Ravens of Doom

Maybe you've been wondering what's become of me. Or maybe not. Whichever, I don't care. As it happens, though, I have been working out of town. WAY out of town. And since I have been traveling I thought it would be a good idea to do some travel writing. What is that called? Travelogues? Something like that; watch out Rick Steves!  So, hmmmmm, where to start? A good beginning is so important when it comes to good travel writing. Otherwise it would be super boring: I got on an airplane and the seat was too small, then I went to this place, and saw some stuff and ate some food. Snoresville, am I right?  In fact I should probably just admit right here I have never read one single word of any travel writing, ever, because it is so deadly dull, and therefore have not even the slightest idea how to do it. Oh well, that never stopped me before! I'm just gonna jump right in, how bad can it be?

First of all, the stupid TSA confiscated my corkscrew. And they didn't just take it quickly so I could be on my way. No, it was a whole ordeal.  See, somehow,  I have NO clue how, it had found its way into the backpack I use to tote my computer back and forth from work.  The backpack had to go through the scanner TWICE, then they searched it by hand, STOLE my corkscrew, and then ran it through AGAIN.  In the meantime, I was forced to stand there with my collection of two computers, iPad, and multiple phone/devices. It was very depressing to confront the fact that I should have been able to launch an array of satellites or at least hack into the FoxNews website to endorse gay marriage across the land but instead my efforts will produce nothing but a prodigious stack of questionable paperwork.  And me without a corkscrew, sigh.

Finally, my spirit adequately squashed, I was allowed to continue on my journey. In an airplane seat that was too small. Now, the purpose of this particular journey was to assess some disaster damage in a bunch of freezing cold and remote places.  Places that you have to get to in teeny tiny airplanes that are wired together with walrus guts and polar bear spit. If you don't die in an icy fiery crash first, of course.  Because I am opposed to dying in such an undignified fashion, I put the kibosh on the wings of deadly carnage and instead we evaluated damages remotely.  From a toasty warm office that was apparently riddled with bacterial pneumonia spores. It was a really tough choice, deciding whether to plunge into the frozen tundra at high velocity or hack up blood. I went with door number two, which has worked out relatively well for me so far. I weaseled out of a boring meeting because germs! And one of my coworkers brought me salami and orange juice and kleenex because I can't leave my hotel room, because the blood will freeze in the air on the way down because it's like 12 below, and then I might slip on it and hurt myself. Also, every time I leave the room there are ravens following me. Ravens of doom. They are waiting for me to die so they can devour my bloody flesh and peck my eyes out.  Actually, they might not even wait. Especially the big shiny one. He talks to me. Caw! Caw! Caw!

I have to go home tomorrow, though. In an airplane seat that is too small. So I'm working on a strategy.  I'm going to save all the hacked-up blood and use it to fashion what appears to be a bloody corpse out of pillows. This room has at least eight giant ones, they won't miss a couple. Then, when I get outside, I'm going to throw them at the ravens and make a break for it. Wish me luck! I'm leaving my new corkscrew for the maid, along with all my dirty clothes and a few books. I can't have that stuff slowing me down. If you never hear from me again, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Well, dammit

My head hurts. I think it might be because I brushed my teeth with beer this morning. About ninety times. What? You don't brush your teeth with beer? You probably don't live in a swamp, then. That's why. You probably live in some kind of fancy ass house where water, glorious municipality-provided chlorinated fluid of the gods, flows out of the taps. See, it's freezing here in the swamp. The pipes in the well house froze up WHILE I was in the shower this morning. I had barely gotten last night's beer rinsed off and had just soaked my head and squeezed some shampoo into my hand when the pounding hot liquid fruits of my swamp-well slowed to a trickle, then stopped completely. I twisted the knob this way and that, and looked disbelievingly at the sticky clump of Neutrogena in my hand for at least thirty seconds before I figured it out. Guess how you solve this problem? After you brush your teeth with beer for a long time, I mean- yep, you hike out into the arctic morning with a soaking wet head toting some sort of warming device FOR THE WELL HOUSE. I felt like freaking Ma Kettle, or Ma Ingalls, or Ma Joad, or whichever Ma had the most agonizing collection of suffering combined with a demoralizing lack of sufficient beer and bad hair.

Then I had to go to work like that. Luckily I have been using this awesome deodorant made out of approximately equal parts coconut oil and baking soda mixed with a few drops of tea tree oil so I didn't stink too bad. My armpits, anyway. I'm not so sure about the rest of me, but that worked out well for our late afternoon staff meeting to develop performance goals and metrics. We don't have any right now so some people peak out with making it to work on time a couple of times a week.  Well, that's not quite true. We HAVE some metrics but they are (U) unsatisfactory, (S) satisfactory and (E) exceptional and everyone just gets S's because if you get a U or E someone has to do extra administrative work and no one is on board for that. So now, we get to write our own, and there needs to be two levels, 'meets expectations' and 'exceeds expectations', or something like that. I wasn't really paying attention. So, for example, 'meets expectations' could be 'responds to customer inquiry' and 'exceeds expectations' could be 'gives customer correct answer 90% of the time'.  These are not actual examples from today's meeting (these are totally actual examples from today's meeting).  Properly executed, this could work out well for me. The bar should be low enough that I can handily outperform the special snowflakes that are tardy all the time. I'm thinking of a 'meets expectations' goal of 'comes to work sufficiently hygienic when temperatures are above freezing'. Brilliant, right? Well, gotta go- I'm off to lay out tomorrow morning's beer!

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!

The Tooth Fairy Better Not Screw Me Over

Do any of you guys remember two years ago, when my birthday lasted like six days and ended with boils? I didn't think it was possible but I think that one might be facing some stiff competition for the most ridiculous birthday ever.

I have been out of town all week busting my ass for the greater good, like usual, only extra hard. So hard, in fact, that I earned a sparkly tiara for my efforts, but that's a story for another day, except for the part where I put it on my head this morning so it wouldn't be crushed and then forgot about it and wore it to many usually tiara-free places. It DID seem like people were admiring me much more than usual, and some old geezer at the gas station told me I looked beautiful, so that worked out well. In fact, I think I might wear it all the time from now on.

I arrived home today with big plans to enjoy my birthday. A party, a Goodwill shopping spree: you know, all my favorite treats. The house was perfectly clean until I got there and lugged in about 8,000 pounds of work and 3,000 pounds of dirty laundry. Then, I took a nap and when I woke up all hell had broken loose. Shane was curled up on the bathroom floor, whimpering and surrounded by vomit. A trail of puke at least forty feet long and a disturbing red-orange color led from the kitchen, through the living room and down the hall. Meanwhile, Lloyd was yanking a loose tooth out of Weston's mouth with a pair of pliers. I guess he figured the whole carpet will have to be bleached anyway so a few more drops of blood won't make any difference.

It was all down hill from there, too. I cancelled my party in favor of popsicle shopping and the Magic School Bus. I'm still going to Goodwill, though. In my tiara. On deck tonight: 8,000 pounds of work, 9,000 pounds of yakked-on laundry, and a truly daunting volume of wine. I just hope that damn tooth fairy doesn't drink too much and fall asleep in her tiara again. I suppose she will be worthless when it comes to folding laundry, too. Happy Birthday to.... Oh, NEVER MIND!

Hoist On His Own Petard

Doesn't that make you wonder what a petard is? Oh, I know you know what the phrase means, but do you actually know what a petard is? I had to look it up. I'll tell you, also, because when you go to click on the link, Wikipedia might be shut down to protest SOPA and PIPA. I thought I read yesterday that the revolution was successful and those outrageous miscarriages of justice were dead in the water, but perhaps I was mistaken. It happens, you know.

Anyway, a petard is/was a small bomb used for breaching gates and other fortifications. It now means 'firecracker' in French, and is slang for 'handgun' or 'joint'. If the bombmaker blew it and the bomb went off prematurely, he or she might be lifted by the explosion and thus 'hoist'. The phrase 'Hoist with his own petard' was coined by Shakespeare, in Hamlet.

Fascinating, right? And why the hell am I talking about petards anyway? Good question, my friends! Check out the pictures from my backyard this afternoon. Apparently, while I was at work yesterday, there was some sort of fishing line trap fashioned in the vicinity of the swing. I'm not sure what it was intended to catch, or how it was constructed. I've learned the hard way not to ask too many questions, see. In any event, Shane was snagged in the snare of his own devising; don't you hate it when that happens? And do you like how I took pictures before snipping him free? Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, there was no blood, OKAY? And I think he has learned a valuable lesson, don't you? I'm pretty sure he'll build his trap in a more advantageous location next time. And as for the rest of us, we now know what petards are. So yeah, a good day all around!

On the snow front, we are anxiously awaiting the promised megastorm; it is supposed to dump like crazy today. I will keep you posted!

The Past Comes Back to Haunt me, and a Turkey in a Dress

Yes, that is a turkey in a dress. No, I do not know why, thank you for asking. I could try to explain it but I would probably not be successful, so I will just say that in my family, we do things like put dresses on turkeys. Seriously, I don't know why. But I do think that particular shade of blue is not that turkey's color and next time we should go for more of a forest green or some other jewel tone. Or a plaid, perhaps- that red and blue and green one. Come on, you know what I'm talking about, admit it.

There is, however, a reason for the turkey itself. The boys and I went to my dad's house today to have dinner with the cousins and the aunts. My dad has been sorting through pictures and other assorted items and there is always a bag or box (or both!) with my name on it. Sometimes I just set the whole thing on fire but once in a while there is some good stuff in there. Today I hit the jackpot with some letters I wrote to my parents from college in 1988. I scanned one of them so you could see the art work. I'm not going to transcribe them, but here are my favorite excerpts:

Letter 1: ....it's really boring here. I even cleaned my whole apartment. I made my bed this morning too WOW!!!!!!!..... it should be another fun weekend. Somebody put a toilet in the middle of the fountain and it wasn't me, and I don't know who it was. Aren't you impressed?

Letter 2: Susannah is going to stay with us over Memorial Day, ok? Her family moved to Alaska and she has no home. Can I have some money? I need to eat. All I have is condiments.

That is some classic literature right there, people... And speaking of classic literature, also in the box today were two college texts on cat anatomy. Interestingly enough, when we got home Shane asked, 'What's the inside of a cat look like?' I'm not sure if he knew about the books in advance or if it was just a freakish coincidence, but either way it worked out well for Shane. The cats, not so much.

Overall, it was an excellent day. The kids played outside for hours- it was freezing cold and they wouldn't even put coats on. They had some awesomely questionable game about grizzlies, guns and dinosaurs. Here, you can see a snippet for yourself:

Then Jennifer and the aunts and I had an argument about the advisability of small children peeing outside. Strangely, I found myself in alone in a minority of one but I PREFER that they pee outside. The bathroom stays way cleaner that way. Who can argue with logic like that? Plus it saves valuable playing time. And even if you don't have a preference, why would you care? I WOULD rather they not pee in parking lots, or at least not when I'm with them, but what are you going to do, right? I will not back down on this one, my friends. Who's with me?

I also got in a good thrifting trip. Good thing, too, because I really needed some wine glasses. I break about one a week; that's probably how I'll tell time after the earthquake. I found six new ones for 69 cents each, but I broke one on the kitchen floor when I got home. It was still wrapped in the paper, though, so the cleanup was super easy.

So that was my day; I hope you are having a fantastic weekend!

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!

Elk Poop. Oh, Honey, You Shouldn't Have. Really.

Merry Christmas Eve, my sweet friends! What did you do today? Whatever it was, I bet you didn't get to see elk poop. It was a beautiful day here in the Pacific Northwest after raining all night. I know this because the cats woke me up at least thirteen times by rolling around in the wrapping paper I left on the floor and I could hear the rain pounding the roof every single time.

The clouds started to lift about mid-morning and we packed up and headed to Elkville. Lloyd mocked me for toting along a huge backpack filled with food, water, antibiotics, rappelling gear and a rubber raft, but I've been out in the woods with him before. I'll write about it someday, after I'm over the PTSD, but for now just remember that if we are ever out triangulating together and I tell you to move your compass away from the truck before you get your bearing because the needle is pointing straight at the engine block, you should listen to me.

Moving on, because I'm starting to twitch and my medication is in the backpack: check out the pictures! We traversed some twisty logging roads that went high, high into some steep terrain. In fact, it was so twisty, high and steep that Shane commented, 'I would be damn scared if I had to walk all the way up here.' Four, people. He is FOUR. My mother is rolling over in her handcrafted artisan urn right this very second. There were no actual elk, but Lloyd was thrilled to see the piles of droppings. Personally, when it comes to elk poop, I can take it or leave it, but live and let live, I always say! There were also tons of birds and some very cool rocks.

I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas! As for me, I can hardly wait for Lloyd to plunge his hand into his stocking on Christmas morning.

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.

My Kitchen Was Clean Twenty Minutes Ago

Early

Happy weekend, my friends! I got up super early this morning, probably because I went to bed at 6:30 last night, and I was out early enough to see the total lunar eclipse. It was very cool; I had a fantastic view through the branches of the denuded maple tree in the front yard. I tried to get some pictures but failed miserably; one of these days I'm going to take another photography class. So often I can visualize what a picture should look like but can't make the camera do what I want.

Oooh, that reminds me of a story: A long, long time ago, I was in Electric City, taking some samples from a quarry, I think, and I came across this fence with hard hats all over it. In all different colors. The sky was really blue and if you looked at it a certain way it looked like balloons and I could just see the picture I wanted. This was in the pre-digital camera days, so I was fiddling with the controls on my old 35 mm and snapping shot after shot from different angles, even laying on the ground and shooting up. Before long, a gate opened, and this little tiny and very strange looking man sidled out. Because the gate was open, I could see that the yard was full of all sorts of metal objects and other junk. I don't remember what he said, and he wasn't mean in any way, but he TERRIFIED me, because it was clear that his driveway didn't go all the way to the street, in the words of one of my coworkers who definitely should not be throwing stones if you know what I mean. I stammered out what I was doing, and he grabbed a hard hat off the fence, plopped it on my head, took the camera and took a picture of me. Then he gave the camera back and scurried back inside the yard and shut the gate. I ran out of there so fast your head would spin, and naturally, not a single one of my pictures was worth a damn. Except that last one of me. It actually wasn't bad. And I can STILL see in my head what that blasted hard hat picture should have looked like.

Oh well, what can you do, right? Anyway, back to this morning: there was a pretty thick frost on the ground and my rake was still laying on the ground where I left it the last time I thought about cleaning up the leaves on the ground. While I was standing there, just watching the moon, I thought I would warm up by running the rake for a little while. This was completely unsuccessful because the leaves were frozen onto the ground in a sort of mat-like fashion. It almost might remind one of a orange and yellow quilted lawn-cozy, in fact. I was tempted to see if I could just roll it up but my hands were already freezing. I figure those leaves have been laying there for months; they can lay there a little while longer. Or a lot longer, if I'm being totally honest. And you know good and well I always am.

Now I'm working hard at whomping up some hippie Christmas presents, and man, does my kitchen smell awesome. That doesn't happen very often so it's extra enjoyable, mmmmmmmm. I think I might take a blanket and pillow in there and sleep on the floor. I hope you all have a great weekend!

Suckers

Haha, suckers! I am totally only writing today so I don't bust up my awesome consecutive string of posts. I might have cobbled together this many in a row before, maybe, in about 2009, back before I hit forty, when the fire could still fly from my fingertips on a regular basis, but it's pretty much unprecedented in the recent past. Dammit. That's all I've got. Well, I'll see what I can do. I might have to resort to pictures of brussels sprouts again. I'm not proud.

Work SUCKED today; I accidentally insulted this crusty old ex-colonel and then crashed the travel program on my computer after I spent approximately twelve hours planning a trip I'm not super enthusiastic about to start with. When I got home I saw on facebook I missed the birthday of one of my favorite people ever. Because I never, ever look at facebook at work. Sorry, Janelle! Actually, you know what? I never remember birthdays. It's one of my character flaws. I think it has to do with my whole Jehovah's Witness/Holiday aversion thing. That might be an excellent topic for another day, but I'm too tired and cranky to go there today.

Oh, I know! Once again, I need to address the issue of lies on here. Yesterday, at our early Thanksgiving party, one of my charming aunts informed me that sometimes she just skims my blog because she knows it's full of lies. It's just too outrageous to be true, she said. MY OWN AUNT! Can you believe that? I have talked about this before, multiple times, but a nice refresher is always good. Everything I put on here is basically true. Things will usually fall into one of several categories. Reports of events are always mostly true, but might be slightly exaggerated or embellished for effect. Hare-brained schemes, which are labeled with that category, are always straight out of my imagination, but are most often based on something that actually happened. Flat out lies are pretty obvious, like above where I said I never look at facebook at work. Also, if you'll notice, I have categories called 'lies' and 'true'. If you're wondering, you can always check the label. And, of course, you can always ask in the comments or email me at womanwithadeadcat (at) gmaildotcom.

And, finally, here's an example of a typical exaggeration, for future reference: After I posted this I received this question: 'Did they really lock you in your apartment when the President flew into Osan??' Now, the answer is no, they didn't really lock me in my apartment. Instead, they shot chloroform into my ductwork so I was unconscious for the whole event. But see, that's not quite as funny.

So there you have it, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, from a woman with a dead cat in her purse.

Columbus Day

Man, Columbus sure is getting a bad rap lately. Come ON, people; he didn't personally steal land from some adorable rosy-cheeked pappooses, you know! He was LONG dead by the time the pappooses had to go to crappy reservations and work in baby sweatshops making dreamcatchers, bear claw necklaces and fringed leather jackets. I'm not necessarily defending him but I AM getting a little concerned he might get his day-off-from-work-in-October celebratory occasion stripped from him. I don't really care so much as long as it gets replaced by Sacajawea Day or similar. I'm an equal opportunity day-off-from-work enjoyer; I'm kind of awesome that way.

I hope you all had a nice holiday weekend. Nothing too exciting here- we changed over the car emergency kits to the winter version. It's an excellent time to put a blanket and hats and jackets for everyone in there if you haven't already done it. It's also a good time to change the batteries in your smoke alarms and flashlights, check the expiration dates on your emergency supplies, clean the bathrooms and perform those other pesky semi-annual chores. Oh, and start bulb shopping!

It's getting cooler, and so Lloyd took the boys shopping for a few fall/winter things. I sent a list, of course, but it doesn't really matter, does it? I've tried super detailed instructions, but that never works, because Lloyd says he can't read my writing. I have to give him that one, because truly, my penmanship is virtually illegible. It's never been good, but since the dawn of the digital age it's really gone downhill. Seriously, who cares? It's pretty much a waste of finger muscles. Pretty soon we're all going to have hands like tree frogs, and those scrawny things can't write worth a damn, or so I hear. I have an idea to solve this problem, though: a specific and reward-linked list. Come home with the proper item, and you get the commensurate reward. Here's an example:

- Size 8 olive colored cargo pants = new fishing lure

- Aveeno brand moisturizing lotion spf 30 = 20 minutes beer and tv

See? Use your imagination; the possibilities are endless! You could take the opposite approach, too, and have penalties for the wrong items. They could vary based on how far wrong they are. If you can use the object for the intended purpose you only have to scrub the tub. Like, say, if you get milk chocolate instead of dark. Or merlot instead of cab. But if the purchased object is entirely useless, it's time to clean the basement. Like if you need medical supplies and instead get beer and live fish. This has actually happened to me. I'll come clean here- you know me, always telling the complete unadulterated truth*: I totally got this idea from the Berenstain Bears, in a tome entitled 'The Berenstain Bears Forget Their Manners'. As true Berenstain Bears scholars know, Mama Bear doesn't always treat Papa Bear with the utmost respect, often relating to him the same way she does Brother Bear and Sister Bear, in this case doling out chores as penalties for bad manners. I'm generally not a fan of this sort of marital dynamic but sometimes a bear's got to call it like she sees it, am I right? In any event, I prefer the carrot to the stick, myself, though I can see that the carrot approach is going to be a lot more expensive and won't help my house get clean.

We also took the boys to see 'Dolphin Tale'; have you seen it? It's about a real dolphin named Winter, who has a prosthetic tail. It was cute, if a little cheesy. You can see her for realsies at seewinter.com. The over-the-top stuff is all fictionalized and consists of a cute but troubled kid whose love for the dolphin helps him overcome his troubles, his swimming champion cousin who has been injured and traumatized while serving in the army, and an evil land developer who wants to turn the marine hospital into a resort. Geez, really? They had to make up a bunch of run of the mill melodrama to jazz the story up? A dolphin with an engineered tail isn't good enough by itself? Because that is pretty freaking cool, if you ask me.

And that's all the news for today; what's going on at YOUR house??

*Lloyd would perhaps take issue with this; he didn't like how I said he was opposed to electric guitars in the church post the other day. To be fair, he does tolerate them, though he PREFERS their non-presence. They are not in the same category as sheet metal, which he simply will not abide. Nonetheless, I will have to insist that the statement still qualifies as TRUE.

Anniversary

****updated to add this link to a publication that describes the Corps response****

So, ten years. That is a long time, and yet, not long at all. I was thinking about reposting some writing I did way back then, but I decided not to; it's not my best work. That would DEFINITELY be this piece on boogers, which garnered me much acclaim from my many readers. Especially my mother; she LOVED it, and you won't hear her say any different, now will you? I considered reworking my original ground zero essay but decided not to because it was true to me then and I didn't want to monkey with it. Besides, I don't even like reading it; it's a little too melodramatic. It's still there, somewhere, in the archives at Stories from Korea, if you want to see it. Instead, I decided to just start over from scratch and share some pictures.

Ten years ago I was working for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in Seattle. On that Tuesday morning, I was teaching a class on emergency construction. A few days later, I was standing on the West Side Highway, looking at the reeking, burning pile that used to be the World Trade Center. It was night, and the bright beams from the light plants shone through the rising, curling smoke. I will never, ever forget my first look at it. Surreal.

Gradually, though, the place became home-ish. It was just like you'd imagine a post-apocalypse city, with everything repurposed. The lower Manhattan Brooks Brothers store, for example, was now a morgue, while the Burger King was a medical clinic. The best restaurant in town was called the Green Tarp Restaurant, for the green tarp that covered the entrance, pictured below. Celebrities would come in and serve up the grub, which was catered by the fanciest chefs around. Seriously, it was good stuff. I gained at least fifteen pounds while I was there because of the free food on every corner and the McDonald's people that came around every afternoon with quarter pounders.

I was on a logistics team (I am MULTI-TALENTED, y'all!), and we worked out of the Corps' DTOS (Deployable Tactical Operations System) units. You can see one in one of the pictures. They are portable offices with satellite communications, and we had them set up on all four corners of the site for us, FEMA and FDNY. We had nice neighbors; there were rows and rows of tents and trailers set up for all kinds of organizations: search and rescue teams from all over the world, NYPD, EPA, FBI, Justice Department, ATF, utility companies, you name it, and they were there.

Anything you can think of that a regular city would have was there, in that tightly enclosed 16 acre site: offices, food, medical services, vets for the search dogs, places to sleep, masseuses, clothes, supplies of every kind, counselors, and all free and available for whomever had a need. It would have been a happy little commune if it hadn't been dreary beyond words, and reminds me of a book I recommended not too long ago, called 'A Paradise Built in Hell', by Rebecca Solnit. Everyone should read it; it will completely change your perspective on disaster response and human behavior.

You may be noticing that I'm not saying anything about loss, grief, terrorism, war, retaliation, or politics. All I can do is reflect on my own little piece of paradise in hell and hope that it never happens again, to anyone, anywhere.

photos courtesy U.S. Army Corps of Engineers

Radical

***edited to add: I want to punch Blogger in the face right now for the mismatched font. The first paragraph won't match the last paragraph, no matter what contortions I put myself through. There, I feel better now.

Hey, do you guys remember my brilliant Dead Cat Beauty Secrets? If not, you can refresh your memory, but it's basically a comprehensive plan for beautifying your entire life. There's virtually no effort on your part, and it works like magic! To prove it, here are some testimonials from fans:

This does work! Our bathroom lights were almost out for quite a while and I was feeling pretty good about myself... Another beauty tip I'd recommend is chlorine-- really does wonders for my hair. I've even started a few dreadlocks just to stay hip and think I'll save a lot of money on shampoo and conditioner if I keep this up for the summer, but probably just for the summer :-) Tammy, 39

Genius..works wonders!* Shannon, 39

I don't want to give away the secrets here, you really need to read the whole post to fully appreciate the plan, but part of it consists of downsizing your bathroom mirror.

Today, I was just minding my own beeswax, surfing the net, when I came across this article at Jezebel. It's all about a woman who is even more radical than me on the mirror front. She is going an entire year with no mirrors at all, and you can read her blog here. It doesn't appear that she is fully embracing the other elements of the Dead Cat Beauty Plan, but perhaps it isn't for everyone. If you have time, take a look. I'd love to hear what you think about it.

*paraphrased

Friday

Happy Friday, everyone! At my house, it's barely 6 a.m. The coffee has bypassed the carafe and flowed all over the counter, cabinets and floor, along with a generous helping of grounds. I like strong coffee, y'all! The towels were all dirty and there was no soap in the shower. I licked the floor like a thirsty cat, I rubbed the grime off on the shower wall like a cow on a fence, then shook myself dry like a dog, only to discover that facebook is down. OH, THE HUMANITY!

Let me make a slight clarification: when I say facebook is down, I mean I can read it, but not post. They are working on this issue and feel certain it will be resolved shortly. Try again in a few minutes! In the meantime, however, here I sit with rage to vent. Thanks a lot, FACEBOOK!

You know, I hate the legislative branch as much as anyone these days. Maybe more! It's super easy to get whipped into a frenzy, for a multitude of legitimate reasons. But I keep seeing these posts about how they all get their salaries for life, or how they get a full pension after one term. None of these things are true. You can read the truth here or here. Or google it up and find out more. As per the usual, the truth is much less outrageous than the rumors and lies.

Slugs

***post-bath update: just a little tip, should the need arise- soap, water and a washcloth will not remove slug slime. A nice, thick, baking soda paste, however, is quite effective.

Oh, you guys are seriously not going to believe this one. I will just shoot you straight, right from the beginning. Every word that follows is completely, 100% true.

This afternoon, we made a short trip to a trail system near the house so I could run (I know, I know, but it's true, I swear). Lloyd got on the phone, the boys started poking around, like they do, and I took off as fast as I could go. Not very fast, sure, but I was around the corner and out of sight in a matter of seconds. Fine, five minutes. OKAY? The path is kind of a funky little system with levee trails on both sides of a slough, and some crossovers. I got a little turned around and as a result, didn't see them again for about a half hour. When I finally made my way all the way around and spotted them again, there was something not quite right. Lloyd was still on the phone, natch, and Weston had a shoelace tied around his hips.

Me: Weston, why is that shoelace tied around your pants?

Weston: So the slugs can't get out of my pockets!

Clever, true, I have to give him that one. Not sure that would have occurred to me. I looked a little closer, and saw that both the boys had their hands full of brown, medium sized slugs, and a couple were sliming their way out of Shane's shirt.

When we got back to the car, we made them strip down and put their bounty into a cup. Turns out, Shane even had his transformer underwear packed full of the vile little creatures. We threw his shirt away and made him stick his hands in his pockets for the ride home, and then we force-marched them straight into the tub. But not before taking a picture of them with the disgusting mucous-ridden fruits of their labor, so enjoy! Note Shane's belly; it has remnants of paper on it because we stuck a coloring book over the glistening trails on his abdomen to avoid mucking up his seatbelt.

Have a happy Sunday! I'll be laying on the couch, sucking down beers and trying to quell the nausea.