is along.

What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of?
The aforementioned salad rolls, with peanut sauce. I had some tonight.

Name three foods you detest above all others.
Cream cheese, sour cream, anything hot-pepper hot.

What is your favorite dish to order in a Chinese restaurant?
Garlic chicken, or garlic and black bean chicken if it's available.

What are your pizza toppings of choice?
We get pine & swine a lot, but given my druthers, I like sausage, mushrooms, and onions.

What do you like to put on your toast?
Butter and peanut butter, or butter and cinnamon sugar.

What is your favorite type of gum?
I like Bubblemint flavor, I don't remember which brand that is, I want to say Orbit.

TECH-OLOGY
Number of contacts in your cell phone?
Probably around 20.

Number of contacts in your email address book?
Same.

What is your wallpaper on your computer?
This is a new machine so it's some pinky orangey sunset thing that was in the sample photo folder. I like to change it a lot so once I have time to get photos onto this thing, it will vary alot. Frequently the baby figures pretty heavily.

What is your screensaver on your computer?
Five photos of the baby which I include one of now:

Are there naked pictures saved on your computer?
Probably one of the baby, on the other machine, but I doubt much of her personal regions are showing.

How many land line phones do you have in your house?
One VOIP, two cell phones.

How many televisions are in your house?
Two, one in the family room and one in the bedroom.

What kitchen appliance do you use the least?
The pasta maker. I guess it's more of a gadget.

What is the format of the radio station you listen to the most?
Kind of a pop-rock thingy, not too alternative, not too bubblegummy. That and NPR.

How many sex toys do you own that require batteries?
Yikes. I'm so not answering any sex questions.

BI-OLOGY
What do you consider to be your best physical attribute?
My forearms. They are reasonably shapely. My wrists are quite nice also.

Are you right handed or left handed?
Right handed, like all normal people. Ha ha!

Do you like your smile?
Better since I got my funky front tooth fixed (crown was too white and too big and stuck out when I smiled). But way too many chins.

Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Hm. I guess a chunk of my leg bone, I had a bone tumor. And my wisdom teeth.

Would you like to?
Nah.

Do you prefer to read when you go to the bathroom?
Well, now that all depends. Sometimes it is the first opportunity I've had all day for some unattended peace and quiet.

Which of your five senses do you think is keenest?
Eyesight, if corrected. I don't miss much.

When was the last time you had a cavity?
It's been a few years. I don't recall offhand.

What is the heaviest item you lift regularly?
The baby, age 26 months, around 28 pounds.

Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
Nope.

MISC-OLOGY
If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
Tough one. Maybe, just so I could prepare the baby for it, or prepare a videotape if she was too young to understand yet.

If you could change your first name, what would you change it to?
I've always been partial to Frodo. Ha ha, just kidding. The names that come to mind are all weird Celtic ones like Fiona.

How do you express your artistic side?
Calligraphy, beading, scrapbooking, blogging.

What color do you think you look best in?
Blue, or green. Depends on the shade.

How long do you think you could last in a medium security prison?
However long I had to. Hopefully never.

Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake?
Not that I recall, but once I did find myself chewing on something as I rode my bike when I was a kid. It turned out to be an earwig. Also, some of the meals served to us in youth/tourist hotels in Soviet Russia were sort of borderline non-food.

If we weren’t bound by society’s conventions, do you have a relative you would make a pass at?
No. Which is not to say that I have unattractive relatives, but eeeuw.

How often do you go to church?
Most Sundays.

Have you ever saved someone’s life?
Not that I know of.

Has someone ever saved yours?
Don’t think so. But now I have that Elton John song running through my head.

DARE-OLOGY
Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000?
I once ran through a crowd in my swimsuit at a triathlon, then had to walk back to the transition area when it turned out I was too late for the swim. So naked a half mile would be okay, if I could see the cash beforehand. And I got to wear sunblock.

Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
Hell yeah. Where do I sign up?

Would you have sex with a member of the same sex for $10,000?
If in this theoretical situation I was single, and they were attractive, then I might do it for free. But not for money. I am nobody's whore. Generally. And if I were, 10 grand would not be enough.

Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
With anaesthesia? Maybe the left one.

Would you never blog again for $50,000?
Probably.

Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000?
Tastefully a la Vanity Fair, yes. Hustler, no.

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000?
I'd need a lot of Tums, but maybe.

Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
Never. Only in self defense or defense of others. Let's hope in that case there would be a hefty reward.

Would you shave your head and get your entire body waxed for $5,000?
Show me the money. But I'd opt for laser hair removal in certain key areas, not to avoid pain but because then I would never have to shave again.

Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000?
Hell yes. I kind of wish someone would pay me 25k so I could be broken of this bad habit.

Remote blogging

Have purchased laptop, named it Retail Therapy, and it is happily interfacing with free wifi provided by Our Fair City. I am deeply, deeply happy about this. At last, I can realize my dream of sitting in Starbucks with my overpriced coffee drink, declining to interact with my fellow humans, wasting bandwith on frivolous blogging and surfing. So this is what it's all about...

What's really making me happy is that my Better Half is starting to feel better after a brief illness. That's all I can say about it here. But it is cause for jubilation.

The other cause for jubilation: short version, I took an exam today that I thought would be horrible, very difficult, etc., and I got 84 out of 90. Longer version: See, the quizzes were open book and fiendishly hard, and I was up super late frantically cramming, and I thought the exam would be similar to the quizzes and I bombed a quiz in my other class this week, and it was just all rolling into a Big Hairy Ball of Anxiety and Hopelessness. I found myself murmuring, "I am so fucked," as I studied and crammed and wandered the house tensely fingering random objects between bouts of wearing out my second highlighter on my textbook. True story. Then, I finally went to bed, spent a few minutes reading fluffy chick fiction, went to sleep, and woke up a bajillion times with my head spinning before finally getting up at 5:30am to review a bit more. I was actually shaking when I sat down to take the test. Of course, I drank two sodas after 8pm and didn't have any brekky, but I think most of it was nerves. I should probably have known that a closed book exam would be less horrific than an open book quiz, but I have this way of catastrophizing... The test was quite reasonable and at least one of the questions I knew the answer to but just didn't think it all the way through so I got it wrong.

In other news: Am participating in bike ride this weekend. Will post the least hideous photo, which means there is a good chance there will be no photo. Anyway it's that 34 mile downhill one, after which my butt will still be sore but I shouldn't be too bad off otherwise.

Life is a little bit less horrible today. Hallelujah.

When I was a kid I had this terrible stepfather and I generally take every opportunity to vilify him as completely as possible, but just now I remembered something he used to say that was funny: "Life is just a shit sandwich, and every day you take another bite." Part of what made this funny was that it was something we said when something non-catastrophic went bad, like if you dropped your ice cream into the dog water dish, not for things that were super bad (because then it would just be depressing), and the other thing was the cadence of it, said properly: Life is just a shit sandwich, and every day you take a-nother bite. It's hard to express in print but it had its own certain vitality.

No bite for me today.

Lurk, lurk, lurk

Zucchinis lurk. They lie in wait beneath their huge, ideal-for-concealment leaves. The leaves are scratchy which deters all but the most intrepid gardener. It's all part of the plan for Worldwide Zucchini Domination, in which we are all reduced to fertilizer components except the few they keep enslaved to run the hose and shovel the components around on their vast fields thick with zucchini plants. They will achieve this by growing so large that they smother us unexpectedly when we go to harvest them and they fall on us as we try to lever them into the wheelbarrow, after which they will lure our impressionable children outside by mimicking the ice-cream truck song. They will then wrap their tentacles around them and the enslavement begins. I am sure of this. It will take time but if they can just reach saturation density in the suburban garden vector, the plan will go forward and we can all stop worrying about the prime interest rate and prayer in the schools and all that crap that doesn't matter anyway. In a way, it will be a blissful relief to most of us.

Last night I found four more monsters hiding under a heretofore unexplored region of the zucchini sector of our garden. I managed to wrestle them into a bag and hand them off to a trained expert before they started recruiting vegetables growing in the adjacent rows (tomatoes and beets) to join them in their nefarious plans. They will be reduced to zucchini bread and other tasty delights before the end of today, so I am told.

End zucchini imperialism! Saute' a few in garlic butter today!

Zucchini Freakout!

I got five responses to my "Free Zucchini" craigslist ad within about five minutes of posting it! I quickly deleted the ad or there would have been more! Who knew?!

Yes, it's HOT ENOUGH FOR ME

It was 104 degrees here yesterday. Tarzan couldn't take this heat... It's cooling off little by little over the next few days. Which is good because despite the air conditioning, it's just annoyingly hot and humid out there.

I craigslisted some monster zucchinis from our garden this evening. Here is the photo, featuring car keys for scale. Not to worry, there are still plenty left for anyone who might like one; talk nice to me and I might even overnight them to you, I am that desperate to find homes for them. I went out there and prowled around this evening, after a few days of inattention to the garden other than watering, and lo and behold, lurking in the shadows beneath the giant, prickly leaves: two proud squash, fairly pulsating with vegetabley goodness. So I listed them in the hopes that some cheapskate out there is just dying to make zucchini bread or something. I tried feeding some to our new bunny the other day but he's smarter than you'd think and wouldn't touch it.

Speaking of whom, he's out of his cage and dorking around the room as we speak. At last, I post a photo: meet Exidor.

Wonder if I'll be able to catch him when it's time to put him back in his cage...

Human Garbage

Now normally I have a certain reverence for Life, and a fair amount of respect for the rights of others to have views that may differ vastly from my own, even if they are completely wrong, as they so often are.

Normally, I do.

This evening I was sitting quietly under a shady tree outside my classroom doing a little last minute studying... okay, I was talking on my cellphone. Nonetheless, I was minding my own business, just sitting there. Then some bonehead pulls up and parks in the lot adjacent to where I was sitting and sits in his car with the stereo blasting and all the windows down. I could hear the "music" blaring but was preoccupied with my phone call and so the lyrics didn't register until sadly it was too late. I finished my call and had packed up and was heading into the building when I realized that the current song lyric was repeating something derogatory about persons of the Jewish persuasion. Really, really derogatory.

So I consulted a posting about How to Contact Security and informed the helpfully earnest young woman on the phone what had just happened. She told me that I had to report it while it was in progress next time, but took the license plate and make/model of the guy's car from me anyway. Then she asked me, out of curiosity, what kind of things the songs were about since she had never heard any racist songs of that nature before, and when I told her "we'll wash ourselves with (n-word) blood" or something like that, she audibly gasped.

I saw the piece of human garbage departing from his car and later he walked past me, whistling, while I was outside my lab making yet another phone call. He fit the stereotype: short, muscular, cocky, almost-shaven head, though he was not dressed as a skinhead or anything like that. I wanted to bash his moronic, ignorant, bigoted face in, but of course being a peaceable sort and a bit wimpy, plus unversed in the finer points of pugilism, I refrained from doing so and merely hoped inwardly that one day he would get what he richly deserved by way of prosecution. Or persecution. I'm not picky. And if he gains understanding by getting his ass kicked, well, who am I to argue with the natural order of things.

That being said, guess I'll toddle off to bed. Righteous indignation is very tiring.

'Morning

Baby woke up at 2am whining thusly: "My Smacky... my Smacky... my Smacky... " Good mama that I am, I sprang into action and toured the house searching for Smacky, her beloved doll and charter member of the Complete Naked Baby Doll Collection(TM). Turns out that Smacky was still in the crib with her, she'd only thought that she had tossed her out with the other critters that she was lobbing over the side of the crib, you know, for fun, at two o'clock in the morning.

Then she woke for good at about 6:40am and thus commences the whining. She refused to nap yesterday and went to bed a little bit late so now she is sleep deprived just enough to be Whiny VonUbercomplainer. So I did what any red-blooded American parent would do, I fired up the Disney channel and left her to it. I'm a little sleep-deprived myself and it's this or turn into Ragey McThrowsthings.

Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we go to a movie. Not just any movie and not just at any theater. We are headed to the new Pirates extravaganza, which yes is mainstreamy and blockbustery but hey! It's full of pirates! Work with me here! And we are seeing it at the local Luxury Theater Experience, which I trust is worth the twenty bucks it will cost us to see this thing (tax included). We have engaged two highly trustworthy pals to stand watch over our precious possessions... oh, and the baby also.

This almost makes up for the scads of time I'm having to spend reading about microbiology and nutrition. I'm finding my internet class to be a real time-saver and love not having to slog around to campus, although I can see how a person might be tempted to put things off. I have anxiety dreams about missing deadlines, exams, etc at school so I'm trying to keep on top of things. I did already have a close call what with thinking the last microbiology quiz was on Thursday instead of Tuesday, but managed to pull a 23.5/25 score right outta my ass (so to speak), and that, ladies and germs, has made all the difference.

Okay, better run before my child's brain turns yet mushier.

More Microbial Fun Fun Fun!

Took my first science quiz last Thursday. I am proud to say I got 23.5 out of a possible 25. I would have gotten 24.5 but I forgot to go back and finish one question. Urgh!

Of course, there was another quiz today that I was completely unaware of until about 90 minutes beforehand, but even that one seemed okay. I mean, I don't think I blazed any new trails in microbiology or anything, but I'm pretty sure I passed. We get to dump one quiz score so that might well be the one.

Today we looked at our petri dishes from last week. We were ostensibly "streaking for isolation." Mine were so very isolated that they didn't actually exist... so I'll need a bit of practicing. We also prepared slides for Gram staining, which should be fun with all the cute little squirty bottles of exciting colored dyes etc. Sadly, we skipped a step resulting in the ruination of three of our four slides, but we can re-do them on Thursday.

I would like to note that today was our first inaugural successful lighting of the Bunsen burner with no help from the instructor. This is an important milestone in any lab class participant's career and should be celebrated. We pondered the method of celebration: speechifying, presentation of certificates, ribbons, etc., on through fanfares and brass bands, and settled on a modest yet exuberant parade. Volunteers are encouraged to gather near the lab entrance this Thursday just before 7pm.

In other news: cute baby anecdote alert! This evening before leaving for school I was folding a quick load of laundry. The baby spotted a pajama shirt that she hasn't worn yet (a new hand-me-down from her cousin) and decided it was her coat. "My coat! My coat!" she demanded, until I handed it to her. As she held it out, eyeballing it appreciatively, I asked her if that was her coat. "I fink so!" was her very excited reply.

We All Make Sacrifices for Freedom

In my case, it's my sweater.

We bought us up a pile of fireworks and went to light 'em this evening, with J's sister who lives across the street. Now, I'm from Oregon and as I said in last year's 4th of July post, Oregon fireworks just suck. I just can't even believe what is legal in Washington. It's unreal.

So for 28 bucks we got a pile of little odds and ends, your Ground Bloom Flowers, your Roman Candles, some Busy Bees, a few Strobes, a couple of those ones that shoot a zillion little rounds in the air -- plus a mortar with 6 rounds. J's sister spent a similar amount and got two of the mortars, with seven rounds apiece. You place the mortar in the supplied cardboard tube, light the long, long fuse, and wait. Ostensibly, a flaming ball shoots some 50+ feet in the air (by my admittedly crappy estimate) and then explodes into a shower of colored sparks, with or without crackles, whistling, what have you. These things only cost about six bucks a set, so each flaming ball sets you back only a dollar! This is why I love America. And China.

Okay, so it turns out that there's a right way to place the round in the mortar. And thus a wrong way. And J's sister S. and her husband had a little miscommunication about that, and a round was placed in the mortar upside down, and kaboom! The thing just blew all apart. The explosion happened as it would have in the air, but on the ground instead, and one of the long, flaming fingers of doom shot right at me and landed on my sweater. I could not get out of that lawn chair fast enough, but I managed to get it off me before it did more than leave a smallish mark on my favorite sweater. Hopefully most of the damage will wash out, but it's a casual sweater so I don't care all that much that it's got a bit of a blemish. It'll make for an interesting story anyway, i.e. "Did you know there's a little hole in your sweater?" "Funny you should mention that, it's an amusing story..." We all laughed about it for some time after, in that "Oh my God it could have been so much worse, but since nobody was hurt, wasn't that funny?!" way.

Later when our own pile was spent I tagged along with S. and son T. to the neighbor's. We live on a loop and there are a couple of families who really go all out with the pyrotechnics. This one set of neighbors pooled their funds to the tune of about 400 dollars and got many, many flaming shooting exploding crackling things. I only stayed 15 or 20 minutes but they set off probably a dozen rounds much larger than ours in that time.

This is one of those things where I'm kind of amazed at what we are allowed to do, along with pumping our own gas. Seriously, the potential for great bodily harm is so huge. My own step-nephew was injured with fireworks a number of years ago; of course, he was emptying a bunch of Whistling Petes of their gunpowder so as to make something highly illegal and destructive, so maybe he's not such a good example. (He was just engaging in some good old fashioned "let's blow shit up" teen behavior and not plotting anyone any harm, in case you're thinking he needs treatment or something. He suffers from a slightly underdeveloped Common Sense gland, maybe, but he's pretty normal otherwise.)

Office Beautification

I said I'd post photos for my own personal gratification, and here they are. Bear in mind that it's just a bit of paint and some organization, I'm not claiming to be some fancy-schmancy interior decorator or anything. I just get a real sense of satisfaction having this pleasant, functional space. In fact I find myself stepping in and gazing upon it in wonderment from time to time. Sadly, I have no "before" pictures, but imagine a) white walls, b) junk everywhere, c) poorly arranged furniture, and d) no real floor space to speak of.

That being said, here we go:


The desk and shelves area. The computer under the desk is the one we're junking.


The computer we actually use, on an antique round oak table. I want to find a different configuration, the printer is crammed behind one of the massive, elderly speakers and is awkward to get to. But for now it will do.


My better half installed a clever hook for my portfolios to hang from, in some dead space along the side of the desk. She's very handy and smart.


Everything is aggressively organized and labelled. I hate having to rummage around any more than absolutely necessary. These little chests were purchased unfinished from I-Inexpensive-K-European-E-Megalo-A-Mart. I finished 'em up and I ruv them very much. The glass knobs on the blue one are antique, from some built-ins in my Mom's old house. She put new knobs on them for some reason and I ended up with the old ones.

Anyway thanks for looking. :)

Microbes and You!

Started classes yesterday. Okay, one class. Microbiology. It's four-plus hours of nonstop microbial hijinks and mayhem! First we have lecture, which is presided over by a pasty, button-downed soft nerd-guy. He's really very likeable, but he has slender little wrists. He disguises his second chin with a well-trimmed beard, and wears plaid short-sleeved shirts and jeans. I'm fairly sure he can neither high-five nor catch a frisbee. But, as I said, he is likeable, in an authoritative way that borders on, but does not enter, smug-dom.

Then we move on to lab, also with Pasty Nerd-Guy, and we perform our elementary lab exercises and activities like the bunch of female nursing students that we mostly are, which is to say without the hardened scientific neutrality found in your more serious hard-core students. I am grossly generalizing here and use female only to accurately describe the scenario to the reader. If there is one. But we are indeed mostly female, mostly nursing students, mostly pretty earnest, and mostly not with lengthy backgrounds in the hard sciences, or aspirations thereto.

We got to muck around with petri dishes last night. I do not have strong feelings about petri dishes, they are just dishes with gelatinous media in them, but I find myself wanting to say Eeeeuw nonetheless. Maybe from all those movies with the tell-tale petri dish of Black Plague in the pivotal lab scene. At any rate, we got to culture room air, our fingers (unwashed and then washed), the lab tables (ditto), our lips, and our tongues (before and after swishing with an antiseptic mouthwash).

I turned to my lab partner, a droll woman probably a few years older than myself, saying that we could flip a coin to determine who had to lick the agar, but she volunteered to do it. "It'll be the most action I've seen in a while." I think she's my newest best friend. She really got into it, too, no feeble, virginal single-lick action. She attacked that dish like it was the last of the Thanksgiving gravy. I have a strong initial respect for her. I would've turned away and done it furtively, sparingly, and shame-facedly. I'm like that.

So now I'm a student. God help me.

In other news, today Delia did some new things.

First off she got all jazzed about putting on Swim Panties to go hit the pool, at about 8am. It's way too cold for that at 8am, plus we were going to the library, so I explained all that and she actually said, "Okay," and moved on to other pursuits without the screaming fit, distraction, or bribery that is normally required.

Then later I had to go to the doctor for this thing (more on that in a mo') and I explained to her that we were going to the doctor only for the doctor to look at Mama's foot, not to look at Delia. She consented to being taken along (not that she had any choice) and when we arrived there and she saw the exam room we were headed for, and started to get apprehensive, I explained it again and she settled down and was totally fine for the entire visit. She even took off her shirt and shoes, activities typically reserved for home or the library.

Then, as we waited to be seen, she drew random scribblings on the little kid-height chalkboard that they have in the exam room and accidentally drew an upside-down "V" shape. She very excitedly exclaimed that it was a mountain and drew another one! This is her first graphic representation of anything, albeit accidental in origin, though she has seen me draw many things for her. Then she made some lines on the board and declared that they were sticks. A very exciting day for Delia, overall.

Also yesterday morning when I asked her if she wanted some breakfast, she told me, "No. I'm riding a bicycle." I peeked around the corner and she was indeed sitting on her tricycle in the living room. And today we went to visit the ginormous macaw at the mall pet store, on our usual rounds after storytime, and she held various stuffed-animal dog toys up saying things like, "Wookit the hedgehog, Wocky."

She's so damn cute it's almost poisonous. I need supplemental insulin.

Oh, the foot thing. I have gotten this weird bump on top of my left foot, right where it's really bony toward the big toe side, a couple of times. Yesterday it was so painful it felt like I had dropped something heavy on it, but I hadn't. So I went in, and it turns out it's swelling around the tendon associated with moving your big toe up and down. I must have aggravated it in some way over the weekend or ??? Ice and generally being easy on it should take care of it. No big deal, but mystery solved.

Photogenic, after the screaming stops

Took the small one to the local kiddie photo place for some commemorative 2-year-old photos.

You would think we were trying to get her to eat bugs from the way she hollered and carried on, at first anyway. By the time we were done, you know, long after we had taken all the photos, she was playing and goofing off as if she did this kind of thing every day.

At any rate, the woman taking the pictures was worth her weight in gold. She got smiles outta my kid that we've never seen in the wild.

These images are in their raw form, so they haven't been cropped and centered and all that. You can see a stuffed toy on the far left of one of them, and the close-up was cropped to exclude her hand which looks almost like it has an extra finger and is all grippy and tense compared to her smiling little mug. You can see her little hair-fweeps above her ears, where she has grown these little foofy curly things that are much longer than the rest of her hair but we aren't ready to cut her hair yet so there they stay.

She's pretty cute, if I may say so myself.

Filthy Lucre

It was a free-for-all. Lordy. We had a gazillion people come from all over and buy our junk. It was very chaotic on Friday. Like, we made 380 bucks. And nothing we sold was priced for more than ten dollars, except our patio table which we had found be just too large for our patio and decided to off-load for twenty bucks. Most things were in the 50 cents to one dollar range. Saturday was quite mellow in comparison, we did maybe a hundred dollars total that day. I guess Friday is the big day now in garage sales.



Nephew Tommy set up a pop stand with icy cold sodas and juice drinks for 50 cents (or 30 cents for the juice ones) and made $21.00 on Friday alone. Most of it was sodas, so he sold around 42 of them. It was nuts. People would come, look around, buy some junk or not, and then invariably get a soda! The fact that it was around 90 degrees didn't hurt a bit.


The ugly part of the day (you knew there had to be one) came right at the end. We had closed up, stowed all the goodies in the garage, and eaten some take-and-bake pizza, which I must say hit the spot in a big way. Then I went out to load up the patio table to deliver to a very nice woman who wanted it but didn't have a vehicle big enough to haul it. All was going well until A Certain Someone stepped in to assist.

I had measured the table and the inside of our Family Truckster and figured that I stood a good chance of just lifting it up and tucking it neatly inside, without having to dislodge the baby's carseat which as we all know is a total pain in the ass to install. I failed, however, to clarify this with J. who felt that the table should be turned upside down so as to glide easily over the floor of the Truckster.

Did I then say, "Let's just try it this way, I did some measuring and I think it'll just fit right in, and I'd rather deal with it not sliding that easily than have to take out the baby's seat or tie the hatch down" ? Did I? No, I did not. I caved without a word. Then when it did not fit, I asked (asked!) if I should get some rope or something to tie the hatch shut. Nah, J. says, and grabs the third-row seatbelts, looping them around the table legs. Good enough! Drive on.

By now I am really getting mad and send J. inside. I am angry because there is no way I'm driving anywhere with a slippery glass-topped table unsecured and ready to shoot out onto the road at any moment.

Then I discover that the seatbelts have ratcheted down on the table legs and won't loosen, and the only way to remove them from the table legs is to dismantle the table.

Now I'm really pissed, because I only figured that out after going and furiously yanking the carseat out, which turned out to have no actual effect on the situation.

J. has complained by this point that it's not fair because J. does not get pissy at me if I (bleep) something up. I am not yet ready to concede at this point in the skirmish so I just get more surly.

I get tools, remove the legs, shove the whole mess into the Truckster and drive fiercely to the woman's house.

It's an elderly single-wide trailer in one of those parks where the trailers are crammed in like cordwood. She lives there with her husband and three kids.

I am such an asshole. I live in a nice 'burb house and drive an SUV. I speak fluent English and if people treat me badly, it's not because of my ethnic heritage.* My kid has a college fund and with luck won't be forced to work as a mall custodian or gas station attendant or landscaper.

So, I unloaded the table, re-attached the two legs, and drove home. As I drove, I called J.'s sister, who witnessed some of my fury, and apologized for losing my temper. Then when I got home I apologized to my wife who was only trying to help.

Why did I do that to myself? Why didn't I just speak up? Well, because when you're a 10-year-old girl and your stepfather Fathead ridicules you constantly and treats you like you don't know anything and can't do anything right because you're a 10-year-old girl, you learn not to speak up. Plus, if you speak up or object in any way but the exactly perfect way, you'll make him mad and then you'll get in trouble.

Years later I was in a therapy group and there was a guy there who looked exactly like my stepfather. I could hardly speak with him in the same room at first.

So, dear reader(s), I hope that you treat your kids as though they are human beings even during the trying pre-teen/teen years when you really just want to lock them in the basement until they are more palatable. Or else they might end up like me.

*Although I was teased mercilessly as a child for having red hair: who's crying now, kids? Half of my tormentors probably went on to dye their hair red later in life.

P.S., I should clarify that my mother divorced this man when I was about 18 and didn't remarry until about three years ago, to the most fabulous stepfather a person could have. I didn't want anyone confusing Fathead with my current stepfather, Mr. Wonderful.

Garage Sale

Tomorrow is the big sale. I am so hoping that people flock to us from all around, extolling the vast superiority of our wares in comparison to those charlatans and ne'er-do-wells having sales in our immediate vicinity. As long as I'm at it, I should hope also that they will shower us in currency while washing our cars and mowing our lawn. As it is, reality probably dictates that we will sell some of our crap and the rest will be unceremoniously dumped at the nearest non-profit charitable organization.

I am trying to fob off some elderly computer games: Dark Age of Camelot, Baldur's Gate, that sort of thing. Please, somebody, buy this crap so I can hold my head up high... Otherwise I have to donate them to charity and hope that some hopelessly out-of-date computer nerd happens upon them. Though it does give me a warm fuzzy feeling to think that my cast-off pc games might bring joy to some geeky recluse. I also have some sports games for the pc like Tiger Woods Golfing something-or-other and Madden (football? Like I would know) and Superbike racing. So perhaps a hopelessly out-of-date sports nerd will benefit as well.

My Mom is coming all the way from where she lives, one hour away, to peddle her junk also. Her husband (Mr. Wonderful, and I really do mean that) won't let her have a sale at their house because a) there is a scarcity of parking, and b) he's afraid someone might be casing the joint while shopping for bargains. He does have a point, but we can't help but take this opportunity to mock him for his extreme hoarding tendencies. He has much stuff. He also will have a full-on woodworking and metalworking and machine shop once he's put it all together. He's really putting it together, too, it's not just wishful thinking at Home Depot or anything like that; he has very fine equipment, not stuff for the mass consumer. So, we josh him but he's probably better off being cautious. Plus, if his tools get ripped off who will fix things at Chez Swamp?

Back to the salt mines... I will be dreaming about Sharpie markers and little fluorescent price dots tonight... if I ever sleep...

Update: it's 1am and I'm still up. I stopped pricing things at around 10pm but then got sucked in to a tv show and then decided to clean the kitchen. What's wrong with me?!

Nudity

I should clarify that the rampant nudity in question involves the baby, to clear up her rash. Much as I might enjoy taking a few hits off the cough syrup bottle and frolicking through the back yard au naturel, alas, all they told me was to drink more liquids, get plenty of sleep, etc.

We let the little tyke go commando in the back yard this evening and she was quite cheeky about it, in every sense of the word. What's really funny is that to get her to put clothes on, which is normally a bit of a struggle, all you have to do is say, "Hey Delia, let's go put some paste on your rash." She then follows you to the couch repeating, "Paste on my wash!" (because her R's aren't fully on board yet) and Assumes The Position. "Let me try!" she says, while trying to stick her finger in the little bottle of Special Diaper Cream issued forth by our HMO.

Another new phrase is, "My turn! My turn!" Where does she get this? We rarely run around the house saying, "My turn, my turn."

In other news, spent the afternoon feeling pretty punky to the point that J. came come to find us on the couch taking in an episode of Spongebob. It was actually my favorite episode, in which SB and his pal Patrick take their neighbor Squidward out jellyfishing. I have seen maybe six episodes all told but this one I've seen three times and it just keeps getting funnier. Anyway am about to toddle off for my last dose of happy syrup for the day and hit the sheets.

We also got the first season of NCIS from Netflix (I cannot say enough good things about NF) and watched the first episode this evening after Little Miss Pasty Wash went to bed. I can't explain why I love this show as much as I do, but I just do. Mark Harmon: totally hunky. And I'm a lesbian. And he's old -- er -- old enough to be my much older brother. Can't explain it. Actually I think it's more to do with a fun ensemble cast than anything else. I just like Mark Harmon in general, but not so much in the biblical sense.

Okay, enough personal revelation. Off to sleep.

Happy syrup

Am not malingerer -- have been officially diagnosed with brochitis. Even got a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia so I wouldn't have to take antibiotics. Since I am allergic to all the good ones, they always give me the wussy kinds that you have to take four times a day for eternity, so a chance to avoid them is worth a few roentgens IMHO.

So, I am the proud new owner of a shiny albuterol inhaler and two lovely, marvelous bottles of cough syrup with codeine. With refills!

I should say that I can take a fair amount of codeine and still be amazingly functional. I am prone to sinus infections and more than once have been given this elixir of comfort and joy, and worked and went to class largely unaffected by it. I mean, it suppressed my cough and did not make me unfit for operation of heavy machinery etc. Of course I was working in a candy store, which, sadly, seldom involves use of forklifts, D-9 Cats, road graders, and the like, but still. I could make change and carry on conversations that were not too bizarre (from my end, anyway; the store was downtown and there are some weird folk there to be sure).

Once I was given Vicodin when I had pneumonia a few years back and took it with great trepidation, fearing it would make me all loose and vague and I might like it too much and become a crackhead or something. (Hey, I watch made-for-TV movies sometimes. Okay, I don't, but I did as an impressionable child.) I might as well have eaten a Tic-Tac. I'm a codeine girl, all the way.

Oh, and albuterol inhalers? Eeuw. I don't know how people can deal with it. Inhaling things that are not air is completely against my personal creed. Case in point: I don't smoke, never have. I took a puff off this inhaler and it grossed me out big time. Of course, some practice might help, as I think most of the medicine actually landed on my tongue. So I'll try again. But I don't like it.

Little Delia also went to the doctor with me. We all went. I wanted J. to meet the doctor since she needs one at our HMO. Poor Delia, she realized where we were and commenced to hollering and carrying on. She calmed down a bit and watched what happened to me with interest, in between pointing at things and speaking very seriously about them, in some other language as far as I could tell.

Then we parted company as I went off for my chest films and Delia had her own appointment to deal with that pesky rash. Oh, the humanity. We were in the same general area of the clinic and I had no trouble pinpointing their location when I was done. The piercing, wailing screams of despair led me right to her. She got some fancy paste for the affected area and all will be well after a day or two of rampant nudity and application of said paste.

I'm just down to the one lung

Made a doctor's appointment today, one for me and one for Delia actually. The one for me is because it's been a week and I'm still coughing up a lung and feel crappy. I plan to lie like mad when they ask if I've been resting and getting lots of clear liquids.

The appointment for Delia is for a funky little rash on her... uh... "parts." That's actually what she calls her personal regions: parts. Her bottom is called cheeks although if you ask her where her bottom is she points to the appropriate area.

In other news: house still somewhat torn up from the Great Colossally Mis-Timed Office Remodeling Project. Getting slowly better though. Which is good because this weekend is the garage sale and then the weekend after we are having a party to kick off my return to academia. So I have my list of stuff to do (a sampling: vacuum house, oil change in the Family Truckster, water indoor plants, hang outdoor plants -- could my life be more boring?) and what am I doing? Blogging, of course.

When the office is done I'll post a photo or two just for the benefit of closure, but you aren't required to look at it or make supportive comments unless the spirit moves you. I'm just happy to put an end to the dump-and-run era.

The Prodigal Daughter just brought me the dental floss which she calls sting and after being given a short length of it, playing with it, and abandoning it, has removed one sock and possibly her pajama pants and sprinted out of the office, presumably to harrass the cat and/or dog. I'm fairly certain this is good practice for some future endeavor but I'm not sure what. Exotic dancing? Animal husbandry?

Seals! We gotcher seals, right here!

Get 'em while they're hot!

We took the baby to the beach today. Last time she went was when she was just a few months old so naturally she doesn't remember much.

There's a little podunky aquarium with a bunch of seals in a tank at the local Spring Break Mecca beach town. They are rescued seals who can't be reintroduced to the wild for whatever reason so they live fat and happy doing self-taught tricks to get tourons like ourselves to fling them bits of chum. Actually we did not personally fling any chum as it was a buck a pop and enough other folk were doing it that we didn't need to. The seals are quite sleek, and very cheeky, so clearly they are getting sufficient amounts without us getting our hands all fishy and gross.

Anyway once she warmed up to the idea Delia was pretty excited by all the honking and flapping and splashing. We failed to get really good reaction photos but did get some pretty good shots of an actual baby seal nursing. Evidently rescued seals reproduce pretty handily since there were three little fuzzy young ones in there laying around looking adorable. I had to hold the camera up above the wire enclosure so compositionally it's not the best shot ever, but I am pretty pleased with it since it's not every day I can photograph seals nursing. The two seals on the right side of the picture are the nursing mother and pup.



We walked along the promenade with her a bit also, in search of the ubiquitous salt water taffy. She'd heard that John Cleese has had a hip replaced and can no longer perform Silly Walks, so she practiced a bit so as to be ready to take up the mantle when she is of age:



Sadly, we did not have the video camera along to capture the full effect, but suffice it to say that we have a worthy candidate here. You should see her run! It's a wonder she locomotors at all, with all the flapping and non-aerodynamic-ness going on. Obviously she gets this from my side. I think my family name translates from the original Swedish as "Those people who fall down a lot and throw like girls."

So, it's been a week and thanks to my dissolute lifestyle (staying up too late, failing to drink enough, or any, water, etc.) I am still sick. Better overall, but still coughing and congested. It's been such a long time since I had a chest cold that it's taken me quite by surprise. I haven't gone to the gym in a solid week, or more I think. I understand they frown on patrons coughing up actual lungs while using their fancy equipment, as the other patrons find this off-putting. Bunch of weenies. Coughing is a form of aerobic exercise, right?

Actual weekend accomplishment

I did get the office painted, completely, and even cleaned and put away all the painting supplies! For me this is a big deal as I am generally the world's biggest slacker when it comes to putting stuff away. But, I was delirious and half out of my mind with fever, so that probably accounts for the dreamy way the day passed. I would just pop in a dvd, something familiar and amusing, and two hours later the show would be over and I'd be done with another wall.

I painted two adjoining walls green and the other two walls blue. I'd go into excruciating detail as to which two walls are which color but lordy, do you really care? But this computer sits on a round table in a corner, and on one side of the monitor the wall is green, the other side blue, and it's all pretty groovy.

Maybe you're wondering about the fever. I thought I was having seasonal allergies but I'm happy to say it's just an especially slow-moving summer cold. I'd rather be sick for a few days than have allergies that drag on and on. I have very minor ones and they seem to be getting very slightly worse over the years, so the thought that I might be feeling that crappy for half the summer was really bringing me down.

So now the contents of the office, less the larger pieces of furniture (two tables, a cheap white laminate cabinet, and a cheap metal filing cabinet) which I worked around, are spread out all over the rest of the house. I will devote the next few days of my life to a) blowing my nose and coughing, b) keeping my child fed, clothed and out of mortal danger, and finally c) sifting through the piles and piles of junk everywhere and chucking as much of it as possible to the garage so that in two weeks we can put it out on tables in the driveway and hope that people will show up and pay us pennies on the dollar for what it cost us years ago when our judgment was evidently poorer. What remains will go back into the office, but I'm trying to keep it somewhat more minimal than previously. Which is to say, with fewer bits of crap stuffed into every nook and/or cranny.

I was so crafty. I got off work unexpectedly early Friday night and had time to drop by a store for some shelves to put on the wall, and brought them in stealthily and hid them so they could be a surprise. Sadly, I didn't have time to get them onto the wall before J. got home, plus I lack in confidence when it comes to driving screws into the studs. I tend to accidentally strip out the screw heads and get all mad. So, I fessed up and J. has agreed to assist me. I'm hoping we'll have time tomorrow.

I also removed the extremely ugly curtains that previously hung over the window. They kept the sun out, so they did their duty, but did they have to be so homely? The woman who owned this house before us spent a lot of time traveling for business and seemed to have come away from that with tastes distilled from 80's motel rooms. I wish I'd had the sense to take photos of the desecrations she installed on every window in the house -- all different, yet eerily similar, and desperately, desperately ugly. She is a nice woman but I'm really glad she's not an interior designer.

In other news, I'll be headed out to the college tomorrow to purchase my books. Let's hope there are some decent used copies. I was going to try to cut costs by searching for them on the internet but those that I found were either just as expensive plus I'd have to pay shipping, or else the seller didn't list which edition they were, or other frustrating issues like that. Screw it, I'll just hike down and pony up. At least I'll know I'm getting the right books.

Lastly, I must describe some amusing baby things. No photos of this as yet but I swear they will be forthcoming.

Delia got a "Dora the Explorer" book-with-music-player-thingy for her birthday. It looks like a teensy cd-walkman and it plays these 4 different teensy plastic pretend-cd's. It plays instrumental (think midi file) songs, several on each teensy cd. Delia likes to put it on the floor, crouch down to put in a cd, which she can do without help already, and push the button to play a song. Then she jumps up and dances in little circles around the book and player. It's a total hoot. When the song is over, she goes over and pushes the button again to make the next song play, and returns to dancing (i.e. jumping and flapping her arms in a seemingly random fashion). How can I keep from laughing my head off at her utter cuteness? Well, I can't. So I try to disguise it as enthusiasm, smiling and saying, Good dancing! But really I'm just dying at how adorable she is.

The other thing is, I've discovered the secret that all parents of toddlers figure out at some point: you can ask your kid stupid questions to get them to say or do things that will crack you up so bad you'll have to leave the room or else pee on the couch. I was reading some book or another to her this evening, a library book with a dog in it and at some point the dog was wagging his tail. I asked Delia where her tail was and she indicated the seat of her pants. Then I asked if she could wag her tail like the doggy in the book, and she jumped down off the couch, patted herself on the butt a couple of times, and started waggling all over the place. I like to split a seam trying not to fall off the sofa.

Also tonight she gathered up an armful of stuffed animals (she calls them "critters") and handed them to me one at a time, gravely intoning the genus/species of each: "Bear, grumpy troll, nummer bear, nummer grumpy troll."

How can you not just want to eat her completely up? This so totally makes up for the months of constant screaming.

Weekend plans

Okay, so I was going to have to go to a memorial service for my Great-Great-Uncle tomorrow, but now there isn't going to be one -- well, there will be a small one, and not the big family get-together afterward that they were going to have -- because another relative had a heart attack while driving, went over an embankment, and died. His wife was injured but I don't know how badly. And yet another relative, who is somewhat advanced in age and in delicate health, was hospitalized with breathing difficulties, probably from the stress of this whole ordeal.

I don't know these relatives very well, if at all, and while I am saddened and horrified by the recent turn of events, and would cheerfully attend any number of memorials and family get-togethers (okay, not cheerfully, but you know what I mean) if it would reverse these events and restore life and health to those involved, I can't help but be a bit glad in my deepest of black little hearts that I have been graciously given tomorrow off from motherhood and will be permitted to stay home and bask in my aloneness and freedom from responsibility...

So what, you ask, will I be doing on this precious, wonderful day off? My, but I am glad you asked, dear reader(s).

Because I am so very, very stupid, I am going to clean out the office and paint it and attempt to return it to order, in maybe 12 hours. Wish me luck, and while you are at it maybe put in a good word with the brain fairy to bring me some common sense.

Choich

Took Delia to church today. J. didn't go, she often does not for various physical reasons that we shouldn't probably go into.

Since it's summerish there are fewer people attending currently. The last few times we've gone Delia has been the only little kid there, so I haven't taken her to the nursery because she does better when there are other kids to stare at than if it's just her and the babysitter. So she sits with me in a back pew and plays with crayons, coloring books, and books that they have in a basket in the foyer for just this purpose.

Today at some point during the sermon she plowed through all the books I'd gotten for her out of the basket and then ran to the doors and started tugging on them. I asked her, in a stage whisper, what she was doing, and she told me very clearly (and loudly), "I want more books!" Everyone tittered. She's like their mascot.

This is an improvement over the last time I took her when she dropped something on the floor, probably a crayon, and said very loudly, "Aw, maaaaaaaan," over and over again. It didn't help that the people sitting next to me found this very amusing and were unsuccessful in hiding their laughter behind their programs. Delia doesn't miss a thing and continued saying it so they would keep laughing. I told them how I'd said it one time when I dropped or broke something or some other thing like that and that she'd picked it up and had been saying it ever since. I guess I could have said something worse...

Still, I am told that the congregation at large does not mind if she makes a little noise or wanders around the sanctuary while the service is taking place. I think that it had been a while since there had been an infant or toddler in the church regularly, and everyone seems to think she's cute. Well, I mean why would they not? So I'll let her wander free and speak her mind, up to a point. At least I'm not bringing my dog to church...

Okay, I'm going to be catty for a moment. There are two people at the church who bug me.

One of them is this "artistic" type who makes collages and banners and the like to hang in the church and then talks about them at length during the announcements or puts up an "artist's statement" as if it's a gallery.

First of all, and try not to hate me if you're a collage-lover, I think collage is kind of dippy. I think it's useful in a therapeutic way, or to keep people busy in art classes or whatever, but it's pretty lowbrow as far as actual art goes and, like so many things such as nose-picking or putting on pantyhose, is best done where no one can see you.

Secondly, this is not a gallery and it's not about you. So shut up.

Okay, the other one is this perpetually unemployed, overwhelmed single mother of a really annoying 11 year old girl. I feel for her, really I do, but do unemployed overwhelmed people really need to go out and obtain (through what means I do not know) a chihuahua puppy and a gazillion accessories such as collars, leashes, little outfits, and a handbag style carrier a la Paris Hilton? Furthermore, is it necessary to bring this poor little creature with you to church?

This differs from the woman who brought her Labrador occasionally in the past -- he was very much the beloved survivor, I mean, he was three-legged and super mellow and had beaten cancer once. Sadly he did not beat it the second time. But still, he had been a therapy dog and so forth, and everybody had gotten to know him at church camp and so on over the years. He wasn't just somebody's arm candy. Honestly, I'd feel stupid as hell carrying a little dog in a handbag around to the supermarket or the DMV or whatever.

Okay, your reward for listening to me bitch is a very recent (this morning) photo of Delia in this dress she got for her birthday. She is also sporting the little kerchief that came with it, which she will wear around the house when she is not wearing the dress but for some reason will not under any circumstances wear with the dress. It came off moments after this was taken and any attempt to put it back on her met with the toddler version of "Go to hell!"

She's also got a new sippy cup with a soft silicone straw that pops out and has a one-way valve in it so it does not leak. Friends, I am so glad to be living on this earth in the current age just because of this kind of thing. Better living through leakproof sippy cups... If they made one that didn't look like it was for a toddler I'd take it to the gym, it beats a sports bottle all to hell. (Maybe they do, I should look into this.)

Anyway, enjoy:

Joy

I read a few blogs regularly, one being Foma, and all this talk of science fiction conventions has got me thinking on something I read a while back.

I am struggling to remember something I read in C.S. Lewis's Surprised by Joy, akin to the idea that our propensity to create beautiful, fantastical fictional worlds amounts to proof of God's existence, that it illuminates our desire to be united with perfection. He recounts some experiences he had as a very small child that were the start of his life-long inquiry and eventual conversion to Christianity, describing that the quality these experiences had in common was "an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction." He calls this desire Joy.

I have to re-read Surprised by Joy, I can't find exactly where the connection is made in just skimming it, but I remember reading it one night in bed and having the aha! moment, that I understood what he was talking about. It's like trying to see something that you know exists but is just outside your field of vision. The knowing that it exists, that's what the longing is about.

This was the first thing I read on the subject that actually I connected with. The Bible itself is very confusing, full of contradiction and subject to various edits through the years that make it in my view less than an authoritative work, and the fact that it is very conveniently interpreted however best suits the interpreter, to further the interpreter's personal viewpoint and quash all others ( or so it is hoped) makes most of it fairly irrelevant to my belief system. For instance, Leviticus says a man shall not lie with another man (though it makes no mention of women, interestingly) but also says we should not eat shellfish or wear cloth made of two fibers blended together. Yet the anti-gay sentiment is broadcast far and wide by shrimp-eating nylon-blend-wearing bigots daily. We pick and we choose... and obviously when we don't agree on which parts to pick and which to ignore, there is strife.

Interesting stuff.

As Promised

Baby photo loot!

For your comparison: 1st birthday followed by 2nd birthday. My but hasn't she grown.

In fact, she is off the charts for height. :) She's over 3 feet tall at barely 2 years old.

She was an enthusiastic participant in the consumption of cake. Note the pink "Hello Kitty" towel set resting to one side of the highchair in the 2nd photo, courtesy of her very indulgent Grandma. :)

Isn't it about time I blogged?

All right, J.Po, here's your post. Happy?! :)

I have more photos but can't post them because I'm at work. It is my intent to load them tomorrow... Friday was the baby's 2nd birthday and cuteness rained down on us like, well, rain, owing to the presence of cousins ages nearly 6, 2.5 years, and 14 months. Plus of course Delia, who was very dedicated to the activity at hand, i.e. receiving homages to her delightfulness. There was cake, ice cream, gifts, cards, humor, pathos, we laughed, we cried, it became a part of us. More on that tomorrow, with photos. I promise. ... Er, unless I get too busy. We have a full day of library story time in the morning, followed by my personal trainer appt. at the insane time of 1pm (square in the middle of nappy time, why did I agree to this?!).

I got into my other class and the torture begins on June 28th. My mother has offered to pay for books soI am going to scour the internet for alternate sources than the college bookstore, which as we all know is a total racket. Maybe it's not so much at this small college as it was at MegaStateUniversity where I got my bachelor's lo these many years ago... and maybe by the time you pay postage it's not as great a thing, but I can try. Mom's pretty comfy these days but I don't want to waste anyone's money.

Hammy McHamerson

I am pretty much posting today just as an excuse to load a photo or two of the young one, simply for the reason that I like to look at her and thought you might also. Is she not splendid? Yes, yes she is. Enjoy.

Meaningless Drivel

So. It begins! (ominous fanfare) Should any of my faithless reader(s) take sick, it is advised that they do so outside of the Pacific Northwest.

Went to an Informational Meeting on Monday and was Informed that it would be necessary to submit admission paperwork the following day (which would be yesterday) in order to register Wednesday (which is today). Dutifully did as advised and then visited the advisor as also advised to receive advice. Have been admitted and advised. Sweet!

Then, having done everything I was told to do, also dutifully arose from my too-short post-work slumber (about three hours) to sit before this very machine and register at 4 o'clock in the morning, only to find that I was unable to log in. Gaaaah!

Okay, first of all, what kind of sadist sets the online registration to begin in the middle of the damn night when there are no operators standing by should you experience technical difficulties? I want names, people. I have some very tersely worded letters to write concerning this matter, and I mean terse, using words such as miffed, chagrined, inconvenienced, and even quite peeved.

I mean, I had gone to great pains. Great. Pains. I had written all my little numbers and codes on post-its so I could fill in the little online forms rapidly and with ease. I had left the machine running and even pre-lit the lamp so that I could see through my cobwebby sleep-deprived eyes. I had tested my wristwatch alarm to see if it still worked (it did not) so that if necessary I could use the clock radio and then painstakingly re-set it to J's wake time, to be sure to make this insane 4am registration time. I was so on top of my game, people! I was hypervigilant! Super efficient! I was like a normal person instead of myself!

Instead, I found that my login could not be completed because "(0014) critcal data missing -- contact Registration." So not only was I unable to login, the message telling me so contained a typo! Oh the humanity! I left several logy, unintelligible messages with various departments informing them of my dilemma and returned to bed, steaming mad and completely at the mercy of whatever featureless, heartless trolls might be manning the phones at the Admissions, Registration and Advising departments.

I am happy to say that despite my blackness of heart and utter lack of faith, all has ended fairly well. Every single one of those departments returned my calls well before their published hours of operation and I was registered for one of the classes and first on the waitlist of the other by 10am. So, the summer won't be wasted after all (you know, on things like having fun and relaxing) and with luck I'll have Nutrition and Microbiology behind me by the end of August.

My hat is off to you, small local college offering state-of-the-art nursing program facilities and personalized service the likes of which this jaded big state university alumna has never experienced before. And the parking is free!!!!

Put an X

Found this on some random blog. Rather than send it to my friends I thought I'd keep them as my friends and post it on my blog instead...

Put an X by the things you've done and send it to your friends.
( ) Smoked a Cigarette. (...er, not a tobacco one...)
( ) Crashed a friend's car.
( ) Stolen a car.
(x) Been loved, cuddled with, or treated like you belonged.
(x) Been in love.
( ) Shoplifted on a dare.
( ) Been fired.
( ) Been in a fist fight.
(x) Snuck out of your parents house. (My Dad's house, as an adult! Ask if you haven't heard this riveting tale...)
(x) Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back.
( ) Been Arrested.
( ) Gone on a blind date.
( ) Lied to a friend.
(x) Skipped school.
(x) Seen someone die or dying. (Words fail me.)
( ) Had a crush on one of your internet friends.
(x) Been to Europe.
(x) Been on a plane.
( ) Purposely set a part of yourself on fire. (!!! Why would you do this?!)
(x) Eaten Sushi. (but not the actual raw fish kind)
(x) Been skiing.
(x) Met someone in person from the internet. (Mostly just Craigslisters I sold stuff to.)
( ) Been moshing at a concert.
(x) Taken painkillers. (For a bona-fide injury, and they were prescribed to me.)
(x) Loved someone or missed someone.
(x) Laid on your back and watched the clouds.
(x) Made a snow angel.
( ) Had a tea party.
(x) Flown a kite.
(x) Built a Sand Castle.
(x) Gone puddle jumping.
( ) Played Dress up
(x) Jumped into a pile of leaves.
(x) Gone Sledding.
( ) Cheated while playing a game.
(x) Been lonely.
( ) Fallen asleep at work/school.
( ) Used A Fake ID.
(x) Watched the sun set.
(x) Felt an Earthquake
(x) Touched a snake.
(x) Slept beneath the stars.
(x) Been Tickled.
(x) Been Robbed. (Twice.)
(x) Been Misunderstood.
(x) Won a contest.
(x) Ran a red light
( )Been suspended from school. (I was made to sit in the hall once, however.)
(x)Been in a car.
(x)Had braces.
(x) Felt like an outcast.
(x) Liked the way you looked. (For about ten minutes, when I was 21 and weighed 135 lbs.)
(x) questioned your heart.
(x)Been obsessed with a lot of different things.
( ) Squished barefoot through the mud.
(x) Been lost in life. (God, when haven't I.)
(x) Been to the opposite side of the country.
(x) Swam in the ocean
(x) Felt like Dying. (But not like killing myself -- tough to pull off, so here I am.)
(x)Cried yourself to sleep.
( ) Played cops and robbers.
(x) Recently colored with crayons. (One of the many joys of having a toddler!)
(x) Done something you told yourself you wouldn't. (This mostly involves eating fatty things.)
( ) Made prank phone calls.
( ) Laughed until some kind of beverage came out your nose. [gross!]
(x) Caught a snowflake on your tongue.
( )Danced in the rain.
( ) Written a letter to Santa.
( ) Been kissed under the Mistletoe
(x) Watched the sun rise with someone you care about
(x) Blown bubbles.
( ) Made a bonfire on the beach.
( ) Crashed a party.
(x) Gone Rollerskating.
(x) Had a wish come true
(x) Worn Pearls. (High school prom, I still have the pearls in a drawer.)
( ) Jumped off a bridge.
( ) Ate Dog/Cat Food.
( ) believe(ed) in ghosts. (Though I did feel something once I couldn't explain.)
( ) Have more than 30 pairs of shoes.
( )Worn a really ugly outfit to school just to see what people would say. (Er, not on purpose...)
( ) Gone streaking.
() Gone doorbell ditching
( ) Played Chicken.
( ) Pushed into a pool/hot tub with all your clothes on.
(x) Been told you're hot by a complete stranger. (During those ten minutes when I was 21 etc.)
(x) Broken a bone. (Um, several.)
(x) Been easily Amused. (Pretty much every day.)
(x) Caught a fish then ate it.
( ) Caught a butterfly
(x) Laughed so hard you cried.
( ) Cried so hard you laughed.
( ) Cheated on a test.
( )Have a Britney Spears CD. (Thank God I can say no to this one.)
(x) Forgotten someone's name.
( ) French braided someone's hair.
( ) Gone skinny dipping.
( ) Been threatened to be kicked out of your house.
( ) Been kicked out of your house.
(x) Been hit by a car
( ) Told a complete stranger you loved them.
(x)Had a dream that you married someone. (Well, that John Cleese asked me to marry him in an elevator; close enough I think.) (PS I said yes!)
( )Glued your hand to something.
( ) Got your tongue stuck to a pole.
(x) Sat on a roof top.
(x) Sang at the top of your lungs (only where no one can hear me such as in the car)
(x) talked on the phone for at least 3 hours straight.
(x) Didn't take a shower for a week. (In my defense, I was backpacking.)
( ) Had a tree house.
( ) been too scared to watch a scary movie alone
(x) been in love that you couldnt stop thinkin about her/him
( ) used a friend
(x)Acted stupid (When don't I?)

So, it looks like since I haven't been fired, kicked out of my house, set myself on fire, etc etc, I must live a pretty dull life. However, I have:
Given birth
Gotten several tattoos, one of which is pretty large and hurt quite a lot, thank you very much
Been to Nome, Alaska
Driven the Al-Can (though that isn't the ordeal it once was)
Lived in Communist Russia, and ridden a ferris wheel in Gorky Park in the snow
Nearly completed a triathlon
Driven a school bus
Made bagels by hand for a living
Appeared in a swimsuit in front of actual triathletes
Ridden a motorcycle in a full set of custom-made Langlitz leathers
Given money to friends who needed it, with no intent of accepting it back
Taken money from friends when I needed it, with no way to thank them enough
Asked my Dad if his arms were just painted on, that he couldn't dial a phone to call me
Experienced total contentment -- it's fleeting, and elusive, and worth the struggle.

About time I posted...

For crying out loud, it's been two months or something.

What's new: joined a health club, going to coached swimming, about to embark on a healthier eating plan (no junk, fewer bad carbs, etc). We have high hopes.

Baby is talking a lot. Today she said, "I found a crayon." We were at church and she herself had dropped the crayon, but that does not detract from the magnificence of the full, complete, grammatically sound sentence that she uttered when she happened upon it moments later. Clearly she is a total genius.

Here she is a few weeks ago peeking through a fake tree stump at the Hands-On Children's Museum in Olympia, Washington. Let us all take a moment to adore her perfection.

... That being done, we can move on to other topics, as if there were any more worthy than my precious child's every move. Ha!

Okay, I'll lay off the adoring parent routine. But she really is quite a corker!

I'm going to nursing school. This fall I'll start with the pre-reqs, then once I have those out of the way I'll bully my way into the program (if necessary: I'll start softly and work my way up to hacking and slaying if need be; it is a competitive program but I'm smart and have a lot of experience working with medically and psychiatrically challenged individuals).

Best of all, I have been promised a laptop after my first term back at school! Drooooool...

What else is new? Hmm... we finally got The Trench filled in with dirt, and Joodles has begun planting vegetable seeds and starts. Now we have to actually bag up the dog poop instead of tossing it in The Trench. We must also find ways to deal with the chicken manure and the grass clippings... Feh. So much easier to be slovenly, but the end result, some few years from now, would have been a 50'x6'x2' planter full of dog poop, chicken manure, and grass clippings. And probably some sort of court proceeding.

I am a little squeamish about eating vegetables grown atop dog doo, but there is a good 18 inches of quality soil and compost covering it, and if we all contract bizarre diseases at least we will have had the satisfaction of having grown our own vegetables.

The chickens laid four eggs today. They slacked off for a while and we were only getting 1-2 per day but they seem to be happy with all the sun lately and have stepped up production. They all crowd around and squawk very satisfyingly when I bring them table scraps, and I feel better knowing our leftovers go to good use. I would urge anyone reading this blog to watch a chicken eat leftover spaghetti noodles someday. Your very soul will sing out with the delight of it.

I have been reading a fair amount recently, mostly fluff such as "The DaVinci Code" (try not to think ill of me, yellojkt) and mouldering historical chick fiction like the works of Gwen Bristow. Once it warms up a bit more I anticipate evenings spent lounging on the patio with a good book after the small one hits the crib.

Ah, the patio... I do so love it. It's going to be an excellent summer.

I didn't admit this until recently, but before Delia was born I had this fantasy that I would spend the occasional morning reading the paper on the porch with her snoozing next to me in a bassinet or some such. In my defense, I had witnessed other parents doing similar things and knew it to be a possible outcome. Imagine my shock and horror at finding that not only was it never going to happen, but that instead I would spend my days sitting on an exercise ball trying to watch dvd's while bouncing her vigorously in the hopes that she would eventually sleep.

Those days are over and good riddance, and now she is known to play in the yard for a half hour at a time while I putter or sit and read nearby. It's a good life. :)