While the first floor remains blessedly cool throughout the day, my second floor suite becomes akin to the towering inferno - only not towering, and without giant water tanks to explode in a means to douse the flames.
Walking across the hard wood floor is like walking across the cement around the public pool, it's almost too hot to do without sandals on.
So, given the fact the second floor averages twenty-degrees warmer than the first, you can imagine my frustration over the fact only one of my two bedroom windows opened.
I've been trying since last Friday to open this damn window! Once, I'd taken off my shoes and my socks slid across the floor before the window budged more than half an inch up. I almost opened the window with my head. *grumbles* *stoopid hard wood floors*
I asked my uncle Ross, the hero of "If you can't fix it - break it." Even he couldn't manage to get it open.
Today, I was prying away at the frame with two flat head screwdrivers, trying to loosen the frame from the track, or wedge the window up by the small crack I'd opened at the bottom.
After about an hour trying to force the window up without breaking it, unscrewing the lock with the thought it was hanging up the window, and sweating profusely all over the silk curtains - I realized the lower window was getting hung up on the upper window!
I still didn't know WHAT was catching in the upper window, so I decided the only solution was to squeeze my big butt out the tiny window (the one that actually opened is right beside the jammed one) onto the roof to see if I can pry the upper window free from the outside.
Imagine my surprise when I'm prying at the lower window with the screwdriver, and the glass pops out. It's then I notice the glass has a lip on it to push up and down, and the lip in on the upper outside instead of the lower inside. A storm window had been jammed against the lower window so that the glass fit so exactly I hadn't had any idea there was a second pane of glass. The storm window was jammed against the regular window inside out and backwards, the lip of the storm window had been catching the upper window, so I couldn't raise the lower or lower the upper.
I was absolutely dumbfounded. Half the windows in this house don't have screens, but mine has an extra storm window. I think I'm having buyer's remorse - and it's not even my house, I'm just living in for a while.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Compoms
Ah, the much awaited Verona post! Well, maybe not all that highly anticipated, but I think it's still worth a chuckle or two.
Sunday, if you read my hyper coffee post, you know that I went to work with a carafe worth of Starbucks Verona Bold Blend sloshing around in my tummy. The last time I went to work on that high of a caffeine buzz, I was chained to the register, so the only ones to suffer were the customers.
Sunday, I was given three boxes of belts and a box of wallets to put out. The belts were wrapped in plastic, so the leather didn't rub, or stick together, and I had to pull the long, thin, sort of grayish-white plastic sheath off each belt. For some reason, pulling the plastic off of 28-42" of leather and being left with a dirty, wrinkled sheath, reminded me of taking of a condom. Bear with me, I was on a buzz.
I told Sean the crinkled up plastic sheaths reminded me of dry, used condoms. That earned me a look. He didn't agree. In fact, only one of my five co-workers that morning agreed that it was somewhat reminiscent of a condom.
I told Jess (who carries a jumbo condom in her purse wallet) that she should open it, take out the condom, and slip in one of the belt sheaths - just to freak out her boyfriend.
The most priceless moment of the day came when I'd finished the belts and had a box full of empty condoms. I grabbed two handfuls and went bouncing into the back declaring, "Look! I have Condom Pom Poms! Compoms, or Pomdoms." They even made that plastic crinkling sound pompoms do when you shake them.
Sadly, after that, I was chained to the register so they wouldn't have to deal with me, so I don't have more fun stories, but the look on everyone's face when I was bouncing around with the condom pompoms was priceless!
I'll blog about something better as soon as inspiration strikes me.
Sunday, if you read my hyper coffee post, you know that I went to work with a carafe worth of Starbucks Verona Bold Blend sloshing around in my tummy. The last time I went to work on that high of a caffeine buzz, I was chained to the register, so the only ones to suffer were the customers.
Sunday, I was given three boxes of belts and a box of wallets to put out. The belts were wrapped in plastic, so the leather didn't rub, or stick together, and I had to pull the long, thin, sort of grayish-white plastic sheath off each belt. For some reason, pulling the plastic off of 28-42" of leather and being left with a dirty, wrinkled sheath, reminded me of taking of a condom. Bear with me, I was on a buzz.
I told Sean the crinkled up plastic sheaths reminded me of dry, used condoms. That earned me a look. He didn't agree. In fact, only one of my five co-workers that morning agreed that it was somewhat reminiscent of a condom.
I told Jess (who carries a jumbo condom in her purse wallet) that she should open it, take out the condom, and slip in one of the belt sheaths - just to freak out her boyfriend.
The most priceless moment of the day came when I'd finished the belts and had a box full of empty condoms. I grabbed two handfuls and went bouncing into the back declaring, "Look! I have Condom Pom Poms! Compoms, or Pomdoms." They even made that plastic crinkling sound pompoms do when you shake them.
Sadly, after that, I was chained to the register so they wouldn't have to deal with me, so I don't have more fun stories, but the look on everyone's face when I was bouncing around with the condom pompoms was priceless!
I'll blog about something better as soon as inspiration strikes me.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Satan's Sale
The kids have run off with my Aunt and Uncle to visit my Grandfather for brunch.
Gram's off at church bathing in absolution.
I'm all alone in a very quiet house finishing off my pot of Starbuck's Verona blend I received compliments of B&N with my 15 book order. Strong, and caffienny, but good. Very good. I brewed it a half hour ago when I realized the pot was empty and I was alone, and faced with the daunting prospect of another day of Satan's Sale. The store was given extra man hours yesterday to hang new signs, which we didn't ever receive enough of, so I agreed to stay on for a double because money is good and family isn't always so pleasurable. Yes, I know, evasive, but I put in my reqired hours when I got home, as I scarfed down hineese and tried to prop my eyelids open long enough to be considered sociable.
Now, I'm ignoring Jaye's well intended advice and chugging away at Verona in preparation for today's open to close shift.
Already the caffiene is speeding up my drive, slowing down the world. Everything needs to be faster, louder, more vibrant - but the house remains stubbornly silent, miles away from even a silent movie.
I saw a silent movie a few weeks ago. It was called the Circus. It was much better than I had expected, and I did expect to enjoy it, if not for more than a cultural experience. It actually had better humor than modern flicks, until the end. The end was desperately sad and made me want to weep. All that much more so because of the silence, against the musical backdrop, I would never hear the character sob, solidifying his aloneness.
Anywho, I'll bet you're wondering about Satan's Sale! We received an e-mail (the store) yesterday morning about a sale for "The Holiday weekend, and beyond." (To Infinity - AND BEYOND!) We have no idea when this sale ends, but all of us loathe the fact it ever started. Everything in our store is $7.98 or less. With Satan's Sale, you can get 5 skirts or womens shorts for $19.99, 5 kids short or long sleeve tees, or three short or long sleeve mens or short sleeve women's shirts, all $19.99. When we ring up 3 shirts, the sale adjusts the price of each to $6.66.
Whose bright fucking idea was this?
To make matters even more interesting, when testing the sale before store hours, the computer went whacko. It froze up and the mouse started moving around on it's own. We were on the phone with IT for the better half of an hour, Lisa, the manager, cussing the entire time and ranting his ignorance each moment she was on hold (and some moments she wasn't).
Lisa said, "I'm allowed to cuss, we're not open yet. I'd never heard her cus before, and apparently she avoids it because once she starts, she can't stop. After the store was open, we had to keep reminding her so when Satan's Sale continued to screw up our comps.
Faced with another day of this anguish, all I can do is thank B&N for the pot of Verona I've managed to down in an hour & hope I'm not the only one on register today when I need to pee.
To my blogees - hope your weekend is fun & Satan Free, unless the association is through yoursefl, in which case, live it up!
I'll be back on Monday with more tales of horror from the Sale of Satan (sounds like Son of Sam, maybe I'll get to star in a made for TV movie - look for me on prime time).........(I wish I had time to make more Verona)
Gram's off at church bathing in absolution.
I'm all alone in a very quiet house finishing off my pot of Starbuck's Verona blend I received compliments of B&N with my 15 book order. Strong, and caffienny, but good. Very good. I brewed it a half hour ago when I realized the pot was empty and I was alone, and faced with the daunting prospect of another day of Satan's Sale. The store was given extra man hours yesterday to hang new signs, which we didn't ever receive enough of, so I agreed to stay on for a double because money is good and family isn't always so pleasurable. Yes, I know, evasive, but I put in my reqired hours when I got home, as I scarfed down hineese and tried to prop my eyelids open long enough to be considered sociable.
Now, I'm ignoring Jaye's well intended advice and chugging away at Verona in preparation for today's open to close shift.
Already the caffiene is speeding up my drive, slowing down the world. Everything needs to be faster, louder, more vibrant - but the house remains stubbornly silent, miles away from even a silent movie.
I saw a silent movie a few weeks ago. It was called the Circus. It was much better than I had expected, and I did expect to enjoy it, if not for more than a cultural experience. It actually had better humor than modern flicks, until the end. The end was desperately sad and made me want to weep. All that much more so because of the silence, against the musical backdrop, I would never hear the character sob, solidifying his aloneness.
Anywho, I'll bet you're wondering about Satan's Sale! We received an e-mail (the store) yesterday morning about a sale for "The Holiday weekend, and beyond." (To Infinity - AND BEYOND!) We have no idea when this sale ends, but all of us loathe the fact it ever started. Everything in our store is $7.98 or less. With Satan's Sale, you can get 5 skirts or womens shorts for $19.99, 5 kids short or long sleeve tees, or three short or long sleeve mens or short sleeve women's shirts, all $19.99. When we ring up 3 shirts, the sale adjusts the price of each to $6.66.
Whose bright fucking idea was this?
To make matters even more interesting, when testing the sale before store hours, the computer went whacko. It froze up and the mouse started moving around on it's own. We were on the phone with IT for the better half of an hour, Lisa, the manager, cussing the entire time and ranting his ignorance each moment she was on hold (and some moments she wasn't).
Lisa said, "I'm allowed to cuss, we're not open yet. I'd never heard her cus before, and apparently she avoids it because once she starts, she can't stop. After the store was open, we had to keep reminding her so when Satan's Sale continued to screw up our comps.
Faced with another day of this anguish, all I can do is thank B&N for the pot of Verona I've managed to down in an hour & hope I'm not the only one on register today when I need to pee.
To my blogees - hope your weekend is fun & Satan Free, unless the association is through yoursefl, in which case, live it up!
I'll be back on Monday with more tales of horror from the Sale of Satan (sounds like Son of Sam, maybe I'll get to star in a made for TV movie - look for me on prime time).........(I wish I had time to make more Verona)
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Supa Short Story #5
The moon gazed down in anticipation with its Cheshire cat grin as her bare feet padded across the cement. Crickets chirred against the deeper reverberations of the tree frogs in a din that covered the soft swoosh of the beach towel sliding from her shoulders.
Toes curled over the edge of the pool, getting a feel for the chill of the water by the breeze lapping off its surface. The summer day, in all its languid complacency, had nearly suffocated her. She was rarely up for dawn, but still sensed the length of the day in the perfunctory motions of the wildlife, luxuriating in siestas come midday. Also in the anxiety of the night creatures, waiting for their short shift to start.
Her body slid beneath the surface of the water like a sword sliding home to the hilt in its scabbard with only a whisper of power. Ripples danced in the moonlight, a private disco for fireflies to commune over.
Halfway across the pool, she surfaced, gleaming and pure from the chlorine baptism. Her hair spread around her in the almost complete circle shape of a lillypad, the smooth brown appearing black against her pale skin.
The moon paints her as she swims, adding sparkle to her eyes, emphasizing to smooth curves and dark hollows. Her nipples are hard beads in the cool water. A turn reveals the curve of a bottom, a stroke the size of a breast.
This is her world, swimming laps past midnight. Alone with her thoughts, serenaded by frogs and crickets, even bats sing to her, although she can't hear them as they spin their aerobics above her. The day and her life wash away in the pale blue chemicals. All that matters is her stroke, keeping the rhythm, floating on her back while the stars peek in, her far away voyeurs.
The world can wait, with the big fluffy towel for both comfort and protection. The little night songs others call silence are soothing her, and the moon is grinning like a knowing friend. Hair flowing around her, spreadeagle on her back, naked to the world as though she's nothing to hide - she smiled back.
Toes curled over the edge of the pool, getting a feel for the chill of the water by the breeze lapping off its surface. The summer day, in all its languid complacency, had nearly suffocated her. She was rarely up for dawn, but still sensed the length of the day in the perfunctory motions of the wildlife, luxuriating in siestas come midday. Also in the anxiety of the night creatures, waiting for their short shift to start.
Her body slid beneath the surface of the water like a sword sliding home to the hilt in its scabbard with only a whisper of power. Ripples danced in the moonlight, a private disco for fireflies to commune over.
Halfway across the pool, she surfaced, gleaming and pure from the chlorine baptism. Her hair spread around her in the almost complete circle shape of a lillypad, the smooth brown appearing black against her pale skin.
The moon paints her as she swims, adding sparkle to her eyes, emphasizing to smooth curves and dark hollows. Her nipples are hard beads in the cool water. A turn reveals the curve of a bottom, a stroke the size of a breast.
This is her world, swimming laps past midnight. Alone with her thoughts, serenaded by frogs and crickets, even bats sing to her, although she can't hear them as they spin their aerobics above her. The day and her life wash away in the pale blue chemicals. All that matters is her stroke, keeping the rhythm, floating on her back while the stars peek in, her far away voyeurs.
The world can wait, with the big fluffy towel for both comfort and protection. The little night songs others call silence are soothing her, and the moon is grinning like a knowing friend. Hair flowing around her, spreadeagle on her back, naked to the world as though she's nothing to hide - she smiled back.
TTT!
Someone STOLE my SPERM!!!!!!
At first, I was deeply upset, so sad I didn't even feel like eating the cereal I'd just covered in milk, and I always feel like eating cereal. Now I'm pissed. Still sad, but pissed is taking over, since sad accomplishes nothing, but pissed goes a long way towards vengeance.
Yesterday afternoon, I spent some time chillin by the spermbox after I cleaned out the pool. I was still kinda down over losing two spermzillas earlier this week, but I was glad to have my 5 sperm & 3 Spermzillas left and doing well.
This morning, I looked out onto the deck to find the spermbox missing. At first I panicked, then saw it had just been down two steps. I figured Gram had moved it & was stepping out to check on my sperm when I saw the spermbox was empty!
No Sperm, no water, not even any algae residue. This wasn't the work of some starving raccoon, someone took the lid off my spermbox, dumped it, and put the lid back on. That's the only way I can figure there's not any algae left. If a raccoon had tipped the spermbox over, there would be green goo left in the box, and on the steps.
The steps were dry, the box was empty, and most upsetting of all, one of my poor Spermzillas was laying on the step, shriveled dry under the sun.
I MISS MY SPERM!
and I WANT VENGEANCE!!!!!
I have no idea who the Sperm haters are, but it's become entirely too obvious there is a local faction of the TTT, Tadpole Terminating Troupe. I haven't seen them show themselves yet, but I'll know them when they're standing on my lawn in wetsuits throwing buckets of water at idolic symbols.
I really miss my sperm. All the sperm that were left in the pool have died from the chemicals that were dumped in it last weekend. I considered going down to the creek and fishing out some tadpoles, but I probably shouldn't since I don't know who's killing them.
I'm so upset over this. As much as I joke about the Spermzillas, I was really looking forward to watching them grow legs. My neighbor had a tadpole in his fish tank one year when I was little, but it disappeared before it reached amphibianhood, we think his cat ate it.
Next week, I'm putting the sperm box out without anything in it and seeing who comes around to cause trouble. Bastard sperm killers! Not that killing sperm is a crime, but I'll nail em for trespassing at least!
At first, I was deeply upset, so sad I didn't even feel like eating the cereal I'd just covered in milk, and I always feel like eating cereal. Now I'm pissed. Still sad, but pissed is taking over, since sad accomplishes nothing, but pissed goes a long way towards vengeance.
Yesterday afternoon, I spent some time chillin by the spermbox after I cleaned out the pool. I was still kinda down over losing two spermzillas earlier this week, but I was glad to have my 5 sperm & 3 Spermzillas left and doing well.
This morning, I looked out onto the deck to find the spermbox missing. At first I panicked, then saw it had just been down two steps. I figured Gram had moved it & was stepping out to check on my sperm when I saw the spermbox was empty!
No Sperm, no water, not even any algae residue. This wasn't the work of some starving raccoon, someone took the lid off my spermbox, dumped it, and put the lid back on. That's the only way I can figure there's not any algae left. If a raccoon had tipped the spermbox over, there would be green goo left in the box, and on the steps.
The steps were dry, the box was empty, and most upsetting of all, one of my poor Spermzillas was laying on the step, shriveled dry under the sun.
I MISS MY SPERM!
and I WANT VENGEANCE!!!!!
I have no idea who the Sperm haters are, but it's become entirely too obvious there is a local faction of the TTT, Tadpole Terminating Troupe. I haven't seen them show themselves yet, but I'll know them when they're standing on my lawn in wetsuits throwing buckets of water at idolic symbols.
I really miss my sperm. All the sperm that were left in the pool have died from the chemicals that were dumped in it last weekend. I considered going down to the creek and fishing out some tadpoles, but I probably shouldn't since I don't know who's killing them.
I'm so upset over this. As much as I joke about the Spermzillas, I was really looking forward to watching them grow legs. My neighbor had a tadpole in his fish tank one year when I was little, but it disappeared before it reached amphibianhood, we think his cat ate it.
Next week, I'm putting the sperm box out without anything in it and seeing who comes around to cause trouble. Bastard sperm killers! Not that killing sperm is a crime, but I'll nail em for trespassing at least!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Petey the Giraffe
A friend of mine mentioned Animal Spirit Guides in her blog today. So, I've decided to post the story of Petey, my Giraffe Spirit Guide.
Two years ago, I dreamt I had a pet giraffe. I kept him in the giant aviary cage at the local park (which had been torn down a few years before when the park was renovated). All of my friends loved Petey and everyone had an oval shaped blanket they could lay on top of Petey's back when they rode him around the park. Everyone's blanket was a different color, so when a lot of people rode on Petey's back at once, it looked like one big rainbow colored blanket on his back.
My blanket was purple.
I visited Petey every day and there was almost always a troupe of people with me. We'd let him out of the cage and hop on his back and I'd ask him a question. I went to Petey to ask him advice because he was very smart. He couldn't talk, but he could sing, so he made up little songs he'd use to give advice.
So we'd ride around the park on the giant rainbow pile of blankets on top of Petey's back as he sang us songs about leaving ass hole men, and following your dreams, and getting highlights put in your hair.
Funny thing is, I was not drunk or high or anything - I hadn't even eaten anything funny before I'd gone to bed that night. I'm just that strange.
So, a giraffe is my power animal. What's yours, and why?
Two years ago, I dreamt I had a pet giraffe. I kept him in the giant aviary cage at the local park (which had been torn down a few years before when the park was renovated). All of my friends loved Petey and everyone had an oval shaped blanket they could lay on top of Petey's back when they rode him around the park. Everyone's blanket was a different color, so when a lot of people rode on Petey's back at once, it looked like one big rainbow colored blanket on his back.
My blanket was purple.
I visited Petey every day and there was almost always a troupe of people with me. We'd let him out of the cage and hop on his back and I'd ask him a question. I went to Petey to ask him advice because he was very smart. He couldn't talk, but he could sing, so he made up little songs he'd use to give advice.
So we'd ride around the park on the giant rainbow pile of blankets on top of Petey's back as he sang us songs about leaving ass hole men, and following your dreams, and getting highlights put in your hair.
Funny thing is, I was not drunk or high or anything - I hadn't even eaten anything funny before I'd gone to bed that night. I'm just that strange.
So, a giraffe is my power animal. What's yours, and why?
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Stolen Sperm
After work today, I stopped at the Dollar Tree to buy something to keep the sperm in. I decided on this plastic shoe box, because I could cut the lid & make sort of a ramp for the sperm to get out once they get legs - that way I don't have to guess when they're ready to leave, they can decide for themselves.
I get home to transfer the black sperm & the Spermzillas into the shoe box thingy, and my tartar sauce glass is tipped over! It's empty, save for some lingering algae. There are no spermzillas, I looked around on the deck, even under the deck. Gram said she doesn't know what happened to them, but the men were here working on the pool today.
I've reached the conclusion that
THOSE BASTARDS STOLE MY SPERM!!!!!
Being men, they must've been jealous of my superior sperm. My Spermzillas obviously made them feel inferior. Spermzilla Kong is probably bigger than their dick, let alone their swimmers, so they apparently sought vengeance.
I have no idea where my poor Spermzillas are. I hope the guys threw them back into the pool so they didn't get eaten by a bird or something. I miss them. I still have 3 left, but one of them already has front and hind legs and will be leaving soon.
Poor Spermzillas. Maybe I could put out flyers;
LOST:
SPERMZILLAS
Answer to Contraceptive, and The Pill (or just Pill)
Yellowish-amber with brown freckles.
Small hind legs.
Dearly Missed!
I get home to transfer the black sperm & the Spermzillas into the shoe box thingy, and my tartar sauce glass is tipped over! It's empty, save for some lingering algae. There are no spermzillas, I looked around on the deck, even under the deck. Gram said she doesn't know what happened to them, but the men were here working on the pool today.
I've reached the conclusion that
THOSE BASTARDS STOLE MY SPERM!!!!!
Being men, they must've been jealous of my superior sperm. My Spermzillas obviously made them feel inferior. Spermzilla Kong is probably bigger than their dick, let alone their swimmers, so they apparently sought vengeance.
I have no idea where my poor Spermzillas are. I hope the guys threw them back into the pool so they didn't get eaten by a bird or something. I miss them. I still have 3 left, but one of them already has front and hind legs and will be leaving soon.
Poor Spermzillas. Maybe I could put out flyers;
LOST:
SPERMZILLAS
Answer to Contraceptive, and The Pill (or just Pill)
Yellowish-amber with brown freckles.
Small hind legs.
Dearly Missed!
Thursday, May 18, 2006
All the Queen's Men
I've yet to come across a Linda Howard book I haven't thoroughly enjoyed.
All the Queen's Men is the follow up to Kill and Tell. This book starts in Washington DC, but travels to France for some action while telling the story of John Medina, a character who was introduced in Kill and Tell, when I fell in love with him. All the Queen's Men has action, love, and enough turns to keep you guessing. Linda did a wonderful job with this book. I even grew to love the bad guy, Louis Ronsard.
Niema Burdock hasn't seen John Medina in five years, since they were on a mission together where Medina gave the order to end Dallas Burdock's life. Niema went into seclusion afterwards, giving up the adrenaline filled Black Ops work that had taken the life of her husband. When John Medina appears out of thin air to offer her a job, she flatly refuses...but John knows just what buttons to push in order to turn Niema on.
John has wanted Niema since the first time he saw her. He's not going to let a French arms dealer, a bullet filled chase, or even their own fake identities stop him from claiming her. He knows Niema wants him too, all he has to do is convince her. Sounds simple, but it may be his toughest mission yet.
Okay, I know I'm starting to sound all Hollywood-cheesy-movie-preview-drama with these, but I really love the books I ho, and I want yall to read them & support the awesome authors who bust ass to put these stories out. So go, read...now!
All the Queen's Men is the follow up to Kill and Tell. This book starts in Washington DC, but travels to France for some action while telling the story of John Medina, a character who was introduced in Kill and Tell, when I fell in love with him. All the Queen's Men has action, love, and enough turns to keep you guessing. Linda did a wonderful job with this book. I even grew to love the bad guy, Louis Ronsard.
Niema Burdock hasn't seen John Medina in five years, since they were on a mission together where Medina gave the order to end Dallas Burdock's life. Niema went into seclusion afterwards, giving up the adrenaline filled Black Ops work that had taken the life of her husband. When John Medina appears out of thin air to offer her a job, she flatly refuses...but John knows just what buttons to push in order to turn Niema on.
John has wanted Niema since the first time he saw her. He's not going to let a French arms dealer, a bullet filled chase, or even their own fake identities stop him from claiming her. He knows Niema wants him too, all he has to do is convince her. Sounds simple, but it may be his toughest mission yet.
Okay, I know I'm starting to sound all Hollywood-cheesy-movie-preview-drama with these, but I really love the books I ho, and I want yall to read them & support the awesome authors who bust ass to put these stories out. So go, read...now!
SPERMZILLAS!!!!! (part 2)
Today I: fixed a loose doorknob, rearranged the kitchen cabinets, fixed the pump for the fish pond, met a man about fixing the pool, cleaned out the pool, went shopping with the cat, cooked dinner, and started a new book.
The highlight of the day was, by far, cleaning out the pool. It was stinky, and messy, and hard, and a little chilly out, and I almost slipped and fell in - but it was totally worth it! I only managed to clean off the cover, which comes off tomorrow so I can clean out the bottom, but I've already managed a haul I'm quite proud of.
As of May 18th:
Black Sperm - 5
Chirping Tree Frogs - 2
Croaking Bull Frog - 1
Spermzillas - 5
Look on Gram's Face - PRICELESS
The first frog caught me by surprise, I was flipping the net inside out to dump the leaves & he leapt out and landed on my foot. I actually shrieked in shock - then went chasing after the little bugger with the net. He was the Croaker. I dumped him in the fish pond so he wouldn't scare the crap outta me again & had a good laugh watching the fish flee in terror.
I caught a dark chirper and a light chirper. They're lots of fun because they're small enough to fit in one hand, and when they realize they can't wriggle free, they start chirping & make your hand vibrate.
Both chirpers were flopped into the fish pond, which is the same shape as the pool, but probably 1/75th the scale. I've been told when the male tree frogs realize there's another male within so many yards, they'll start a battle of the band thing & try to out chirp the other. I got a kick outta the tree frogs at either end of the 4ft kidney-shaped fish pond, chirping so log the neighbors might lose sleep tonight. I'm used to it, since the pool is in the back yard, but the pond is in the side yard, closer to the Clarks.
I caught five Spermzillas! None of them are quite as big as the one I saw the first sighting, but I have high hopes for next week when I get around to skimming out the bottom of the pool. Four of my Spermzillas have hind legs and one has both hind and front, but still a long tail. None of my black sperm have legs and I'm wondering what's taking them so long...I'm also realizing I forgot to put the spermzillas in a bigger jar when I was done cleaning the pool and they're still sitting in an old jar on the back porch that still has the tartar sauce label stuck to it. I'll have to do something about that tomorrow before I leave for work. Maybe I can pick up a cheap little terrarium at the Dollar Store tomorrow - at least a cheap fish bowl.
Best part of the day, Gram came out to talk to me as I was finishing cleaning off the cover. One of the chirpers started up and she said, "Oh, look at that! There's a frog in the fish pond." She had an air of wonder and awe in her voice. She was delighted to see a frog in her fish pond. I replied, "Yeah, there are three, actually."
"Next time I have money to spare, I'm buying you an aquarium so you can keep all these pets of yours in the bedroom."
I would actually love that, compared to having to keep them out on the back porch. If they were in my room, I'd see them every morning & know who had legs and who had arms and who lost their tail. I'm sure the sperm would like it too. They're probably developing a complex in the tartar sauce jar, thinking they're about to be eaten.
The highlight of the day was, by far, cleaning out the pool. It was stinky, and messy, and hard, and a little chilly out, and I almost slipped and fell in - but it was totally worth it! I only managed to clean off the cover, which comes off tomorrow so I can clean out the bottom, but I've already managed a haul I'm quite proud of.
As of May 18th:
Black Sperm - 5
Chirping Tree Frogs - 2
Croaking Bull Frog - 1
Spermzillas - 5
Look on Gram's Face - PRICELESS
The first frog caught me by surprise, I was flipping the net inside out to dump the leaves & he leapt out and landed on my foot. I actually shrieked in shock - then went chasing after the little bugger with the net. He was the Croaker. I dumped him in the fish pond so he wouldn't scare the crap outta me again & had a good laugh watching the fish flee in terror.
I caught a dark chirper and a light chirper. They're lots of fun because they're small enough to fit in one hand, and when they realize they can't wriggle free, they start chirping & make your hand vibrate.
Both chirpers were flopped into the fish pond, which is the same shape as the pool, but probably 1/75th the scale. I've been told when the male tree frogs realize there's another male within so many yards, they'll start a battle of the band thing & try to out chirp the other. I got a kick outta the tree frogs at either end of the 4ft kidney-shaped fish pond, chirping so log the neighbors might lose sleep tonight. I'm used to it, since the pool is in the back yard, but the pond is in the side yard, closer to the Clarks.
I caught five Spermzillas! None of them are quite as big as the one I saw the first sighting, but I have high hopes for next week when I get around to skimming out the bottom of the pool. Four of my Spermzillas have hind legs and one has both hind and front, but still a long tail. None of my black sperm have legs and I'm wondering what's taking them so long...I'm also realizing I forgot to put the spermzillas in a bigger jar when I was done cleaning the pool and they're still sitting in an old jar on the back porch that still has the tartar sauce label stuck to it. I'll have to do something about that tomorrow before I leave for work. Maybe I can pick up a cheap little terrarium at the Dollar Store tomorrow - at least a cheap fish bowl.
Best part of the day, Gram came out to talk to me as I was finishing cleaning off the cover. One of the chirpers started up and she said, "Oh, look at that! There's a frog in the fish pond." She had an air of wonder and awe in her voice. She was delighted to see a frog in her fish pond. I replied, "Yeah, there are three, actually."
"What?" Gone was the air of wonder and delight - in seeped the foul air of annoyance.
"I didn't want them to die when we start putting chemicals in the pool, so I put them in the fish pond.""Next time I have money to spare, I'm buying you an aquarium so you can keep all these pets of yours in the bedroom."
I would actually love that, compared to having to keep them out on the back porch. If they were in my room, I'd see them every morning & know who had legs and who had arms and who lost their tail. I'm sure the sperm would like it too. They're probably developing a complex in the tartar sauce jar, thinking they're about to be eaten.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Why Hallmark Would Never Hire Me
I've been with you from the start,
It's odd to think of us apart.
We've been around time and again,
You've introduced me to plenty of men.
But now my time is growing short,
You'll learn to get by without my sort.
I bore the fruit you did conceive,
Duty done - I'll take my leave.
It's been fun - all these years.
Don't you shed any tears.
But now and then - I hope you think of me,
After your hysterectomy.
- Love, Your Uterus.
My mom's having a hysterectomy Thursday. I looked all over Hallmark, but wasn't able to find a suitable card. Not that I expected them to have Shoebox cards reading "Hope you enjoy your last Mother's Day with a uterus!" but I was hoping for something with a fitting picture on the front that was blank inside.
No luck.
It's odd to think of us apart.
We've been around time and again,
You've introduced me to plenty of men.
But now my time is growing short,
You'll learn to get by without my sort.
I bore the fruit you did conceive,
Duty done - I'll take my leave.
It's been fun - all these years.
Don't you shed any tears.
But now and then - I hope you think of me,
After your hysterectomy.
- Love, Your Uterus.
My mom's having a hysterectomy Thursday. I looked all over Hallmark, but wasn't able to find a suitable card. Not that I expected them to have Shoebox cards reading "Hope you enjoy your last Mother's Day with a uterus!" but I was hoping for something with a fitting picture on the front that was blank inside.
No luck.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Fitting Mistake
Short story from work. A woman came up to me and asked, "Do you have any shirts that say, 'I'm retarded, do it yourself!' because I couldn't find them."
"No, mam, we've never had a shirt that says that."
"Yes you did," says the husband, "I bought one here once, but my dog tore it up."
"I've never seen that shirt, so it must've been before I worked here, which would be a while ago."
"Well, you have them in the sweater shirts, I thought you'd have them in tee-shirts."
I think to myself, We don't have a hoodie that says that either.
This is when it dawns on me, the hoodie they're thinking of, which we had in shirts for a while, says, "I'm RETIRED, Do it yourself!" Fitting that they both, even though he had at one point owned the shirt, thought it read RETARDED.
Turns out they're not the only ones, a co-worker also swore they said retarded. She feels retarded after going back to check. For the most part, though, everyone's getting a good laugh out of it.
My new excuse whenever I screw something up, "Sorry...I'm retarded, do it yourself!"
"No, mam, we've never had a shirt that says that."
"Yes you did," says the husband, "I bought one here once, but my dog tore it up."
"I've never seen that shirt, so it must've been before I worked here, which would be a while ago."
"Well, you have them in the sweater shirts, I thought you'd have them in tee-shirts."
I think to myself, We don't have a hoodie that says that either.
This is when it dawns on me, the hoodie they're thinking of, which we had in shirts for a while, says, "I'm RETIRED, Do it yourself!" Fitting that they both, even though he had at one point owned the shirt, thought it read RETARDED.
Turns out they're not the only ones, a co-worker also swore they said retarded. She feels retarded after going back to check. For the most part, though, everyone's getting a good laugh out of it.
My new excuse whenever I screw something up, "Sorry...I'm retarded, do it yourself!"
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Supa Short Story #4
A weed whacker droned in the bustle outside her cozy world of darkness. She was in no hurry to shake off the drowsiness.
He had loved her. In the dream.
And she him.
But in the world of the insistent weed whacker, they remain friends. She longed for the simplicity of them making love with no hurry or purpose because their world would cease to exist at any moment, and they would never have been. So none of it mattered. Which made it both pure, and sad.
Love was a far off ideal for her. So perfect and seamless there was no possibility of it existing in her world without killing everything else it touched. Killing him. The only one she could see herself making such a mistake with.
Pushing one arm under her, she rolled off of her stomach and onto the cat nestled at her side. The lawnmower of love, telling her to stay. Be cozy. Be happy. Be nonexistent, but love me. She is my love, but not by any design. A twist of fate, like happening upon a flower garden, and deciding to care for it. It is a simple thing to give the plants what they need for life, and you find you gleam your own contentment from it. So you and your flower garden are content with each other. Blissfully unaware of the other's purposes, coexisting in ignorance.
Except my flower garden of love wants me to stay in bed. And I need to go make something of my life. Because the dream won't.
He had loved her. In the dream.
And she him.
But in the world of the insistent weed whacker, they remain friends. She longed for the simplicity of them making love with no hurry or purpose because their world would cease to exist at any moment, and they would never have been. So none of it mattered. Which made it both pure, and sad.
Love was a far off ideal for her. So perfect and seamless there was no possibility of it existing in her world without killing everything else it touched. Killing him. The only one she could see herself making such a mistake with.
Pushing one arm under her, she rolled off of her stomach and onto the cat nestled at her side. The lawnmower of love, telling her to stay. Be cozy. Be happy. Be nonexistent, but love me. She is my love, but not by any design. A twist of fate, like happening upon a flower garden, and deciding to care for it. It is a simple thing to give the plants what they need for life, and you find you gleam your own contentment from it. So you and your flower garden are content with each other. Blissfully unaware of the other's purposes, coexisting in ignorance.
Except my flower garden of love wants me to stay in bed. And I need to go make something of my life. Because the dream won't.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Blue Moon
Blue Moon by Lori Handeland is one of the best books I've read lately. It's the first romance novel written in first person that I've ever read. I thought I might miss out on other people's perspectives. I've read other books written in first person, but when love isn't a key element, there's not much of a need for alternate points of view - they're nice, but not needed.
Blue Moon is the story of Jessie McQuade , local cop in a small Wisconsin town nestled in the woods. The area is abundant in wild life, and Indian legends. One of which comes to life and starts killing innocent people on Jessie's watch.
Jessie meets Professor William Cadotte when she asks him for help discerning the significance of a wolf totem she found at the scene an accident involving a huge black wolf. Jessie had run into Will previously, at his cabin in the woods when she was pursuing a wolf. He was naked at the time, and Jessie's not quite able to forget the image.
Heat flares between Jessie and Will in the midst of unraveling a secret that has people disappearing and doubts multiplying.
Is will the love Jessie's always hoped for? Or the werewolf trying to take over the town?
There are a lot of conspiracy theories and double-guessing going on in this book. Every chapter I was changing my opinion of the characters and my suspicion of whodunit. There's action and romance and LOADS of suspense! As soon as you think you've figured something out, something comes along that makes you question yourself.
The ending was a wonderful surprise! I didn't figure out what was going on until it was happening and then I was smacking myself on the forehead and muttering, "Of course!"
The pieces fall into place very nicely at the end, with just enough left out of place to guarantee the next book will be just as interesting. This is book number one in a series that so far is up to five, and I can't wait to read the next one!
Blue Moon is the story of Jessie McQuade , local cop in a small Wisconsin town nestled in the woods. The area is abundant in wild life, and Indian legends. One of which comes to life and starts killing innocent people on Jessie's watch.
Jessie meets Professor William Cadotte when she asks him for help discerning the significance of a wolf totem she found at the scene an accident involving a huge black wolf. Jessie had run into Will previously, at his cabin in the woods when she was pursuing a wolf. He was naked at the time, and Jessie's not quite able to forget the image.
Heat flares between Jessie and Will in the midst of unraveling a secret that has people disappearing and doubts multiplying.
Is will the love Jessie's always hoped for? Or the werewolf trying to take over the town?
There are a lot of conspiracy theories and double-guessing going on in this book. Every chapter I was changing my opinion of the characters and my suspicion of whodunit. There's action and romance and LOADS of suspense! As soon as you think you've figured something out, something comes along that makes you question yourself.
The ending was a wonderful surprise! I didn't figure out what was going on until it was happening and then I was smacking myself on the forehead and muttering, "Of course!"
The pieces fall into place very nicely at the end, with just enough left out of place to guarantee the next book will be just as interesting. This is book number one in a series that so far is up to five, and I can't wait to read the next one!
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Position Open
It occurred to me today that there's no female counterpart equal to Hugh Heffner.
WHY THE HELL NOT?!?!?
Hell! I'll take that job! Just send me the paper clipping that says:
WANTED:
Full Time
Woman needed to run Male pornographic magazine. Responsibilities include picking Man of the Month, Sleeping with Candidates, Living in a Mansion with hot men, and wearing silk PJs.
I mean, it's pretty nice to have job security so great that even when you're old and wrinkly you're still guaranteed to get some whenever you want it.
I can't be the first woman to realize this. Why isn't there already someone in this position? What's better than legally being a ho beyond reproach? That's basically what Hugh is - a Professional Pimp - except he only sells photos of his girls, not sexual favors from them - although honestly, we all know what happens between men and that magazine.
WHY THE HELL NOT?!?!?
Hell! I'll take that job! Just send me the paper clipping that says:
WANTED:
Full Time
Woman needed to run Male pornographic magazine. Responsibilities include picking Man of the Month, Sleeping with Candidates, Living in a Mansion with hot men, and wearing silk PJs.
I mean, it's pretty nice to have job security so great that even when you're old and wrinkly you're still guaranteed to get some whenever you want it.
I can't be the first woman to realize this. Why isn't there already someone in this position? What's better than legally being a ho beyond reproach? That's basically what Hugh is - a Professional Pimp - except he only sells photos of his girls, not sexual favors from them - although honestly, we all know what happens between men and that magazine.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Pet Sperm
I did all sorts of things today! This being-awake-during-daylight-hours thing isn't as bad as I thought it would be. I even went for a walk this afternoon to enjoy the nice weather.
But before all that....
We have a kidney-shaped swimming pool in the back yard. The woman who owned this house before last August only visited for the occasional weekend - and she never took care of the pool. All the chlorine has gone out of it and there's algae growing - the cover has a tear and is covered with water and leaves and pond-gunk. I don't even call it a pool, I call it the pond.
Local wildlife has reached the same conclusion. There are often mallards swimming in the pool. The couple I've named Artur and Sophelia. There's also a solitary male I've yet to name. I keep hoping he'll meet a nice female to settle down with, and likewise earn a name by contributing to the Great Circle of the Black Market. What? Like I'd say life? I'm hoping Artur and Sophelia will decide to nest in the woods surrounding the backyard. Then I can steal the eggs and incubate them in my electric blanket in my closet (so the cat's don't eat them). Then, when they hatch, I'll be the one they imprint on & I can walk around the house with a trail of ducklings following behind like those old wooden toys before batteries were invented. I can dress in an extravagant black outfit with a wonderfully big black hat and nuzzle them against my cheeks like I'm in Tuscany.
Since they'll be imprinted on me, I can train them & subsequently sell them to Hollywood for enough money to clean the baby duck crap off the hardwood floors after they're gone. And if any of them are too stupid to learn tricks, Gram's been wanting to make duck a'lorange.
Gram doesn't like the ducks. When I tell her the male is wagging his tail, she says it means he's pooping in her pool. I always thought it meant they were happy. I told her I didn't see it poo, but I don't know if duck poo floats or sinks.
Today, I laid in the sun next to the pool and watched the water skippers flee in the other direction. That's when I saw millions upon billions upon some other obscenely great number of tadpoles. The pool is infested with them. I laid on my belly and watched them race around like little black sperm with no purpose since there wasn't an egg in sight. A frog came to sit at the edge of the pool liner and watch me with frightened interest.
I asked Gram if I could keep some of the tadpoles in a mason jar on the back porch and watch them grow legs. She didn't seem enthralled with the idea, but didn't refuse, so I got the net (we have a small fish pond & a fish net) & went to catch me some sperm.
I managed to catch the frog! He was brilliant shades of forest green above his front legs, but below was a muddy brown. I yelled for Gram to come see, but the phone rang and when she said it was for me I turned to look and he jumped out of my grasp.
It was the call from work I'd been waiting for. Not that I wanted them to call, I just knew they would. Bonnie said, "Tell me you weren't taking an afternoon nap."
"No. I was catchin frogs."
I explained the situation to Bonnie & she said she hoped it spit on me. Gram was listening in & having a fit thinking the frog was in her house. I told them both it was back in the pool and thanks to them I probably wouldn't be able to catch it again today.
Bonnie asked me if I could work a longer shift tomorrow. I said, "I let the frog get away for this?"
I managed to catch 5 tadpoles. They look like black sperm with little beady eyes that shine white if the light hits them right. I got a big one, a little one, a fast one, an adventurous one, and one that just follows the others around looking for something worth anything.
Their names are: Spermicide, Condom, Diaphragm, Hysterectomy, and Squishy. Little Nicky calls tadpoles "Nemos," so the entire time I was laying on the edge of the pool picking my sperm, I kept thinking, "I shall call him Squishy. And he shall be mine. And he shall be my Squishy."
At one point, I saw a HUGE tadpole swim up from the muck. I shrieked to Gram, but it swam right back down into the shadows. It was the side of a two-year-old's fist! I don't know if it forgot to grow legs or what, but I didn't hink tadpoles were ever that big.
Looked like this one - I'm looking for info in it. If you look closely, there's a brown tadpole near the middle of this picture.
But before all that....
We have a kidney-shaped swimming pool in the back yard. The woman who owned this house before last August only visited for the occasional weekend - and she never took care of the pool. All the chlorine has gone out of it and there's algae growing - the cover has a tear and is covered with water and leaves and pond-gunk. I don't even call it a pool, I call it the pond.
Local wildlife has reached the same conclusion. There are often mallards swimming in the pool. The couple I've named Artur and Sophelia. There's also a solitary male I've yet to name. I keep hoping he'll meet a nice female to settle down with, and likewise earn a name by contributing to the Great Circle of the Black Market. What? Like I'd say life? I'm hoping Artur and Sophelia will decide to nest in the woods surrounding the backyard. Then I can steal the eggs and incubate them in my electric blanket in my closet (so the cat's don't eat them). Then, when they hatch, I'll be the one they imprint on & I can walk around the house with a trail of ducklings following behind like those old wooden toys before batteries were invented. I can dress in an extravagant black outfit with a wonderfully big black hat and nuzzle them against my cheeks like I'm in Tuscany.
Since they'll be imprinted on me, I can train them & subsequently sell them to Hollywood for enough money to clean the baby duck crap off the hardwood floors after they're gone. And if any of them are too stupid to learn tricks, Gram's been wanting to make duck a'lorange.
Gram doesn't like the ducks. When I tell her the male is wagging his tail, she says it means he's pooping in her pool. I always thought it meant they were happy. I told her I didn't see it poo, but I don't know if duck poo floats or sinks.
Today, I laid in the sun next to the pool and watched the water skippers flee in the other direction. That's when I saw millions upon billions upon some other obscenely great number of tadpoles. The pool is infested with them. I laid on my belly and watched them race around like little black sperm with no purpose since there wasn't an egg in sight. A frog came to sit at the edge of the pool liner and watch me with frightened interest.
I asked Gram if I could keep some of the tadpoles in a mason jar on the back porch and watch them grow legs. She didn't seem enthralled with the idea, but didn't refuse, so I got the net (we have a small fish pond & a fish net) & went to catch me some sperm.
I managed to catch the frog! He was brilliant shades of forest green above his front legs, but below was a muddy brown. I yelled for Gram to come see, but the phone rang and when she said it was for me I turned to look and he jumped out of my grasp.
It was the call from work I'd been waiting for. Not that I wanted them to call, I just knew they would. Bonnie said, "Tell me you weren't taking an afternoon nap."
"No. I was catchin frogs."
I explained the situation to Bonnie & she said she hoped it spit on me. Gram was listening in & having a fit thinking the frog was in her house. I told them both it was back in the pool and thanks to them I probably wouldn't be able to catch it again today.
Bonnie asked me if I could work a longer shift tomorrow. I said, "I let the frog get away for this?"
I managed to catch 5 tadpoles. They look like black sperm with little beady eyes that shine white if the light hits them right. I got a big one, a little one, a fast one, an adventurous one, and one that just follows the others around looking for something worth anything.
Their names are: Spermicide, Condom, Diaphragm, Hysterectomy, and Squishy. Little Nicky calls tadpoles "Nemos," so the entire time I was laying on the edge of the pool picking my sperm, I kept thinking, "I shall call him Squishy. And he shall be mine. And he shall be my Squishy."
At one point, I saw a HUGE tadpole swim up from the muck. I shrieked to Gram, but it swam right back down into the shadows. It was the side of a two-year-old's fist! I don't know if it forgot to grow legs or what, but I didn't hink tadpoles were ever that big.
Looked like this one - I'm looking for info in it. If you look closely, there's a brown tadpole near the middle of this picture.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Double-Wide Death-Bed RANT
Anyone reading this post, please read to the end so you don't think I'm some skinny bitch who just hates fat people - as is not the case.
I came across an article today about the lengths America goes to in the interest of accommodating its overweight population. It seems the economy and the health industry are at odds. With as much emphasis as is put on eating right, exercising, and in general leading a healthy life - a lot is being done to keep corpulent people happy as they are - fat.
There are special resorts chubby vacationers can visit, where instead of nude beaches, there are bloated beaches. No skinny people allowed. We wouldn't want the tubbies to feel ashamed & decide to do something about their unhealthy state of living.
The final straw that led me to post is a picture of a coffin. A normal casket is 27 inches wide, but for today's trailer trash sloths, Goliath Casket is accommodating with a double-wide. This company regularly keeps 52 inch wide caskets in stock. What's even more unbelievable is they've produced caskets up to 7 feet square!
I seem to remember a little tid-bit of knowledge from grade school that your height is supposed to equal within an inch or two the width from fingertip to fingertip with your arms spread wide. Given that fact - where are the arms on a 7ft square individual? I've used my phenomenal art and sketching skills to render this approximation:
Okay, so I draw crappy noses, but I think the rest should be fairly accurate. Notice the extremities turning blue from lack of oxygen - or use. Also, the mouth open wide to suck in more food like a vacuum with the bag compartment open to the air so it never fills.
I'm obese myself, but I think I'd rather kill myself before making my family spend a mil on a 7ft casket for me. I've actually become quite complacent with my image. That entire, "it's what's inside that counts" philosophy. Well, if you don't take care of the outside, it won't survive long enough for the inside to do a damn thing.
I started an exercise regimen *ugh* which I'm going to try my damnedest to stick to. I'll work on diet after I adjust to exercising. One foot and a time at all. I just can't stand the thought that society is trying to make people comfortable being fat instead of making them comfortable while getting thin.
I do realize some people actually have health issues like glandular things that make them obese. I feel for these people. There are so many other fat people running around, society assumes the people with medical conditions are lazy black holes like the others.
Just my thoughts. Any other comments from the skinny/fat/midline community will be accepted. If you're interested, here's a link to a copy of the article I read.
Good Morning Starshine!
I am NOT a morning person! I should be. Not that I want to be, just that my doctor keeps telling me my sleep schedule is backwards and I should try to be awake when the rest of society is functioning. I told him I have friends in western time zones. He didn't seem to care.
Mornings just aren't my thing. They require too much coffee. With or without coffee, I always end up zany. This morning, I couldn't fight off the urge to burst out singing "Good Morning Starshine" at the top of my lungs. It was one line at a time because I kept cracking up at myself and the sound of it echoing through the empty house. Honestly, I was loud enough the neighbors might have heard. Well, if there hadn't been jackhammers going off since 8am they might have. I was already awake at 8, but I didn't want to be & the pounding destroyed any hope of falling back asleep.
So, I'm running on my 3rd cup of coffee and starting to think coherently. Much better than my 2nd cup when I was trying to eat an orange and considering that trying to get into the good part thick-rind Sunkist Orange is like trying to break into a bank. There are some with thinner skins, local banks, then there are the thicker skinned national banks. A banana would be like a convenient store, or the local gas station food mart - any moron with have a fingernail can take a try at it. Coconuts are like the Fort Knox of nature - no use even thinking about it without the right tools.
Other breakfast musings included: which cream should I use? Creams are really best suited for moods. Vanilla Caramel is for a relaxed morning. French Vanilla is when you just want to follow the schedule and gets things done with no hassle. I've not quite decided what Irish Creme is for yet. What is Irish Creme anyway? Do the Irish have different creme than Americans? In a taste test - would people be able to tell Irish Creme from British Creme? Why don't you see British Creme? Don't they put creme in their tea? Does it not live up to Irish Creme?
This morning I saw a baby Mourning Dove on the roof outside my bathroom window. It is quite possibly the cutest thing I have seen all year.
Haiku for the morning:
Spill milk I'm blase,
But I wimper like a pup,
If you slosh coffee.
Yes, I cried this morning when I spilled a few drops of my coffee. Don't act like you never have.
Fun link for the morning: Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs.
I'm considering picking this book up today. The excerpt piqued my interest. The only thing stopping me is the guilty knowledge that I spent over $125 on an order of books at Barnes & Noble online last night. Yeah, the 15 books are worth it. I just have a guilt complex - but I'm not about to get into the psychology of my formative years at the moment. I just feel like a fat person eating a slice of chocolate cake that they love, then feeling guilty because it was so good, but they aren't about to exercise to work off the calories.
Anywho, I'm off to work. I had the wonderful idea yesterday to sling down the pants on the mannequins so they're mooning the customers. Someone did it yesterday (a teen-aged customer) & it struck me as a good idea for something to do.
Mornings just aren't my thing. They require too much coffee. With or without coffee, I always end up zany. This morning, I couldn't fight off the urge to burst out singing "Good Morning Starshine" at the top of my lungs. It was one line at a time because I kept cracking up at myself and the sound of it echoing through the empty house. Honestly, I was loud enough the neighbors might have heard. Well, if there hadn't been jackhammers going off since 8am they might have. I was already awake at 8, but I didn't want to be & the pounding destroyed any hope of falling back asleep.
So, I'm running on my 3rd cup of coffee and starting to think coherently. Much better than my 2nd cup when I was trying to eat an orange and considering that trying to get into the good part thick-rind Sunkist Orange is like trying to break into a bank. There are some with thinner skins, local banks, then there are the thicker skinned national banks. A banana would be like a convenient store, or the local gas station food mart - any moron with have a fingernail can take a try at it. Coconuts are like the Fort Knox of nature - no use even thinking about it without the right tools.
Other breakfast musings included: which cream should I use? Creams are really best suited for moods. Vanilla Caramel is for a relaxed morning. French Vanilla is when you just want to follow the schedule and gets things done with no hassle. I've not quite decided what Irish Creme is for yet. What is Irish Creme anyway? Do the Irish have different creme than Americans? In a taste test - would people be able to tell Irish Creme from British Creme? Why don't you see British Creme? Don't they put creme in their tea? Does it not live up to Irish Creme?
This morning I saw a baby Mourning Dove on the roof outside my bathroom window. It is quite possibly the cutest thing I have seen all year.
Haiku for the morning:
Spill milk I'm blase,
But I wimper like a pup,
If you slosh coffee.
Yes, I cried this morning when I spilled a few drops of my coffee. Don't act like you never have.
Fun link for the morning: Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs.
I'm considering picking this book up today. The excerpt piqued my interest. The only thing stopping me is the guilty knowledge that I spent over $125 on an order of books at Barnes & Noble online last night. Yeah, the 15 books are worth it. I just have a guilt complex - but I'm not about to get into the psychology of my formative years at the moment. I just feel like a fat person eating a slice of chocolate cake that they love, then feeling guilty because it was so good, but they aren't about to exercise to work off the calories.
Anywho, I'm off to work. I had the wonderful idea yesterday to sling down the pants on the mannequins so they're mooning the customers. Someone did it yesterday (a teen-aged customer) & it struck me as a good idea for something to do.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Master of Wolves
Today's ho'd book is Angela Knight's Master of Wolves. In Angela's blog, she mentions she had a hell of a time writing this book, but I guess it was worth the trouble, because it's one of my favorite books of hers that I've read.
Dire Wolf Jim London goes under cover as a drug dog named Rambo to investigate the murder of his childhood friend. It seems the entire Clarkston PD has gone bad. Everyone except for Faith West, the sexy K-9 handler.
Jim can smell the magic rot everywhere and is determined to keep it from Faith by any means necessary. Not an easy task when there's an evil vampire witch enchanting the police men and using death magic on innocent people like Jim's friend to increase her power.
Add to that a rogue werewolf running around town ripping out people's hearts, and Jim has his work cut out for him.
Faith finds out about the Mageverse in the worst possible way, she's bitten by the rogue werewolf. Now she's coping with having to fight a department full of cops gone bad in order to save the town, getting over her insecurities from a cheating ex to find a way to live with Jim, oh - and turning into a seven-plus foot Dire Wolf on occasion. Just another day for Clarkston's finest!
I haven't read all of Angela's books, but I've read most and try to keep up. She's created a very structured world with strict rules. I enjoy all of the different types of magical creatures, but it's easy to get lost if you're not paying attention. This isn't necessarily a book to be read at 3am when the mind is rounding at the edges. Angela tells the complete story of her hero and heroine in marvelous detail, yet still manages to include the viewpoints of secondary characters without losing focus. I've come to be a big fan of books with a few excerpts from the villain's point of view.
Master of Wolves gets big points for action (I particularly love a reference to Fight Club.) and romance. My favorite scene occurs after Faith is bitten by the rogue werewolf and is facing her first transformation. It's wonderfully detailed to explain specifics of the magic they use. It also provides a poignant view into the emotions of the hero, Jim - pointing out to the reader, Faith, and even Jim himself his feelings for Faith which he hasn't entirely confronted yet. Read the book for this chapter, but stick around for the Fight Club at the end! It's a wonderful read, as are all of Angela's. MoW is part of a series, an although it can be read by itself, it's more meaningful if you read the books in order. Particularly, I'd recommend reading Master of the Moon prior to this to hear the story of Jim's sister, Diana, who hooks up with Lyr, the Fairy King.
Dire Wolf Jim London goes under cover as a drug dog named Rambo to investigate the murder of his childhood friend. It seems the entire Clarkston PD has gone bad. Everyone except for Faith West, the sexy K-9 handler.
Jim can smell the magic rot everywhere and is determined to keep it from Faith by any means necessary. Not an easy task when there's an evil vampire witch enchanting the police men and using death magic on innocent people like Jim's friend to increase her power.
Add to that a rogue werewolf running around town ripping out people's hearts, and Jim has his work cut out for him.
Faith finds out about the Mageverse in the worst possible way, she's bitten by the rogue werewolf. Now she's coping with having to fight a department full of cops gone bad in order to save the town, getting over her insecurities from a cheating ex to find a way to live with Jim, oh - and turning into a seven-plus foot Dire Wolf on occasion. Just another day for Clarkston's finest!
I haven't read all of Angela's books, but I've read most and try to keep up. She's created a very structured world with strict rules. I enjoy all of the different types of magical creatures, but it's easy to get lost if you're not paying attention. This isn't necessarily a book to be read at 3am when the mind is rounding at the edges. Angela tells the complete story of her hero and heroine in marvelous detail, yet still manages to include the viewpoints of secondary characters without losing focus. I've come to be a big fan of books with a few excerpts from the villain's point of view.
Master of Wolves gets big points for action (I particularly love a reference to Fight Club.) and romance. My favorite scene occurs after Faith is bitten by the rogue werewolf and is facing her first transformation. It's wonderfully detailed to explain specifics of the magic they use. It also provides a poignant view into the emotions of the hero, Jim - pointing out to the reader, Faith, and even Jim himself his feelings for Faith which he hasn't entirely confronted yet. Read the book for this chapter, but stick around for the Fight Club at the end! It's a wonderful read, as are all of Angela's. MoW is part of a series, an although it can be read by itself, it's more meaningful if you read the books in order. Particularly, I'd recommend reading Master of the Moon prior to this to hear the story of Jim's sister, Diana, who hooks up with Lyr, the Fairy King.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)