Sore, but happy

All winter, Bear and I sighed happily in front of the television, chatting about that day. What day, you ask? You know, that day far, far in the future, when it would be "warm enough" and "the seasons had changed", when we would eventually get around to taking all the accumulated detritus in the yard to the dump. And move that huge pile of bricks that were the leftovers from my big patio project - what was it, two years ago now? - that were still sitting in the parking area between our cottage and the front house.

Ah, yes, we sighed and smiled about the prospect of that lovely day when all our outside work would be done. We sighed and smiled and tucked back into our movies and fried food. Because, well, after all - it was still winter, wasn't it?

Time went by, as it always does, and as fate would have it TODAY was "that day". We woke up comfortably late, had a cup of french press coffee and a toasted scrambly-egg sandwich each, and then put on our work clothes and went out of doors.

It started out as a walk around the gardens, to see what flowers were coming up or trying to, and it ended with us dragging old wooden pallets, plastic bits and bobs, old tarps, and who knows what-all out of the corners of the yard and from around behind the house. We loaded it all into the back of my truck and headed out for the town dump.

Happily, we came in under the 500-pound mark and were allowed to chuck our junk for free. The guy giving us directions as to where, exactly, to dump our stuff was really REALLY bad at his job, and as a result we drove all the way to the other side of the landfill, nearly got run over by a huge vehicle that resembled a water bug with nine wheels, and ended by pulling into the brush dropoff area and asking a landfill employee where the hell "the wall" was.

This woman must have a really easy life. I can only surmise this because there was a total of three vehicles (counting ours) in her brush-dumping area, and we were only stopping by to ask directions, but she whipped out her walkie-talkie and told someone on the other end, "I have a disaster here!" I looked around, but all I could see was us in her general vicinity. It took her about three and a half seconds to tell us where we should go. If that constitutes a disaster, then I wonder what she would do if something really bad happened?

After returning from the dump, we cleaned out the area between our cottage and the stockade fence that divides our property from the neighbors'. There were leaves, twigs, cement blocks, and metallic bags from snack foods we have never eaten in our lives. The reason they were there does not elude me, however, because I am well aware that our property - specifically the area between our cottage and the front house - is the VORTEX OF DOOM.

Any wind of any strength that occurs in our vicinity caroms down our driveway and becomes a small tornado in the area between our cottage and the front house. It sucks in any loose garbage from the surrounding hundred miles or so, and deposits said garbage in our parking area.

This is why there are wrappings from foods I would never purchase, newspapers from publishers that I abhor, and paper towels of dubious usage in front of my house on a regular basis. When things really get kicking, like just before a storm, any empty recycle cans in our area join the fracas and get tumbled around and around the vortex, only stopping when they get wedged beneath our vehicles or the vehicles of our tenants. Welcome to the vortex of doom!

We cleared all that stuff out, stacked the cement blocks neatly at the far end of the nook between house and fence, and then started moving the large pile of bricks from the front of the cottage to that side area. Bear and I took turns trading off being the brick-bringer and the brick-stacker.

My pitifully weak arms were actually trembling by the time we got halfway through the stack, and Bear was complaining of pain in his bad hip, but we stubborn old geezers kept plugging away, and finally the whole stack had been moved. I can now park my truck in a straight line in the parking area, instead of catty-corner! Yay! No more bricks in the way!

On a roll - that's what we were. We dusted ourselves off and went inside, where Bear promptly pulled out our overflowing cooking utensil drawer, emptied it onto the kitchen table, cleaned out the drawer, and sorted out all the shit that we actually use from all the shit that had been shoved in there because we were too lazy to throw it out.

Not to be outdone, I cleaned out the refrigerator, washed the glass shelves, and filled the huge tank-style Brita water filtration system that my mother insisted we need to use. No, she didn't insist. She went one step further. She made me PROMISE to use it. So I really have no choice now, do I?

After this energetic cleaning frenzy, we both plopped wearily on the couch, put an old movie on, and that was pretty much the end of the work part of the day. Each of us took a turn putting the steaming hot hydrocollator on our various sore spots, and we took a few Aleve each.

Even so, we're gonna be SORE tomorrow. But the yard is clean, and all that's left to do is get down to some serious gardening! My favorite thing of all. Tonight I will dream of new mulch, and sprouting seeds, and Miracle Gro.

G'nite, y'all!

**********

Next Morning: Unfortunately, I did not dream of any of those things. I dreamed that my mom, my sister, and the rest of the family were sleeping in a house on some cliff overlooking the ocean. I woke up while everyone else was asleep, and I saw a huge whirlpool appear in the water just near the house. The ocean rose up, and suddenly all the glass windows were covered with water and I could see fish swimming right up against the house. I woke my mother, and we tried to get out, but when we moved the house fell off the cliff, and - well, all I can say is, I would much rather have dreamed of gardening.

Perhaps this is what I get for watching the Joan Crawford movie "Humoresque" (which ends with her drowning herself), eating half of a six-cheese pizza, and then going to bed?

back atcha, boxer girl

I'm not much of a one for copying other people's posts, but now that I have said that, I am going to take a list recently posted by boxer girl and do an add-on reply to each entry. Everything she originally said will be in black. My replies will be in red. Try not to wet yourselves with excitement.

And..... we're off! But you probably guessed that already.

1. I'm a swallower. I swallow gum.
I'm a swallower too.... not gum, though, usually...

2. I'm a chewer. I chew hard candy. I don't have the desire to suck on anything that will turn my tongue a funny color.
You're right - it's much better to suck on things that... (see #1)



3. I hate folding laundry. I HATE FOLDING LAUNDRY.
That's why I pay the local 'mat a few cents a pound to wash, dry, AND FOLD all my laundry. La-la-la-laaaaaaaa! The fact that I don't happen to actually own a washer or dryer is completely beside the point.


4. I count calories. Every last fucking calorie.
I would, if I could count that high.


5. I cuss.
If you meant that, you would have said "I fucking cuss, aiiiight?"


6. I am turned on by a man's wrist. Not any wrist, just a certain kind of wrist.
I know exactly what you're talking about, and I extend that sentiment to the hand, as well as the mouth.


7. I am turned off by man-boobs.
I am turned off by the mere existence of the word "man-boobs".


8. I would get a boob job - if I didn't have to stand topless in front of the doctor while he marks me up with his sharpie. I'm too embarrassed for him to see my flat chest.
As a woman with mammarian bounty, I can tell you your physical training would not be as enjoyable if you had big boobs. Running or jumping rope with jugs is a BITCH.


9. I'm tone deaf but I'll sing as loud as I can at stop signs with the top off the jeep so that everyone around me gets annoyed. (and I pretend I don't notice them giving me the evil stare)
I sing loudly too, but I don't have a convertible. It's just too bad, because I sound even better than whoever is on the radio. Even if it's, like, Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey. I sing way, way better than they do. Surprising I don't have a record contract, really.


10. I write erotic short stories for fun, only they are all based on my nasty fantasies.
I act out my nasty fantasies, and then dream about writing it down in short story form.


11. I can't pass a mirror without inspecting myself, UP CLOSE, for white hairs that seem to multiply like rabbits on a sunny day.
Miss Clairol is one of my best friends, so even though there are many grey hairs, it's our little secret.


12. I don't know who is running in the presidential election - xcept for Hillary and I won't vote for her.
I refuse to vote for anyone until someone who isn't a lying puke runs for president. Which means that I will never vote, because all politicians are lying pukes.



13. Mushrooms make me puke.
Are you talking the hallucinogenic kind? I think they're supposed to. Peyote, and shit like that. As for edible mushrooms, they're one of my all-time favorite foods.


14. I don't drink alcohol because there are too many calories.
I drink alcohol because then I don't care about the calories.


15. I once pulled off the side of the road to bury a dead cat that was lying in the middle of a two-lane highway. It didn't have its right ear and I cried.
I once threatened to disown my father because he hit a raccoon with his car in the middle of the night and didn't stop and go back to bring it home to us. To nurse it back to health, you know - not for dinner, or anything.



16. I dabble in Wicca. In fact, I'm working on a spell right now. The moon is in the waxing phase, so it is prime time to conduct a spell to draw something to me.
Be careful with spells. Like the old adage "be careful what you wish for", you must cast spells very specifically. They work, but they are only as good as your intent and focus. General spells are usually weak and may backfire on you. A really good spell takes a lot of hard work, so it's best to use them only for something very important. Or so I've heard.


17. I'm horny. All the time.
When I was thin, that was true. As I've gained weight, I think my self image has dulled my horns.


18. I have a naked picture of myself on my cell phone.
Isn't that funny, so do I! I don't recall when you sent it to me, though.


19. I'm boycotting Walmart. Just because I want to see if I have the willpower to not shop there.
I have not been to a mall to shop in over 15 years. I had to avoid the subliminal voices they play underneath the piped-in music. You know, the ones whispering, "Go ahead, buy it - you DESERVE a treat! Don't have the money? Just use your CREDIT CARD! That's what it's THERE FOR!"


20. I'm in love with a man that doesn't know I exist. And vice versa.
So, there's a man in love with you but you don't know he exists? WHO TOLD YOU?

I dreamed of India...

I thought I was off the hook today, as far as yard work was concerned. Woke up to a cold, miserable day. The sun was like watered down skim milk, and I wanted to keep my cookies indoors, thank you very much.

However, after a wonderful double-extra-large cup of french press coffee, the sun came out full force, and several layers of ice did not actually form on my face when I stuck it out my front door.

So I put on my sports bra and sweatshirt, old jeans and workboots, and went outside. Found my rake, my clippers, and my mega-clippers, and dove in without any scuba gear.

Four hours later, sweating, gasping, with rosebush scratches down both arms, I stood up and surveyed the bare naked gardens. Every stray leaf had been raked away from the beds, all hangy-down bits trimmed off of the climbing rose bushes, and all the detritus had been shoved neatly into the "compost heap" behind the large pine tree in the side yard.

It's ridiculous, but I have become such a couch potato that doing the spring cleaning in my gardens is actually going to make me sore tomorrow. I can already feel it. But looking around at all the daffodils, tulips, and day lilies that I discovered poking their leaves up underneath the mess I cleaned away made it all worthwhile.

Now I just have to get my ass to the garden center and get some mulch to dress everything up with, and I'll be cookin' with gas, baby.

After that was done, Bear and I decided to live large and go to our favorite Indian restaurant. We shared the vegetarian appetizer platter, and had my favorite Indian dish of all time: chicken tikka masala. I even love SAYING that... chicken tikka masala, chicken tikka masala - it sounds like a charm that would bring you good luck, make you win the lottery, make it rain during the drought season. Yummy, delicious, spicy chicken tikka masala! Good for what ails ya.

We came home, full and happy, and jumped online for some SecondLife fun. Except I didn't have as much fun as I thought. See, I had been approached by the owners of this certain night club in SL, and they asked me to be a dancer (as in - stripper). I said I would, and we had this whole chat conversation about how to go about it, what I was supposed to wear, and I asked if we were supposed to sign up for certain shifts to dance, or what. I was told no, just show up at the club and get on the stage.

So, tonight, I signed on to SecondLife and dressed my avatar up sexy, went to the night club, and there were a few people dancing on the stage, and some others on the main dance floor. No one said hello to me when I walked in, so I just wandered around looking at what the others were doing. I danced for a while on the floor, and then I went up on the stage and took one of the available poles.

Just then, one of the owners types "sorry, get off the stage, it's for dancers only." I typed back that I WAS a dancer, didn't she remember the whole conversation about it? She didn't answer me. So I said, "I will stop dancing if you don't want me here." Again no answer. So I just teleported out of there - feeling like a complete idiot.

It's odd how even in a completely fictitious world, people can make you feel like you don't belong, like you're a three-headed booby-egg, like you're a complete asshole to think you could be welcome. This is the reason I never join groups in real life. Guess I should have known better in second life, too. Once I had teleported to another land, I got one IM from the club owner, saying some shit like "I tag you and you just bolt?" I don't even know what the fuck that means, but I know when I'm not wanted.

In a little while, I found another dance club that had a lot more people and played better music, so I had a good time anyway. One of my favorite places in SL is the zen gardens - I love the wind chimes, the music, the water dancing in the fountains...

If you watch this, you will never get the song out of your head.

No, seriously - never.

Never, ever, EVER.

I am evil, and.... I love it!

I scared the bejeebers out of my husband last night, and this is how I did it... mwaAAAHAHAHhahahahhhhh!

No, not with my evil laugh. I was farting around on ebay a few days ago, trying to see if the prices for the dvd collection of Rosemary & Thyme had dropped to acceptable levels yet (they hadn't). I went through my saved searches, and realized I hadn't done a search on Angelina Jolie in quite a while. Usually all ebay has on her is eight hundred thousand autographed photos, but who knows what might show up?

I came across this great item, cheap - a plastic window cling of just her head! This is what it looks like:


It's very nearly the size of an actual human face, and this got my mind to turning. Where was I going to put it? What could I do with it? Hmmmm....

When it arrived, Bear noticed the cardboard envelope and commented on it. I managed to change the subject and hide the envelope (out of sight, out of mind, right?) when he had moved on to other things.

Last night, while he was bartending a wedding, I struck. I walked around the house, considering where I could put Angie. The front window, where she would seem to be peering in at us among the jungle of houseplants? The window by the stairs? Nah, the cats would probably have her all scratched up by the time he came home. The vanity mirror in the bathroom? Well, that would make me look a lot better without makeup every morning, but it probably wouldn't scare anyone. And then I thought, yes.... the single window in our bedroom. Our bedroom that just happens to be on the second floor. Yessss.....

And so I carefully cleaned the window (it was in dire need, anyhow) and applied Angie's head to the glass. Dead center, but low, as if she were hanging by her fingernails and just keeping her head above the sill. Then I pulled the white window shade down. I figured she would surprise him when he pulled up the shade in the morning.

As it turns out, things worked out even better than I'd planned. He came home from bartending at about midnight. I was curled up on the couch, watching "The Secret Garden" (starring Margaret O'Brien) on Turner Classic Movies. He plopped his wad of tips on the coffee table, and made his way upstairs to get out of his penguin suit into something more comfortable.

There's a bright, motion-triggered safety light on the front house which stays on for a long time and shines directly at our cottage. He had set it off when he parked and came in the house. When he went into our bedroom to get changed, he stood in front of the armoir as usual, not turning on the lights in the room, as usual (I think he's part bat), and suddenly out of the corner of his eye, through the drawn shade, he sees someone's head at the window....

He said that he wasn't really even aware what happened. One minute he was standing half naked in the bedroom, and the next he was out in the hall, at the top of the stairs, heart in his throat.

I laughed my eeeeeevil arse off! Somehow, I think that Angie would have gotten a kick out of that, too.

I am evil, and ... oh, yeah - how's that diet going?

This is me, in "Second Life"

I mentioned a couple posts ago that I was going to start "giving dinner to my enemies". Thing is, you know, I guess I just don't really have enough enemies to get me through a week. There was Monday, first day of the work week, great opportunity to get on the old bandwagon and stop eating dinner, start the week right, set a good example, cheerio and all that.

Except. Monday was St. Patrick's Day, which means we went out with our friends to an Irish pub and had some beer and - what was it? - oh, yes, single malt scotch. The stuff that is so golden and warming and mellow, that makes you get up and dance all by yourself in the middle of the floor, in front of a bar full of people that are definitely NOT dancing, at least at that moment. Which means that when Bear (who drank Cokes only, bless his abstinent heart) got my drunk ass home at one in the morning, he made me scrambled eggs and toast, to make sure that I survived the night AND getting up early the next morning for work. I did not, in effect, give dinner to my enemies. I freakin' ATE IT.

Tuesday, OK, Tuesday was redemption time, right? So I came home from work and I GAVE DINNER TO MY GODDAM ENEMIES. Yes, I did it. Woot!

But then came Wednesday. On Wednesday, I got a text message from Bear saying that the two dear friends we went out with on Monday had broken up, or were on the verge of breaking up, or some horrible shit like that, and I freaked out and texted the guy half of the couple in trouble. He ended up by showing up at my house that night, bearing a six pack of beer and TWO PIZZAS. Not junk pizzas, but delicious, perfectly spiced, melty cheesy hot pizzas. The reason I know this? I fuckin' well ATE THEM! Okay, not all of them - I let my friend have some, and we even saved some for Bear, who was at Zen that night.

The next night was Thursday (are you sensing a pattern here?). No friends came over, but when I got home from work I realized that it is a cardinal sin (what have red birds ever really done wrong, I wonder?) to waste food, or let it go bad and then waste it. And there were four pieces of perfectly good pizza still in the refrigerator from the night before. And furthermore, since I'd already blown most of the week and not given dinner to my enemies, it didn't seem like that much of a deviation to just heat up the leftover pizza and get it out of the way so that I could REALLY start the diet properly. You see? How it all fits in logically?

Yeah.

Well, so, and here it is Friday night, and I'm all like - whatever, I don't have enough enemies to give dinner to - but Bear is bartending tonight, so I have limited myself to just a glass of wine (so far) and will see how things turn out. Friday is supposed to be one of my "free days" where I eat what I want, but I feel guilty for having trashed the plan this week so badly. I'm not saying if I had any pizza left I wouldn't eat it, though. It's just that right now the only thing in the fridge is some leftover potatoes from St. Patty's day, and pasta with jar sauce that Bear probably had some of before he left for work tonight. EWWWW. Jar sauce. It kills my stomach.

And now? I should probably put away the piles of clean laundry that have been staring at me for at least a week. I should really finish that crochet project. I should really read a good book.

But what I'm planning to do is go online and copy a bunch of those really funny vintage magnet images - you know, like this:

and this.....

And then I'm going to print them out and hang them in my office cubicle. Not these exact ones, of course, I mean, there's PROPRIETY and things like that to think about - sheesh, what kind of girl do you take me for?

Note to self: One glass of wine on empty stomach = Three glasses of wine with dinner!

Just one of those days

Today was the eighth anniversary of Bear and I living in our cottage. It's also St. Patrick's Day weekend. We also just got a notification in the mail that the president is going to send us some money, which will really help us. There were lots of reasons to be happy today.

Instead, I crabbed at Bear while we were cooking our corned beef and cabbage. I got mad because the television is still all screwed up and now turning the volume all the way UP to earsplitting heights by itself, making watching anything impossible. And then I thought about my dad and I burst into tears when one of the cats tilted his head at me in an endearing way to beg for some corned beef.

I tried to read this weekend, but can't focus on anything. Everything seems stupid. I tried to crochet, and it just seems pointless. I don't have enough yarn to finish the project anyway, and it just doesn't matter. I probably should have invited people over this weekend, but I just feel as if I want to tear everyone's head off and go lawn bowling with their hollowed out skulls.

The only good thing I managed to do today was to make a list of movies that my grandmother might enjoy seeing. My mother is spending every other week at my grandmother's house up in the mountains of North Carolina (trading off weeks with her older sister, my aunt) because my grandmother is too ill to live alone and doesn't want to go to a nursing home.

My mom is trying to bring different movies and things to do with her each trip, but my mom is nowhere near the movie buff that I am. So I created an Excel spreadsheet with a list of all the movies I could think of that would be grandma-friendly, added notations to point out what kind of movie it is and who stars in it, and a check-off column so Mom can keep track of what they've already watched and what they still have to look forward to.

Since this is the only good thing I've done today, I will share the list with you. Even though you are not my grandmother, maybe you'll like them too. In no particular order, they are:

1. The Illusionist
2. Rob Roy
3. Braveheart
4. Immortal Beloved
5. Dangerous Liaisons
6. Ladyhawke
7. The Princess Bride
8. Mrs. Brown
9. Stardust
10. Sense & Sensibility
11. Steel Magnolias
12. Notting Hill
13. Good Will Hunting
14. Sleepless in Seattle
15. Titanic
16. Four Weddings & A Funeral
17. Shakespeare in Love
18. Legends of the Fall
19. First Knight
20. Othello
21. Thunderheart
22. Erin Brockovich
23. Somewhere in Time
24. Robin Hood, Men in Tights
25. A Little Princess
26. Young Catherine
27. The Emperor's New Groove (Disney)
28. Beauty & the Beast (Disney)
29. Beyond Borders
30. Mr. & Mrs. Smith
31. Kundun
32. The Mists of Avalon
33. The Edge
34. Out of Africa
35. Shadowlands
36. Dancing at Lughnasa
37. Amazing Grace
38. Longitude
39. Amistad
40. Horatio Hornblower
41. The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down a Mountain
42. Smoke Signals
43. Murder by Death
44. Smokey & the Bandit (Bear insisted upon this inclusion)
45. The Money Pit
46. March of the Penguins
47. Winged Migration
48. Original Sin (censored version)
49. What Dreams May Come
50. The Shawshank Redemption
51. Hamlet (Kenneth Branagh's, of course)
52. Benny & Joon
53. Ferris Bueller's Day Off
54. BIG
55. Rosemary & Thyme (BBC TV series)
56. Amadeus
57. Chariots of Fire
58. Splash
59. Witness
60. 3 Men & a Baby
61. 3 Men & a Little Lady
62. The Dead Poet's Society
63. Ghost
64. Fried Green Tomatoes
65. The Bodyguard
66. Mrs. Doubtfire
67. The Remains of the Day
68. Forrest Gump
69. The Bridges of Madison County
70. Jerry Maguire
71. You've Got Mail
72. Pushing Tin
73. Pay it Forward
74. My Best Friend's Wedding
75. Sliding Doors
76. Hope Floats
77. Elizabeth
78.Waking Ned Devine
79. Moonstruck
80. The Cider House Rules
81. A Beautiful Mind
82. A Walk in the Clouds
83. Songcatcher
84. My Big Fat Greek Wedding
85. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood
86. Rabbit Proof Fence
87. The Matchmaker
88. Sabrina (1995)

* NOTE: The only reason "Dances With Wolves" and "The Secret of Roan Innish" are not on this list is because I know that my grandmother has already seen them.

oooOOOOooo!

So this afternoon, just as the sun was setting, I made a batch of popcorn, popped open a Bass Ale, and put my "Henry V" dvd on. You know....... "Henry V"?...... starring KENNETH BRANAGH!

(Gratuitous Kenneth Branagh photo)

Bear went upstairs to fart around on the computer, and I settled back into the cushions for some Saturday Shakespeare.

Everything was going swimmingly, until about ten minutes into the movie. The volume menu pops up on my TV screen, and the volume starts going down, down, down... to zero.

I immediately jumped off the couch, assuming one of the remote controls had become lodged under my thigh or elbow or ankle or something... but no. There are only two remotes which have the power to control the TV volume, and both of them were sitting quite innocently atop the coffee table in front of me.

I grabbed one of them and turned the volume back up, and settled back down to watch my movie. Five minutes later, the volume menu popped back up again, and down went the volume.

This happened the entire time I was watching the movie. I even pointed both remote controls away from the TV, in case it was a remote malfunction - but the lowering volume kept happening on its own.

Then I jumped off the couch again and threw open the window blinds, in case my neighbors or tenants or any weird friends of mine were standing outside with their own remote, laughing their asses off at me while I ran around trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Nobody was out there.

After getting mildly freaked out by the possibility that there was a "ghost in the machine", I came upstairs and did what any modern woman would do - I Googled "television volume turns down by itself".

I came across tech support sites sporting questions from people with similar problems. One of them went like this:

*********************************

Q:

Hello,
I have a 5-6 year old RCA TV. A few months ago, the volume would turn itself all the way down completely on its own. This would occur at no specific time (i.e. sometimes right after being turned on, at other times after an hour or two). While this became quite annoying, it got worse. After a few days of functioning normally, the set started turning itself all the way up completely on its own.
What's worse, while this is happening there is no control over any other functions. It is as if a ghost is pushing the volume up button thereby taking precedent over any the other functions.
I was wondering what could be causing this and what a repair might cost.

A:

ONE: It is an RCA. Famous for weird trouble patterns.

TWO: Cover up the remote just to make certain it is not the remote control going wild.

THREE: Try a hard reset - to see if the eprom or microprogram on the volume control has been corrupted. Just unplug the power cord for 4 hours, then try again.

FOUR: When the volume goes wild, try the manual control on the front of the set to see if it will override the volume change.

FIVE: Give it a whack with your hand; vigorously smack the set in various places. This will disturb any cold solder joint around the volume controller that may be malfunctioning. It may solve the problem. Cold solder joints have a way of acting up around the 5 to 6 year age mark.

Hope this helps.

*************************

I am no closer to figuring out what's wrong with my television, but the answer man's #5 response has still got me in fits of giggles. Dude asks a professional what to do about his TV malfunctions, and his answer is "vigorously smack the set in various places"???? HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAH!

I have to go and see if our TV is an RCA. I'm pretty sure I have a wiffleball bat around here someplace...

Droman Thugshot

The thrill of actually dressing up for work (ie: not wearing colored jeans covered in cat hair) one day out of a thousand is overshadowed only by the agonizing pain of 24-hour foot cramps caused by high heels.

***

I once worked with a very slender Russian girl who told me that her secret to fat-free living was that she "gave dinner to her enemies".

After you squint your eyes for a few minutes and search for a shred of sense in that statement, I'll tell you that what she meant was that she didn't eat dinner. As in - nothing to eat after 5pm or so. As in, give up your dinner - let your enemies gorge themselves on dinner, let your enemies be fat, while you prance around in your skinny jeans with your fabulous Russian accent and laugh at them.

So I am giving it a go. For the past two days - Two whole days! THE SACRIFICE!! - I have not eaten dinner.

Surprisingly, other than pangs of intermittent hunger (which I may quench with a glass of milk, as it does a body good) I find that there are other, hidden benefits to this program. For one thing, there's no time spent cooking and washing dishes, which means there's LOTS more time for screwing around on the internet, and just screwing in general. HA! Seriously, though, we even took a walk after work yesterday - walked about a mile, I'd say, and when we got home it was still light out! This is cool. Plus, I imagine we'll save loads of money on groceries, as most of the money gets spent on dinner stuff.

The general plan is to skip dinner from Sunday to Thursday, leaving Friday and Saturday free to party and chow down with friends, or whatever. I am also eating a bowl of raw oats in milk every morning to bring down my cholesterol level, which my doctor says is too high just now. Luckily, I am part horse (you guess which part) and love the taste of raw oats. My husband thinks I'm crazy, as he hates even discussing raw oats in milk. It gives him the weebers.

***

Explain to me why my boss insists that everyone in the office stop what they are doing and converge on a project that has been sitting on my desk, completed, waiting for the boss to review it for A BLOODY MONTH, all the while screaming that this has to get done TODAY, PEOPLE! (!!) (!!!), and then at closing time, everyone packs up and leaves, the project is not done, and I come in today and finish it by myself. What was the whole point of yesterday's freak-out panic attack? I ask you!

***

I am still really stoked about my letter from Kenneth Branagh's office, and this gives me another excuse to post a picture - heh.

***

Bear went to the store today and bought what I think may be the largest corned beef in the history of mankind.

This corned beef could feed all of Ireland.

This corned beef could beat Barack Obama in the presidential race, if being meaty and delicious was the deciding factor.

This corned beef could beat Hilary Clinton in the presidential race, if it was based solely on looks.

This corned beef could kill Bjork, if she was slapped upside the head with it. But we hope this never happens, since Bjork had the balls to scream "Free Tibet!" at her concert in China. The Chinese say she "hurt their feelings". Fuck them.

***

I left work today, and was called back because the boss never handed out our paychecks. Except I didn't even notice, and was about to leave without it. Then I got halfway down the block and had to turn around and come back again because I'd left my cell phone sitting on my desk. I swear, if my head wasn't nailed on I'd forget to screw.

***

Anyone who has never watched "Othello", starring Laurence Fishburne and Kenneth Branagh, is a big pussy.

***

I had this great idea, some years back, that I would start collecting every single magazine which featured Angelina Jolie on the cover. I dreamed of creating a wonderful scrapbook of covers and articles of my favorite tomb raider. One day I sat down with my growing collection and filled an entire scrapbook using the clippings from... seven... magazines.

I turned my head and surveyed the towering stack of remaining magazines, which is slowly taking over the floor of my computer room, and said, "Oh, shit." Scrapbooks are extremely expensive, and so are filler pages and spine extenders, not to mention I live in a house the size of a matchbook. Where am I going to put five thousand scrapbooks of Angie clippings, and.... WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING???

***

I promised someone I would make them a crocheted hoodie scarf. And so far I've spent (too much) money on two different yarn orders, neither of which ended up being enough yarn to complete this project. I am coming to the conclusion that I am an idiot, and should not order yarn online because I was not born with enough brains to know how much yarn it takes to complete a hoodie scarf. Woe is me.

***


Q: Why did the Siamese twins move to England?

A: So the other one could drive

(This was my dad's favorite joke)

You may address me as "My Lady" hitherto

Laurence Fishburne and Kenneth Branagh in "Othello"

I am not usually a tooter of my own horn. Okay, maybe I am. If I am honest, and scrutinize myself without remorse, I find that I am actually a shameless attention whore. I blab about my fifteen seconds of fame as a dancer in Ricky Van Shelton's "Wild Man" video, for example, to anyone who will listen. I tell of my solo adventures in Scotland. I brag of the famous people I met during my stint as a flight attendant. I expound on my live performances in the country and western music clubs in Nashville, Tennessee.


And today? Today, I have a new tale to tell. A round, unvarnished tale (for you fellow Othello fans). Ahem.


Some weeks ago, I undertook a project. I essayed upon an essay. I wrote a letter, in full Shakespearean style and in handwritten calligraphy upon paper of parchment, to Kenneth Branagh - the amazing actor who is my favorite Hamlet, the most intriguing Iago, and so forth. According to the rumor mill, Mr. Branagh is quite good about personally answering his fan mail. And so I wrote, and sent forth my missive upon the papery wings of mail par avion, across the great pond to England.


Yesterday, an envelope arrived which bore suspiciously British postage. No return address on the envelope, mind you, but I just had a feeling. And, to be sure, 'twas a letter from the office of Kenneth Branagh! My heart gave a flutter.


The enclosed letter was a kind and thoughtful note from Mr. Branagh's assistant, letting me know that Mr. Branagh is currently out of the country shooting a new project. However, he assured me that he would forward him my letter when he returned, and asked my patience in receiving a reply.


It's sort of like an extension of the anticipation for me... not only did I get a letter from his office, acknowledging receipt of my letter, but now I get to hope for another bit of mail - hopefully from Mr. Branagh himself! In a world so full of sadness and uncertainty, it's nice to have that little bit of hope for something happy yet to come. A bit of Christmas spirit in the spring.

Sometimes things actually work

Unlike other areas in my life, which have of late been somewhat erratic and of a downward-turning if not "plummeting straight to the depths of hell" nature, my recent luck with new purchases has been a grand success. I mean, the french press coffee maker supreme, and a lovely little jewel-studded magnifying glass in the shape of an antique skeleton key (my latest fixation - old keys) which I found during my lunch break the other day... and then there's this brush.

Without getting overly medical, I will say that my scalp has always been very fickle. It never liked a shampoo all the way through the bottle. Somewhere at the halfway mark, it decided "enough of this" and rebelled, becoming flaky and itchy. I tried dandruff shampoos, which worked... for half a bottle's worth, anyway. Constant switching and buying new brands in search of the magic combination of chemicals and scents that would make my hair look great and keep my scalp happy, too.

A couple of weeks ago, I found this Goody brand brush in the local drugstore. It has copper-infused bristles, costs eleven bucks, and claims to get rid of dandruff. Fully realizing that I was most likely getting sucked in by an eleven dollar scam, I bought the damn brush. I rationalized that I had spent probably thousands of dollars in wasted shampoo in my life, so what's another eleven bucks in the long run?

Then there was the shout out from the new-age earth mother in me who always thrills at the thought that any natural oil or mineral straight from the mudball we spin around on will do the job better than a man-made chemical fix. She gave me the peace sign and unzipped my wallet for me.

It's the damndest thing... I think the brush actually works! I am not going to sit here and claim that my hair is completely flake free one hundred percent of the time, but the difference is really amazing. I am now able to use regular shampoo AND (gasp) hairspray, which previously sent my scalp running for the hinterlands, and this magic metal brush is maintaining a peaceful balance between my head and my desire to look like a somewhat attractive human being. Something about the metal neutralizing (a kind word for killing) the evil demon that causes dandruff.

And so, dear readers, Marcheline has bared her soul, parted her hair, and passed along to you this tiny tidbit of helpful information. But fear not - for though her hair be dark and shiny, her mind is still flaky as all get-out.

I'm in Java Love!

Dear French Press Coffee Maker,

How, dear one, have I lived 41 years without ever having tasted your creamy, coffeelicious liquid? How have I existed drinking hot water only briefly drizzled through the sacred bean? How did this happen?

My lovely French press, I first became aware of you in your prominent role on the britcom "As Time Goes By", where you co-starred with Judi Dench in nearly every episode. I admit I became jealous of the slightly upper-crust, coffee-snob aura you exuded on screen. I became envious of the gleam of chrome, and the evocative, classy domestic ritual of scoop, fill, press, and pour. No humdrum, drab plastic drip coffeemakers here, no sad sodden paper filters - heaven forfend!

Even so, an entire year (or two) went by before I finally gave in to the temptation and brought you, dear French press, into my life. And this morning, with the lilting strains of Vivaldi on "Sunday Baroque" wafting from my stereo speakers, I tried you for the first time.

Ah, heavenly softness! Creamy, frothy smoothness! Who knew that coffee could feel so velvety on the tongue, meld so sweetly with cream, achieve a perfect union with sugar?

French press, you are my java love, and I will never leave you nor forsake you. I welcome you to my kitchen. I give you pride of place on my extremely small countertop. I will feed you with coffee grounds of quality and richness, and only the finest wooden spoon shall caress your inner places.

I love you, my French press!

Sincerely,
M