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!

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!

Fork!

So, how was YOUR day? I am getting mixed reports from all my friends. One reports that her teenager locked his keys in his running car for the second day in a row, her dog chewed up her phone, and her own car wouldn't start. Another friend, on the other hand, enjoyed a close-up view of a bunch of otters playing in the wild.

As for me, hmmmmmm......... my day at work had its usual ups and downs. Trust me, you don't want to hear about them. When I got home, I discovered that Weston can multiply two three digit numbers together and Shane can do front walkovers. Then I had to go to the dreaded swimming lessons, followed by a stop at the store for wine and various other necessities. Sadly, my shopping skills were severely degraded because I was doing what I like to call multi-tasking but what you might call gossiping or chitchatting. In fact, I was busily receiving the all-important daily reports about poodles and otters from my pals and as a result I neglected to bring home the most important bag: the one with the wine and breakfasting supplies for my two small children. One can't go without wine, now can one? Well, maybe another one can, but not this one. In any case, I had to trek back to the store, most definitely a forkable moment.

Oh, wait, I bet you don't know about the fork rating system yet. You will, though, because everyone definitely needs to read about it. It was invented by Leah, one of my most stunning, brilliant and funny friends from Korea. She is writing a new guest blog at girlfriendology.com, so please go check it out; you won't be sorry! Comments would be greatly appreciated, so let her know what you think. Maybe even share your own fork story! She also has some fantastic advice for when your friends are having those fork-worthy days. It might surprise you, or not, to know that she highly recommends chocolates and margaritas. You can adapt her system to your own needs, though. For example, say your friend goes shopping and accidentally leaves her wine at the store. I'm pretty sure you know how to help her. Want to come over?? Please? And don't forget the chocolates! Good night, my friends, I hope your day was great, wherever you are!

Cat Wigs

Oh, you guys. I swear, I NEVER know what I'm going to hear or see next around here. Last night the boys decided they needed wigs for Jake and Henry so they would look like girls. Or, 'goowuls', as Shane says. They wanted to know where one could buy such a thing, so I googled it for them, while telling them that there are probably not any cat wigs. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I realized there are totally cat wigs. Naturally, the boys wanted one right away, the pink one, and were quite dismayed when I informed them that there was no way we were going to spend sixty bucks on a wig for a cat. I mean, seriously, who would do that? Do you know how much wine I can buy with sixty smackeroos?

While they were pitching their fits, I posted the cat wigs on facebook, because what else would I do? As always, the best part of my facebook posts are the hilarious comments from my fantastic friends. Here are a few:

If any of my friends were going to discover cat wigs, I would bet it would be you.- S.

I'm totally buying one. My cat will look dashing in the Bashful Blonde.- S.

Oh and Thanks now my daughter wants a cat and a wig for it...Thank God the baby is allergic.- H.

Oh. My. Goodness. I have no words except "0h. My. Goodness. I have no words." -L.

How do you get a cat to keep a wig on??? -M.

And I'm the hard core one? -G.

After the boys recovered from the disappointment associated with my frugal approach to cat accessories, I told them they could MAKE cat wigs if they wanted, for a fraction of the price. We decided doll hair would make good wigs, but they didn't want to cut the hair on the dolls they already had, so obviously a thrift store trip was in order.

THEN, when I told my sister that I was taking the boys to Goodwill to buy dolls to cut their hair to make cat wigs with, she said, "You're going to make cat wigs out of doll hair? What a ridiculous idea. Why don't you just come over here? I have some cat wigs you can have." Every word of this is true. Can you believe I didn't even have a category for her until just now?

So, sure enough, I went over there and she gave me a bag of wigs. Two cat wigs and two little boy wigs. Let me just finish by saying there were mixed feelings about wig-wearing around here today. You may notice Jake is not in any wig pictures at all, and in fact is in hiding and hasn't been seen for several hours. Henry, however, cheerfully donned two different wigs and posed for a lengthy photo shoot. Enjoy!

Click or Climb 2012

Hey, guess what? It's time for the Lymphoma and Leukemia Society's Big Climb Seattle. This is their annual fundraiser where a bunch of crazy people climb the 69 flights of stairs of the Columbia Tower to benefit blood cancer research. I first wrote about it in 2009; you can read that here.

I have clicked instead of climbed every year since then, but I was actually considering doing the climb this year on my friend Brandy's team. Seriously, it's true! I have known Brandy since she was in middle school, which was at least ten years ago, and I swear she looks exactly the same now as she did then, probably because she does stuff like climb 69 flights of stairs on a regular basis. Unfortunately, though, I am going to be out of town, so once again the badgers can kiss my ass instead of chewing my thighs. This time. Next year, though, BRING IT ON, BADGERS!

As you probably know, my mother died of lymphoma. As a result, I appreciate Brandy's stair-climbing and fund raising efforts for blood cancer research even more than I would otherwise.

Please consider donating to Brandy's team by clicking here. Or, sign up here and climb yourself! Because if I NEVER hear of someone I know being diagnosed with lymphoma or leukemia again, it will be too soon.

And, oh yeah, on a non dead mother related note, if you missed yesterday's post called 'Questionable Content' about my brilliant plan for new vending machine selections at my office and want to see it, let me know and I will send it to you. I took it down because it was kind of, ummmmm, questionable.

Tired? Me?

It is 4:52 a.m. at my house. I have already taken a shower, fed the cats, messed around on Facebook and guzzled the better part of an entire pot of coffee. Why on earth would she do such a ridiculous thing, you might be asking yourself right now. What the hell is wrong with her? Doesn't she know how important it is to get an adequate amount of rest? WHY YES I DO, THANK YOU FOR ASKING, MY CURIOUS FRIENDS.

I didn't mean to get up in the very, very pre-dawn hours, of course. I went to bed at a reasonable time last night, after having watched Young Guns, which I like very much and which reminded me of my sweet friend Susannah because one day in 1988, while we should have been studying, we drank many beers and sat in the theater and watched it loop at least three times. I can't recall exactly what we liked best about it but I do know that Charlie Sheen was much more appealing when he kept his crazy under wraps.

Unfortunately my pleasant dreams of the old west were rudely interrupted by two children and two cats crawling under the covers, in rapid succession, one after the other. Plop, plop, plop, plop. After about the fourteenth knee to the kidneys, I got up and looked at the clock. It was 3:44 a.m. Yep. I figure I can function until about ten before I crash. At least it's staff meeting day; they prefer it when I'm docile.

And, of course, since the kids are still asleep in my bed, once again I am facing the getting dressed in the dark issue. I've learned a lot since the first day it happened, but I'm not sure I've ironed out all the kinks. Also, I had to shake a cat off the black sweater that was on top of my clothes pile, which is likely to cause me some dismay under the bright and unforgiving office lighting. I think I have a viable solution to that, too, though. I'm pretty sure the facility management guy at my office won't let me put the lights out in the bathroom and break the mirrors, so I am going to teach myself to pee with my eyes shut. Oooh, and one of those cat cone/collar things to prevent me from looking down!!!! They come in all different colors, I should get a bunch and wear one every day! Wow, getting up early doesn't dim my brilliant idea generation factory AT ALL. Good to know. I'm off to get dressed now, I know it's going to be a fantastic day!

2011

**** updated to add: there is a duck in my backyard. I am not even kidding. Does it not recognize the danger it's in, just traipsing around willy-nilly in suburban back yards? I thought wild animals were supposed to be wily. The jokes are just boiling over right now, dying to come out, but I have already promised Ina, as you can see below. Curses!

It's the very last day of 2011, can you believe it? I was just looking for last year's 'Goodbye, 2010, I Hate You with an Unending Passion' post so I could compare, but I guess I hated 2010 so much that I didn't write one. It seems unlike me, but I guess you never know what wacky thing I might do, or not do, next. Oh well, it's probably better; who needs to read a bunch of dreariness from the past when we can look to the future and talk about delicious squirrels or similar? For example, look at the picture of my backyard this morning! See all those beautiful, tender birds??? The bite-sized ones are best, I hear.

Naturally, though, I can't do a New Year's post without remembering the best New Year's Eve ever, when Janelle's washing machine caught fire and her cat saved their entire family. I didn't write the part about the cat before, but it's 100% true. Because she has multiple small children, her washing machine is always running, including in the middle of the night on New Year's Eve. They turned on the 6,583rd load of the day, shut the cats in the laundry room and went to bed. Pretty soon, they were awakened by Speedy's unholy yowling and frantic scratching. It could have been because he was choking to death on the belching black smoke but I prefer to think he was thinking only of his loving family. And that, C Mike, is why we don't eat cats.

Let's see, what else? I would keep going on the dog/squirrel/cat/bird eating theme, only Aunt Ina wrote me a note yesterday and told me I was very gross. I guess she's kind of squeamish. Also, she is one of those people that feeds the squirrels in her back yard. I'm not kidding, she has at least three feeders and she goes through sunflower seeds and peanuts like I go through wine. So Happy New Year, Ina! I will try to not gross you out for at least a month.

I hope you all have a fantastic New Year's Eve and a great start to 2012 tomorrow. I don't have any big plans to go out and drink too much and get in a ridiculous fight with friends or family members, because I can do that without leaving my house. It's much cheaper and more convenient that way, plus I don't have to wear spanx and lipstick. I'm practical that way. But tomorrow, I plan on making the most of the traditional New Year's Day thrift store shopping spree. All of a sudden, I have a compelling need for some very small saute pans. Happy New Year, y'all!

Chipmunk, My Ass

You know, I'm not a fan of resolutions. But the end of the year is coming and something happened at work last week that made me think that perhaps I need to step up my game. A couple of my friends/co-workers vexed me past my limit, and I vowed revenge, only to get a note that said this: "Eh, scary. About like being threatened by Snow White or a chipmunk." Obviously, this will not do. Seriously, a chipmunk?? A wolverine, fine. A bobcat, even. But a chipmunk or some nancygirl princess that waits around for some stupid prince to save her bacon? Definitely NOT. Oh, and yes, I know, that's a picture of a squirrel. I don't HAVE any chipmunk pictures. So sue me.

Now, usually I prefer to keep my world domination on the down low. I like to let people think that what they're doing is their own idea. The sweetest victory is the one where the enemy doesn't even know he's been vanquished, right? I can't remember who said that but whoever it was is brilliant and probably not some asshole like Aristotle.

So I can see why someone might think that way about me. I have a pretty perky facade and I pretend to have a sunny personality all the time. That's how you manipulate people into doing your bidding without them even knowing it. But a CHIPMUNK? This calls for serious measures, my friends, and a new year is just the time to get started. In fact, I started today. I always like to get a jump on things, you know me! I sent out a slew of very bossy emails and I know it's working because I got notes back that were chock-full of swearing. Along with complete capitulation. My favorite one called me a 'booted princess'. Then I made rude and inappropriate jokes in the weekly staff meeting, so I think that was a pretty good kickoff. Tomorrow I might thrash some slackers and then set the kitchen on fire. Chipmunk, MY ASS.

Wiseguys

See? I told you I was going to take down the last job-mocking post. Today I just have a quick update- the latest regarding when we're going to move from the lunchroom wits:

Alaska

I just got back from a fabulous trip up north, y'all! Lots of people go to Alaska in the summer; it's quite the tourist destination. I didn't realize that but of course there are tons of things to do and the sun never goes down. Me? I went to a junkyard to look at sewer pumps. No lie, look at them! Man, could Shane build some ass kicking stinky robots out of that stuff! Can't you just see them marching ominously through town like vicious zombies, obliterating everything in their path? AWESOME. My job is the BEST! I bet none of you have ever gotten paid to go check out zombie robot sewer pumps, and you are all very jealous of me now, am I right?

It was a whirlwind trip: I flew to Anchorage, flew to Fairbanks, drove through the tundra to the junkyard, then back to Fairbanks, back to Anchorage and home in less than three days. It was absolutely beautiful; look how blue the sky is! I know, the picture sucks, but the color is true. I took it with my phone, and as I may have mentioned, I'm not too clever with that stuff. I'm lucky I ended up with a picture that I sort of intended to take, instead of sending stalker texts to Justin Bieber or signing up for a blood sugar monitoring app or something useless like that.

I had packed for bone-chilling cold and it was sunny and 65 degrees, so I was a little toasty in my black turtleneck. Unfortunately, the sweater must have been last washed before Lloyd fixed the washer, because it reeked like feet. All the sweat from my broiling hot wool-clad neck didn't help, either. Good thing we were in a junkyard looking at ratty old sewer parts, because that way I could blame the stench on something else. It worked fine until we were on the way home, and then it didn't matter because no one would sit next to me anyway. So that worked out well.

The junkyard is in a town called Nenana, outside Fairbanks. It's a cute little town, but it's MILES from anywhere (except for maybe Skinny Dick's Halfway Inn). The place is pretty dinky but well known in certain circles (like the Arctic Circle, yuk, yuk) for the Nenana Ice Classic, which is a contest to predict the date and time the ice breaks up on the Tanana River. That's some high quality entertainment right there, people. They get up a big fat pot of money, too. Funny, though, none of the winners live there anymore. And that's all I have to say about that.

I had dinner one night with my friend Susannah, which was by far the best part of the trip- even better than the zombie robots. I don't want to spill too many secrets about our shared questionable past, but I have always deeply admired and appreciated her brilliant ideas and enthusiasm in bringing them to fruition. Most of all, I am grateful for her continued tight-lipped discretion. And that is DEFINITELY all I have to say about that. Have a good weekend!

Disaster

Holy smokes, people! I have been on such a trip, you would not even believe it. See the helicopter? Oh yes, I got the bird's eye view of the beautiful state of Maryland from a military helicopter. There was a hurricane, you know. Maybe you heard about it. As result, my office sent me on an epic cross-country adventure. I was working in the state EOC (emergency operations center) one day, minding my own beeswax (my beeswax consists primarily of filling out forms and reports on a pre-determined schedule and "coordinating" with a bunch of people that possess varying degrees of charm and competence, and is mostly a better-left-unblogged story for another day) when the boss lady practically wrenched my arm off dragging me out to the landing pad. On the way, she said, "You can go in a helicopter, right?" Ummm, yes? I mean, it's not as if she was wanting me to fly the thing. I was a little concerned when they started asking about my next of kin and making me sign forms so that after I died in a fiery crash they could use my charred corpse for the chow hall, but whatever. I've always been a girl that's happy to take one for the team. So I hopped on, the crew chief slapped a truly terrifying and complicated harness arrangement and some headphones on me, and off we went into the wild blue yonder.

You guys all know how readily I get motion sickness, right? And in the interest of full disclosure, I was also working off one too many glasses of hootch from the night before. It's not as if I was planning on going on a nauseating spin through the Maryland sky, after all. Lucky for me I was wearing my friend Gretchen's coat. I had borrowed it earlier because the EOC was FREEZING and I had dumped coffee all over my own coat. The helicopter was plenty warm, but I definitely felt I needed to be prepared to hurl in something. As it turns out, my seatmate was in a similar condition, so I spread out the sleeves, one for each of us. It was touch and go for a while, but everything stayed inside where it belonged. You're welcome, Gretchen!

On the way home, I took a little extra time to see a couple of my sweet friends that I hadn't seen in much too long. Love you guys! Unfortunately, I have a bunch more just-as-sweet friends that I didn't get to see but I will definitely try to catch everyone else next time. Love you guys, too! This is a picture of Helen's new dog, Sherlock. He is a 5.5 month old lab and he acts EXACTLY as you'd expect from looking at the picture.

On another note, it's Labor Day. I feel strongly about labor, social and consumer issues but I'm also very lazy. It's sort of a bad combination, so to assuage my guilt, I am sharing this post I wrote two years ago for Labor Day. To keep up on all the latest on labor and the shenanigans of corporate America, check out Mother Jones. You won't be sorry! And if you don't know who Mother Jones was, you can read about her here. She is definitely one of my heroes: I'm a great admirer of courage. I hope you are all having a fabulous long weekend!

Rasputin, Revisited

I know everyone has been waiting breathlessly for me to tackle a weighty topic in a mature, thoughtful manner. I've been ruminating like mad, and as result, I'm pleased to bring you this treatise on naughty chickens. This, of course, is a subject that's near and dear to my heart, and one I've recently been reminded of. First, by The Bloggess' brilliant story of Beyonce, and then again just yesterday by the tale of my friend Cheryl's bad bird, Peaches. If you have known me for a long time, or if you used to read Stories from Korea, you might remember the story of Rasputin. Mischievous poultry, must, of course, be approached with the appropriate gravity, but as we all know, I am very lazy, so I am presenting here the reworked story of Rasputin for your reading pleasure:

RASPUTIN

When we were living in Pensacola, Lloyd used to buy quail and plant them in the bushes and then take Ranger out to train him to sniff out birds, or whatever it is hunting dogs are supposed to do. Besides fart and snore, I mean. One day when he was buying his quail, the redneck he bought them from asked him if he wanted a rooster for free, because it was fighting with his other chickens and he needed to get rid of it. We lived in a subdivision with a no-chicken rule, among other foolish requirements. No fireworks, no yard sales, no campers, and most especially, no chickens. It's a wonder anyone wanted to live there at all. But, there we were anyway, in all of our chickenless despair. In any case, Lloyd, being a chicken lover, or a giant sucker, whichever, brought the thing home in a box along with the quail.

When he got home, he got out of his truck and heard a huge racket coming from the bird box, and it sounded like the rooster was beating up on the quail. Lloyd is a huge fan of the underbird, until he puts them in some bushes for a dog to eat, so he opened the box and grabbed the rooster. The rooster went crazy, and Lloyd swung him around, accidentally bashing his head against a tree. In our front yard. In the no-chicken subdivision. The rooster went limp and finally Lloyd started to think. He thinks, "Hmmm, Anna's going to be home soon and she is not going to like this dead rooster situation. I know! I'll throw him over the back fence and she will be none the wiser!" Behind our back fence was a strip of woods about 75 feet wide, and it ran the length of our chicken-free street, and there was another, presumably also chickenless, neighborhood on the other side.

The next day, I was laying on the couch hopped up on pain pills with my leg propped up on some pillows. I should mention here that I was on crutches from falling through the attic onto the garage floor. As a public service, I should also mention that you should never, ever, walk around in your attic unless it actually has a floor to support your weight rather than just sheetrock ceiling panels. Lloyd was outside messing around and he came tearing into the house yelling that I had to get up and look on the back fence. As you can imagine, getting up and trucking myself to the back yard was not an easy task, so I hollered at him that whatever it was had better be good. I heaved myself up and hobbled into the back yard, muttering under my breath the entire way. To my surprise, there was a brain-damaged rooster sitting on the back fence with his head all cocked over, making a sort of demented warbling noise. At that point, Lloyd had to fess up to the whole story, and we named the rooster Rasputin, for he who could not be killed. Or, he who was difficult to kill, at least.

Pretty soon, Rasputin got his crow back, and he started to crow bright and early every morning, annoying the neighbors in the no-chicken neighborhood. One day, we had a visit from animal control. Some of the neighbors had complained of a rooster crowing in the neighborhood and they thought it was coming from somewhere around our house. Had we seen it? And could they check our back yard? We glanced nervously at each other before assuring them that of course, we didn't have any chickens. We would NEVER have any chickens! Goodness, they are against the rules, we said. And certainly, we would be pleased to have them inspect the yard. Come right in, officers! Luckily Rasputin had some street smarts because he stayed out of sight and kept his gob shut. The chicken cops, stymied, left and didn't come back. Then Lloyd started thinking again, and we all know how that turns out. He decided that Rasputin might be lonely. You know where this going, right? Yep, one day he came home with two hens, and promptly chucked them over the fence, this time with their glorious chicken brains completely functional. And for all I know, all three of them are there to this day, living in polygamous bliss.

Bad Pennies

I despise the neighbor kid; is that bad? He is a creepy little know-it-all and I loathed him on sight. He is one of the kids that is always riding bikes around the neighborhood and he often comes over to see if the boys can come out. They usually don't want to play with him but he is constantly out there. He ALWAYS has a lot to say and knows everything about everything. Today he told me how to fix Shane's training wheels and was very put out when I did not follow instructions.

It's a gorgeous day here- the sun is shining, there's a little breeze and it's about 68 degrees. The sheep next door are getting their spring haircuts, to their loud sheeply dismay. It's so beautiful, in fact, that one of the kids told me he wanted to come in, because "it's too hot". This is the damage wrought by seventeen straight months of rain, wind, sleet, hail and snow, Seattle. See that you don't do it again and we'll call it even this time. But before they started suffering from heat exhaustion, they were out riding bikes in front of our house and he-who-shall-not-be-named turned up around the time Weston found a penny in the street. Apparently, he then asked to see it, and then took off without giving it back, saying Weston had given it to him.

Naturally, this was VERY distressing, and Weston came in the house seeking advice about how to deal with this travesty. I think he was sincerely shocked that someone could do something like that, and this kid is older, so Weston finds him intimidating. But guess what? I had absolutely NO IDEA what one should do in a situation like this. Seriously, I was completely befuddled, so I just gave him a new penny and told him that we were lucky to see what kind of a person this little jerk was at the cost of just one cent and maybe he's not the kind of guy we want to be hanging around with. After puzzling over that for a few minutes, Weston went out looking thoughtful, and then yelled at him until he gave the penny back.

All's well that ends well, I always say, and now I'm thinking of asking Weston how he thinks I should deal with that crazy guy in my office.

Vegas is all kinds of awesome, especially the giant margaritas that come out of a slushy machine

You all know I went to Vegas with Helen, right? It was a fantastic trip and I was all happy and squishy inside until I came home and my cat got run over. We are already planning a trip for next year and I'm definitely not going to have that happen again- I'll probably just kill all the pets in advance this time. So, here are the highlights, in no particular order but saving the best for last:

We saw Rita Rudner's show; she is VERY funny, and her show was nice and early so we had plenty of time to get a couple of giant margaritas that come out of a slushy machine and still go to bed by 10.

The Bodies exhibit was really interesting and not gross at all, though it definitely had that potential. There were whole bodies as well as separate parts, and I was amazed by the scale of some of them- the spinal column was so huge it looked like it wouldn't even fit inside someone, even if you used a crowbar, while the uterus, ovaries and fallopian tubes were so teeny that the whole assembly would fit in your cupped hand. Also, don't smoke. The smoker's lungs look like grilled cheese sandwiches that were charred because the chef was drinking beer and reading blogs and forgot about them. Not that I would know. We went in the morning, leaving the entire afternoon free for giant margaritas that come out of a slushy machine.

Then, lunch at the Crown and Anchor, an authentic British pub. I was pretty skeptical about the authenticity, but Helen assures me it's as close to the real thing as you can get. I'm not sure how much time she spent in pubs, since she left there when she was nine, but I'll take her word for it. It was too early for beers, and they didn't have one of those awesome margarita slushy machines. Probably not authentic enough. WHATEVER.

We hit the Bellagio for fine art and botanical gardens; very nice. I'm a fan, but again, no margarita slushy machine. The art gallery was nice and small, just about the right size to look at a tolerable amount of art and act all pretentious without actually getting too bored. They had all the good stuff too- Picasso, Degas, Renoir, and a giant one of a guy's head done by a guy that lives about ten miles from me. It sort of looks like one in my sister's living room, only hers has a bunch of eyeballs all over it. That probably makes it WAY more valuable.

And last, but definitely not least, the Las Vegas thrift store! We rode the city bus past the gun store, which has a giant billboard that says you can try a real machine gun. That was super tempting, but we stayed on the bus. And we were glad we did; the Las Vegas Goodwill was outstanding! It was jam-packed with good stuff, and it was 50% off day. For 13.98, I got three pairs of pants, two shirts, and two VHS tapes. Helen controlled herself a little better than me, but believe you me, she was IMPRESSED.

And that's the Vegas report, until next year!

Wanker List

Is 'wanker' my favorite word? One of my friends was speculating. I think it was sort of an insult, but what can you do, right? I can only say maybe, but only because it has to be. If there weren't so many dang wankers out there, my favorite word would be 'flowing rivers of cab with chocolate trees on the bank', now wouldn't it? That would be way better, believe you me. Do you think I LIKE having to call things 'wanker' all day? I DON'T. But some things just can't be helped, so here's my wanker list for today:

Edwards Air Force Base
State of Missouri
State of Louisiana (a perennial list-topper)
Target

I never thought Missouri would make the list, but there you have it. It has a lot going for it, what with that cool arch, and tons of my awesome friends live there, so it's pretty much a downer to have to put it on the list. And what of Target, you ask? How could our good old pal Target make the list? That red -spotted mecca I dreamed of from Osan while desperately searching the BX for some out of stock sundry? Surely I must have had too much wine, you say? Well, maybe, but no thanks to you, Target wanker! This afternoon I went in there to load up for a pizza party with the family, and carefully chose two bottles of Target's finest. My brother-in-law laughed himself silly when he heard I was trying to buy wine at Target, but they actually have a pretty nice selection.

When I went to the register, I was carded. And let me just say I have reached the legal drinking age. In fact, before too long I will have reached it twice. For identification, I presented my 'retired' status military ID card, which will not scan on their machines. I do this on purpose, because I am opposed to this ubiquitious scanning scam on privacy grounds. Today they want to scan your driver's license for personal information to be stored in their marketing database; tomorrow they're going to install a shunt in your spine so they can just start sucking you dry without even bothering with your debit card. You heard it here first. Didn't you guys ever see Tank Girl? We should all be very afraid. And I don't know why it only has 4.7 stars because it is the MOST FANTASTIC MOVIE EVER. Wankers.

Anyway, I was informed that because my ID wouldn't scan they require two clerks to verify my birth date. I waited patiently while the cashier called for assistance. I was quiet while she flipped her flashing light on. My tolerance started to wane, though, when she walked over to the customer service desk searching for an appropriate staff member to look at my birth date. I guess not all of them are qualifed to calculate my age because she passed about ten of those red shirt and khaki pant clad jokers. But when she asked me to wait while she rang up the person behind me, I couldn't stand it anymore and told her she could keep the wine. She probably needs it more than me anyway, especially when they come after her with the spine shunt. They always start with the employees. Take heed, people: this kind of thing NEVER happens at the thrift store.