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Oh I get it...like humor...but different.

Thursday, September 30, 2004

Miscellaneous

1. I remember fondly the couple of weeks when I was in the third grade that our school cafeteria served chocolate milk instead of white milk. That all seems pretty silly now when you read about the cafeteria in Virginia that served margaritas! Who knew Virginia was that far ahead of Arkansas. Damn.

2. Earthquakes and aftershocks in California, Mount St. Helens about to erupt in Washington--it is a good week for the geologydork.

3. Anyone watching "The Apprentice"? Damn, those women make we wish for a sex change operation. Please! Stop it! It's just downright painful. I haven't seen anything like that since the last eighth grade bunking party I went to. I am beginning to think that "there is no estrogen in TEAM."

On the other hand, I think all college-age females should be required to watch the show. It is VERY educational.

4. "We think there is a heightened possibility that we could see an explosion," said Cynthia Gardner, acting scientist in charge at the observatory. "We are expecting that either nothing could happen or perhaps we could have an explosive event." Either nothing could happen or perhaps we could have an explosive event? There's some good information. You could say that about the landscape burm in your front yard. Sheesh.


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Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Mount St. Helens

My volcano is "ramping up." Woo hoo!



The big eruption in 1980 occurred on my birthday, and MSH has been "mine" ever since.

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Dear Mom and Dad,

Welcome to California. I am sure you are going to love it here. Please remember to sticky-tack your glasses to your shelves and tie your furniture to the walls. Oh, and you might want to rethink hanging pictures or swag lamps above your bed. But the good news is that the weather is always wonderful and there aren't any bugs.


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Sweet Sixteen

My "baby" is 16 today. Happy birthday PU2!! I hope you will let me ride in your new truck with you!


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Thursday, September 23, 2004

Built by Committee

As Hubcap and I are coming home from dinner last night, walking along the path in front of our house, I glance through the window, through the house, into the family room. PU2 is on the couch, on her knees, peering between the slats of the blinds, looking into the back yard. CJ the Psychotic Dog is standing by, aflutter with attention and preparedness. "What the hell?" I ask myself.

As I walk into the family room, she spins around and drops onto the couch, her face a mask of deadly seriousness. "Don't hurt him!" she says.

Him. She has a him out there, and it is someone I probably should be wanting to hurt. What "him"? Past boyfriend? Chester the Child Molester? Who has this girl got trapped in my backyard???

"Hurt WHO? What are you talking about?"

"The possum."

Of course. There WOULD be a possum in my back yard. Silly me. Metropolitan area of Orange County, California, that should have been my first guess. NOT.

"What...." I begin.

It is the last word I say for a while, as the story begins tumbling out....

"I was sitting out there reading and I saw something move and there he was, on the ground, and I was afraid to move because I thought he might attack me, so I just sat there and stared, and when I moved, he was like *imitation of dead animal that I wish like HELL I could describe, because it was so freaking funny* and then he was like *imitation of live animal with little feet and projecting front teeth* and he climbed the tree and then I thought, well, since he is up the tree, he probably can't get down and get to me all that fast, so then I got up and came in here, and when I got us, he was all like *imitation of dead animal again*, but after I came in he was all like *live animal*, but he was really nice and didn't hiss at me or anything, but he is hideous, really fucking ugly, but he's cute, and don't hurt him!"

A few background details. Our "back yard" is a patio that is about 3 feet by 2 feet. Okay, maybe that is an exaggeration, but it is small. The "tree" is about chest high and had just been pruned, so it was more a branchy dead-looking stick. The possum was, in fact, a possum. This girl is from Arkansas. She knows her possums. And it wasn't a baby. It was probably a teenager. With some serious BO. But I get ahead of myself. Oh, and finally, I would NEVER hurt an animal, not even a butt-ugly built-by-committee oversize rat of an animal.

PU2, Hubcap, CJ the Psychotic Dog and I are all peering out various windows at the tree rat, and PU2 continues to beg for his ugly life. I finally convince her that I am NOT going to hurt the damn thing. Sheesh. I will, however, model for her the non-girly way to deal with unwanted creatures (the one that does NOT involve standing on chairs and screaming and looking pleadingly at the nearest carrier of testosterone). Hubcap, knowing this to be my approach to life, laughingly goes upstairs to work on the computer, leaving me, Super Possum Hunter, to handle the situation.

From the garage I retrieve a laundry basket and a plastic hanger. My thinking is that I will nudge the possum into the basket and put him down outside the courtyard so he can go on his merry way in the wilds of Orange County. I ask PU2 if she wants to nudge or hold the basket. She declines. No problem. I have two hands.

I position the basket under the "tree" and begin nudging. I don't know if the frights that the possum has already withstood have caused him to beshit himself, or if he just always smells like that, but my oh my, this fellow is RIPE. He also decides that I am not worth playing dead for, so he hisses, looks hideous, and uses the basket as a convenient way to get to the top of the fence. Attempts to nudge him from the top of the fence result in stinking and scurrying as he dashes down the length of the fence into a dark corner.

I give up. The PO with BO, as PU2 has named him, has claimed a hidden corner. I think to myself, at least he is out of sight of CJ the Psychotic Dog. I was afraid that CJ was going to rearrange the blinds all night long trying to get to him. For although CJ is terrified of bubble wrap, he doesn't have any fear at all of huge rat-like committee creatures.

At the time we went to bed, PO with BO was still on his corner of the fence. This morning he had disappeared. Will we see him again? Will PU2 recover from the trauma of being stalked by a possum? Will he return with his possum posse to terrorize the entire household? Only time will tell...

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Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Serenity now

Serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now, goddamnit!

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Santa Ana

First significant Santa Ana wind event of the season today. After weeks of on-shore breezes blowing the trash one way, today it is all headed the OTHER direction, along with all the leaves that had been hanging on to the trees, small children, and mini vans. I love the Santa Anas. Makes me feel like I can fly. Wait, I AM flying. I'll be danged.

CJ the psychotic dawg does NOT love the Santa Anas. When we adopted CJ just over a year ago, we didn't KNOW he was psychotic. He hid it well. But then, I don't know, maybe his meds wore off or something, and he started presenting. First, it was noises that sounded like storms that set him off. Even a storm on TV would send him into the bug-eyed shakes. Then he graduated to freaking out about other noises outside, noises we couldn't even hear. Then he stopped going out after dark. No more last-walk-of-the-day walks. He would fight against the leash and refuse. Now he will just suddenly, for no reason we know of whatsoever, start shaking and panting, his eyes bugging out of his head. He hides in our closet a lot.

So at 5:30 this morning, he starts the panic attack. He goes into PU2's room and tries to get into her closet. Then he tries (I swear, she told me this) to climb out her window. (Bad move, psycho. It's a second-floor room. Doggie go "splat.") Then he climbs in bed with her, shaking so hard he is rocking the bed. All I can figure is that that is when the winds started picking up. We had our windows open, so he would have heard the change in the sounds. I don't know what else it could be.

I need someone to hook me up with some doggie prozac.

It's actually pretty funny, in a way. CJ is a brindle-colored boxer and/or pit bull mix who weighs in at nearly 70 pounds and looks ferocious. When we walk him, people cross the street to avoid coming anywhere near him. And he is afraid of the sound of carrots snapping.

"Get that dog back! I have bubble wrap, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

Sheesh.



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Thursday, September 16, 2004

That won't work...

Reading The Pissed Kitty this morning has inspired me to bitch. No, not about Kitty. Kitty is hilarious, a daily read for me. But reading about her mother caring for her grandparents...

Here's the thing, kids. Most of you have parents who are, well, MY age....and probably out playing golf or taking gourmet cooking classes or paragliding and nowhere near being frail or decrepit. At least I hope that is the case, and God bless you and them. But if you live long enough, and your parents live long enough, eventually they will be old people (or O.P.s), and you will be in the position to either have to care for them or else duck the responsibility with the agility of a Chinese gymnast (have I mentioned my brother? but I digress...).

PU2 and I have spent countless hours the past few months researching living arrangements in Cali for my parents. They are still in Arkansas, though all the rest of the family has left there, and their health is deteriorating rapidly. They are in "independent living" now, but they probably should be in "assisted living," and they undoubtedly should be nearer one of their two children. That means me. Bubba simply can't cope. Mom is NOT an easy person to deal with. But I digress again.

So we are looking at choosing between a regular apartment with hired help to come in a few afternoons a week or assisted living. The difference in cost is huge (reg. apartment x 3 = assisted living), and frankly, they can't afford any of it. Arkansas is cheaper, but they can't take being alone.

So PU2 and I research and visit places and call Mom with the latest recommendation. Usually PU2 and I are all excited because we think we have found JUST the right place...nice apartment, attached garage, fireplace, overlooking nature trail, near shopping....and then, the bucket of water on the top of the door crashes down. "I just don't think I can live in an apartment. I need more support than that. I need assisted living."

OK. Back to square one. We research assisted living. We visit three places (mind you, these visits are time consuming..."this is our dining room, this is our card room, this is our laundry facility...."). We find it. A perfect place. For an additional cleaning deposit of $1500, they can even smoke in their apartment! We call Mom, all excited. Bucket of water, door. "I just don't see how I can afford assisted living. Besides, if I can't ride my scooter there, how will I get to the dining room? That just won't work. I need something cheaper. I think I will just get an apartment here in Arkansas." (#*%^^#*!~~???) "Mom, if you are going to get an apartment, you need to get one out HERE where I can look after you. I'll look at apartments."

Back to square one. But they know me there, and there is a chair with my name on it. So we look at senior apartments and at regular apartments, apartments less than a mile from our house, apartments apartments apartments. Have recommendation. Call mom. Bucket, door. "I just don't know. I just don't know. I am afraid we just can't get by in an apartment...."

I have maintained my patience thus far, which has required more control than I even knew I was capable of, but I think it is time that I loosed my temper. And that is not a misspelling, thank you. I am going to have to make a decision and call her up and say, "I have a deposit on an apartment, and the movers will be there to pack you on --fill in the date--" Otherwise, six years from now, I will still be doing this, with my head dented from the bucket.

I pulled out the sheaf of materials that I have accumulated from all these site visits last night to look through them, and PU2 let me have it. "Put those up!" she said, sternly. "Don't spend another minute on that stuff until SHE commits [SHE being her grandmother, my mother, Mrs. I Don't Know]. You have GOT to stop stressing over this!" I protested. I really don't think I HAVE been stressing. I am just doing what I have to do to live with myself and not feel like I have abandoned them (have I mentioned my brother? But I digress....) She would have none of that. She loosed HER temper on me for about five minutes, telling me to get a spine and quit opening the door and complaining about the bucket.

Oh, by the way. There is a father involved in this too. My dad is the world's most wonderful man, funny, charming, beloved by everyone who knows him. He sits in his recliner and says, "Whatever you want to do, dear." I adore my dad. I truly do. And getting him out here closer to me is motivation enough to keep me going. Unfortunately, I have to deal with the three-headed hound of hell Mrs. I Don't Know.

Oh, Lord. I feel guilty now. What an ingrate I am. But that was fun. By the way, to my brother, in case he reads this....I'm sorry. I don't blame you. OK, I do. But I understand. OK, I don't. But I forgive you. OK, I'm trying to. But I love you.

Oh, and PU2, you are the BEST!!! I can't believe how you have hung in there with me. I PROMISE I will NOT do this to YOU! :-)

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Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Things I wish I had done...

1. Attended the taping of the Oprah show last Thursday
2. Asked for Walmart stock for a high school graduation present
3. NOT gotten married at 18.
4. Gone to grad school in Boston instead of Arkansas
5. Taken the job in Aliso Viejo three and a half years ago instead of the one I took in Huntington Beach
6. Held on to the family's 1965-1/2 Mustang GT
7. Stayed skinny
8. Majored in geology
9. Not stepped off that curb on June 6, 2000, in quite that way...
10. Appreciated my grandmother more
11. Had a whole lot more sense a whole lot sooner

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Thursday, September 09, 2004

Do you ever

get the feeling that someone is watching you?


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Wednesday, September 08, 2004

PU2

I tried to tell her she is too young to be a red-hat lady....


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The word for the day is...

Colon mole. Noun phrase. Cars that follow so closely on your bumper that you think they are going to crawl up your tailpipe.

Long, hot weekend for me that ended only this a.m. Hubcap, PU2 and I spent some quality time with the in-laws Sunday and Monday at the Lawrence Welk Resort (yeah, no kidding). Yesterday PU2 and I looked at housing options for my parents (thinking about moving them out here). It's hot. Hotter than SoCal is supposed to be. And that makes me cranky.

The good news: our house is off the market, so no more posts about staging and real estate.
The bad news: our house is off the market, so no more posts about moving and buying a neat new house.

Happy Wednesday!

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Thursday, September 02, 2004

From Snopes.com

[Some of these have been around for a while, but I think they are good for a Thursday giggle anyway.]

Here are the top nine comments made by NBC sports commentators during the [2004] Summer Olympics that they would like to take back

1. Weightlifting commentator: "This is Gregoriava from Bulgaria. I saw her snatch this morning during her warm up and it was amazing."

2. Dressage commentator: "This is really a lovely horse and I speak from personal experience since I once mounted her mother."

3. Paul Hamm, Gymnast: "I owe a lot to my parents, especially my mother and father."

4. Boxing Analyst: "Sure there have been injuries,and even some deaths in boxing, but none of them really that serious."

5. Softball announcer: "If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again."

6. Basketball analyst: "He dribbles a lot and the opposition doesn't like it. In fact you can see it all over their faces."

7. At the rowing medal ceremony: "Ah, isn't that nice, the wife of the IOC president is hugging the cox of the British crew."

8. Soccer commentator: "Julian Dicks is everywhere. It's like they've got eleven Dicks on the field."

9. Tennis commentator: "One of the reasons Andy is playing so well is that, before the final round, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them . . . Oh my God, what have I just said?"

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Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Random thoughts

What is a "rampart," and do I have one to watch o'er?
Was there an announcement this week that people could drive in two lanes at once and I just didn't get it?
My dog is now afraid of the noise the tv makes when there is too much white on the screen.
Unless you are planning to have sex with someone, why should you care what his/her sexual preference is?
I saw four Rolls Royces in three days last week.
My Palm Pilot dropped dead, but I found a great source for repair. Let me know if you want the info.
I cannot live without my Palm Pilot, and neither can anyone else in my immediate family (MY palm, not theirs).
When will "Carnivale" be back on?
It has been very quiet recently as far as earthquakes in SoCal are concerned....does this mean something more significant is just around the corner?
PU2 takes the driving part of her driving test Sept. 30. Everyone prepare accordingly.
Realtors who say they will be there "around 5:00" and never come at all suck pond water.
Anyone available to dog sit Sunday night?
My neighbors got a new minivan yesterday, and all their friends flocked around to see it as if they had never seen a minivan before.
Who are those people who have time to play softball, and how do I get a life like that?
"Scrubs" is back. God be thanked.

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