Beautiful

Wow, is it a beautiful day! The boys are outside wreaking havoc in their bare feet; it's hard to believe that this was the scene outside my office two days ago:

That is the smoker's shelter outside the office, collapsed under three or four inches of wet snow. Boy, you have never seen such a crabby bunch of tokers, I'm not kidding. But that's all in the past, right? And all that nasty ridiculously late snow is gone. The sun is shining, the dandelions are blooming, and the grass is lush and tasty:

I think we can all see what's wrong with this video, don't you? I was shocked, I tell you, SHOCKED, to learn that Lloyd does not allow the boys to eat grass. I KNOW! What is he thinking? I put a lot of effort into encouraging them to be self-reliant; that really cuts down on the number of cheese quesadillas and peanut butter sandwiches I have to throw at them. Mostly my efforts consist of ignoring their ever more insistent requests for food until they give up and scrounge something for themselves. And really, they are excellent foragers. They know all the edible weeds in the yard and are pretty agile at snapping up bugs. The less food we need, the more cash available for wine! Besides, a little grass never hurt anyone, right?

He probably also doesn't let them jump out of trees, but I didn't want to ask. What I don't know doesn't hurt me, I always say! Not captured on video:

Weston (approximately 10 feet up the apple tree in his bare feet): Can I jump from here?

Me: I don't know, can you?

Weston: Tell me if it's safe!

Me: You'll have to decide for yourself. I don't know if I'd do it, myself, from that high up with no shoes on.

Weston: Will I die?

Me: No.

Weston: But is it safe?

Shane: It's safe! Do it!

Weston: No! (climbs down gingerly)

I think I might be taking this self-reliance thing a little too far, though. When I came out of the shower this morning, I discovered Shane, naked, plunging the toilet and Weston on the computer, shopping for turtles. They're starting to scare me a little, I don't mind saying. I'm pretty sure there's no going back now, though. All I can do is hang on for the ride. And stock up on wine. Okay, fine, I would do that anyway. WHATEVER.

Returned

Remember when my scarf disappeared? And I was super pissed off at the universe? I am not kidding, I looked EVERYWHERE for that thing. I looked especially hard in my closet, because I figured that was the most likely place for it to be, unless it was purloined to construct a robot kitty army or similar (also fairly likely). I looked on the shelves, under my purses, in all the corners. I even crawled around with a flashlight in case it slipped down behind the shoes or under my possibly-too-large collection of coats. So you can imagine my surprise this morning when I found it folded on a shelf IN MY CLOSET, almost in plain sight. I took a picture of it in case the universe decides to yank my chain again and I need to put up flyers. Notice how the back and front are different? I love that about it because I can dial down the orange if I want. I tried to take a picture of myself wearing it so you know what it looks like on. You know, so if it disappears again and you see someone wearing it you can kick some scarf-stealing ass. Unfortunately, I am not very good at taking pictures of myself, apparently, as I made approximately eight thousand attempts and ended up with not one publishable photo for my trouble. So you will just have to use your imagination when you are trying to decide whether you should attack someone to get my scarf back for me.

Anyway, you might surmise that the scarf was in my closet all along and I just didn't see it, but you would be dead wrong. The scarf was not in the closet. It disappeared and then it came back. I don't know why, and I don't especially care. My friend Sarah thinks I earned some karma points after the poker chips yesterday and the spaghetti mess this morning. See, I dropped a giant steaming plate of pasta and sauce as I was heating up leftovers for breakfast. It landed all over the microwave, the stove, the floor and me. The clean-up was pretty daunting; I was thinking of just moving out. To a clothing-free community. So maybe she's right, because that WAS pretty bad and definitely deserving of some redistribution of spiritual wealth.

The scarf is back, and that's good, but I like to plan ahead a little. Just a little, mind you, mostly I'm a flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. At least until my pants rip and I crash and burn in a bloody heap, but that almost never happens. Right now, though, I'm thinking I should stock up on scarves so I always have a couple of spares for the next time the universe gets all smart with me. This one came from Qatar, so if you know someone at The Deid that wants to go can tolerate scarf shopping for me, let me know!

And on an unrelated note, I have a minor correction and also a comment about yesterday's post. I have been informed that what I described as a hole to China in the lawn is actually a hole to Africa. Presumably it makes a sharp turn down there somewhere, perhaps around the Mohorovicic Discontinuity. And finally, I feel I was unfairly accused of whining in the comments, when in fact I was not whining at all, but merely stating facts.

That's all, my friends; catch you next week! If you have time, check out Doraville for some new entries from my mother's book. My beloved Helen has been working like crazy posting them; isn't she the best?!?!?!!? Of course, if you know Helen, you already know that. But a reminder doesn't hurt- love you, Helen!

St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I just looked it up; I had absolutely no idea that it was a Christian holiday, though I suppose the St. part might have been kind of a giveaway. At least St. Patrick doesn't sound like too much of an asshole, unlike some of those other jerks. In any case, I'm a fan of any saint that properly appreciates beer and drunken nakedness. I've never understood why we need a special day for that; usually I just call it 'Thursday'.

We are having a pretty standard weekend here, bizarre holiday or no. The boys are out cutting up sticks in the back yard after having collected a plastic container full of innocent unsuspecting spiders, constructed some sort of robot out of a flashlight, broken toys, nails and fishing line, and dug a hole to China in the lawn. There is also a small pile of charred debris on the back porch; I'm not even going to ASK about that, as I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. Additionally, I am deeply regretting the day in December when I optimistically purchased a thrift store set of approximately nine billion poker chips in a spinning holder for a Christmas present for them. I was thinking of how nicely it would supplement their math education, of course.

I'm sure you know where this is going. Those cursed plastic tokens are all over the house, and Shane will be asking for Jack and Coke and plotting a road trip to Vegas any day now. On the other hand, Weston's most recent math lesson consisted of some algebra problems that are probably not addressed in most first grade curricula. Most likely the poker chips were instrumental, and now he can develop some brilliant casino scam for Shane to execute. Then I'm taking my cut right off the top and going to the spa. With wine. At least that's what I tell myself every time I get another one of those damn things jammed into my foot.

Hmmmm, what else? Oh, yes. There is a woolly bear caterpillar loose in the house. Apparently, it was released from the container it lives in for a little exercise, and Shane was supposed to be 'babysitting' it to keep it from getting lost but fell down on the job. Also, there are traps set around the living room. The traps consist of balls wrapped in blankets. See, you step on the blanket, not realizing there is a ball in there and you slip and fall. It's surprisingly effective. Geez, forget the spa and just bring on the wine, baby! And make it snappy, because now Shane is planning to acquire four baby cheetahs. He's a resourceful little thing, too, I wouldn't rule it out.

Have a good weekend, my friends! I was planning to lounge on the couch with wine but now I'm scared of accidentally falling asleep and getting cheetah-mauled. I'm definitely in the market for a good plan B. I can't cross the living room so I might be stuck here at the computer. I'll see you on Facebook as soon as I finish my wine delivery order.

Wrap-up

So! I didn't write all week, sorry! I have been working extra super duper hard lately and it takes some getting used to. I can barely lift up my wine glass and text all my friends at the end of the day, seriously. Last night I got the most awesome series of wrong number texts ever:

1. please control your girlfriend

2. (attached recording of loud drunk obnoxious woman)

3. IM SO SORRY

4. This is the wrong number!

I was so worn out I didn't even write back, can you believe that? Because that would be some high quality entertainment right there. The possibilities were endless and it was almost physically painful to have to let the opportunity pass me by.

I have high hopes for next week, though. In fact, I'm planning to get my skates out of the trunk of my car for the first time since I fell down on the path outside my office at lunch time and had to hide my arm from the safety nerds for fear they would make me fill out a form. I'm working in a different office for a while and there isn't a good place to throw rocks, so I figure vigorous skating might suffice for getting out some of my aggression. Or knocking me unconscious. Either one works for me.

Let's see, what else? Oh, my sister Jennifer has a piece in a new show that opens on March 23rd. You can read about it and see her piece on her blog. And, my friend Leah has a new post on her guest blog at girlfriendology.com. It ends with a quote from me so check it out! I feel very clever and famous, thanks, Leah!

On the book front, I am reading 'Why my Third Husband Will be a Dog' by Lisa Scottoline. I think I picked it up at Goodwill because it has the best title ever and I am not disappointed with it. It's a collection of mostly funny essays; definitely recommended. I also recently read 'Think' by Lisa Bloom; I might have written about it before. I liked almost the whole thing except for one chapter where I thought she was totally out to lunch. Too bad I can't remember what the issue was. Anyway, good book, give it a read if you get a chance.

That's the weekly report; I'll try to be a little more prolific in the future. Have a good weekend, y'all!

SCARFU

I am pretty sure I have had a tragic SNAFU with my favorite scarf, making, naturally, a SCARFU. I'm not totally positive because I haven't finished tossing the boys' room but it appears that I might have accidentally given the best scarf ever to the Goodwill. Somewhat surprisingly, this has never happened to me before, at least as far as I can recall. Perhaps the universe has decided it's time for the scarf to have a new home, and I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm picky about scarves, so it can't be easily replaced, but I've often heard that the universe knows what it's doing even if it doesn't meet with my approval. I don't believe this, of course, but the fact remains that my scarf is gone and I can either stomp my feet and cry, or go Goodwilling for a new one. I guess we all know the right answer to that one. And if YOU are out thrifting and it looks like the universe has decided that a super soft black, brown and orange leaf/paisley patterned pashmina needs to go home with you, you can just bring it right back to me, got it? Because I'm not done with it, and I don't give a rat's ass what the universe says.

Moving on, because more scarf talk is just going to vex me, I got a couple of interesting comments on my post about the first aid kit/dangerous unicorn of the other day that I would like to address. First, I was forced to choose a fierce animal persona at work, not at home. Apparently that wasn't quite clear, but if it had happened at home it wouldn't even have merited a mention. Sadly, I can't post the majority of the conversation, though I would dearly love to. It was highly amusing and enlightening but has high potential for getting me outed.

And, secondly, someone who shall remain nameless thinks I should have just shut up about the first aid kit because.... oh, never mind, I'm not going to try to paraphrase. Here is the direct quote: "if you can make such a commotion about one band-aid--how busy are you really?? Either that or you have totally gone over the edge with too much work/stress in your life. Or, maybe that is just how things work there and you are certain you weren't aggravating the situation. I am just saying...... Maybe this is a time when you should have used the mantra "...don't sweat the small stuff..."" Well, nameless commenter, as it happens, it really wasn't about one band-aid, but more about preventing a multitude of toe stabbings. Although, perhaps, there might be the tiniest kernel of truth in the part where I should just shut my gob at work. But then I wouldn't have so much to post about, now would I?

Remember when I got my tiara? I do, that was such an awesome day. So awesome that I bought myself a magic wand to go with it. Well, gotta go, I'm going to go see if I can whomp myself up a new scarf.

***updated to add: I have finished my search of the boys' room. No scarf, but I did find a life-sized glow-in-the-dark skeleton, three apple cores, a pair of pliers and fourteen stuffed cats.

Caution: DANGEROUS UNICORN

Holy roadkill, people. You would not believe the day at work I just had. I feel like I got run over by a steamroller and then scraped up with a pitchfork, tossed into an incinerator and dumped at a landfill by the Pentagon. It started out okay, until I had a little accident and my finger started bleeding. That's all. Just a tiny little cut that started an avalanche of crazy.

I have this problem with the bandages at my office. The truth is, I'm kind of a menace and I frequently need minor medical attention, so I'm a connoisseur of adhesive bandages. We have first aid kits on the wall in multiple locations but I'm sorry to report that the bandages are often missing and always substandard. And I must point out that I am well-versed in opening the first aid kit, retrieving what I need, and then successfully latching it and walking away with minimal trauma. You can imagine my delight, then, when I spotted a brand new first aid kit affixed to the wall this morning. I unlatched it so fast your head would spin, eager to check out the new bandages, only to cry in dismay as the supplies tumbled down onto the floor. In fact, if I had been wearing open-toed shoes, I might have suffered an injury from the baby delivering/tracheotomy scissors. Naturally I never wear open-toed shoes, even though I have the most awesome sea green toenail polish on right now. I WOULD wear open-toed shoes, only I can barely keep from tripping over my own feet when I'm wearing sensible boots. NOT RELEVANT.

Because I am a kind-hearted person, my first inclination was to fix this problem so it wouldn't happen to anyone else. After I punched my whiteboard, I mean, and the guy that hung up a first aid kit that was meant to lay flat. I went to talk to him about how we needed to either put the thing somewhere else, or put a note on it so people knew not to open it while it was on the wall. Shockingly, he looked at me like I was the stupidest thing to ever walk the earth on two legs and said that I should have KNOWN that I needed to take it off the wall before I opened it. So I canvassed the office. Every single person that I asked, with one notable exception, agreed that I was right and he was grievously wrong. WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. If a first aid kit hangs on the wall, it is reasonable and logical to assume it can be opened ON THE WALL. So I told him to shut up and put the note on the first aid kit.

Then all hell broke loose. One of my pollees mentioned the dispute to the facilities manager, who hit the roof. The first aid kit is unapproved, unauthorized, unmapped, cannot be hung on the wall and was requisitioned improperly. Now the first aid kit guy hates me and I still can't get a damn bandage. And that was all before lunchtime. I don't even have the energy right now to write about the afternoon, when I was forced to choose a fierce animal to be. I went for a unicorn with a big stabby horn and then someone called me a My Little Pony. I wish I was making this up. Lucky for me my dream castle has wine AND margaritas on tap. Come on over if you want, but watch out for the horn. It's sharp and did I mention I'm a little dangerous? It could get bloody if I start swinging that thing around and bandages are hard to come by these days. I better put a sign up.