Aww, dang.

Well, I was perusing my usual morning blogs and hit a meme. Sigh. It's over at Dawn's "Because I Said SO" if you want to see her answers. Here are mine.

Sixty Things
(Not Quite) 60 Things You Possibly Didn't Know About Me

1. What is in the back seat of your car right now?
Without going down to look - a booster seat for Bird, several kid's meal type toys, some ossified french fries for future anthropologists, archeologists, and geologists to wonder at, several kid-sized quilts and a full-sized quilt, some napkins, a pair of Bird-sized sunglasses, a crocheted shawl, three DK learning system books, an empty water bottle, a rogue Cheez-It or three, and various other little-boy leavings. And that's just the SEAT!

2. When was the last time you threw up?
Umm...a couple of weeks ago. I can't remember the exact date...it's not like I keep a diary of these things!

3. What's your favorite curse word?
I vacillate between "Oh, pickles!", "Oh, pucker-nuts!", "Holy crap!", "Confound it!", "Oh, bother!", "Dang it!", and a few other non-cussish cuss words. If I am really cheesed off, I may say "Fuckery!" or some other derivation of the f-bomb, but I prefer to be creative.

4. Name 3 people who made you smile today?
It's early, yet...Bird's the only person I've interacted with so far. Umm...Bird, mum (in an e-mail), annnnnd...ah...do the cats count? They frequently amuse me.

5. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
Trying to convince myself that it was OK to go back to sleep since Bird wasn't awake yet. I failed.

6. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Reading someone else's blog and eating breakfast.

7. What will you be doing 3 hours from now?
Probably making lunch for Bird and T, or trying desperately to get some portion of this house tidy for Friday's company. Sigh.

8. Have you ever been to a strip club?
I'd rather go to a ribeye club...

9. What is the last thing you said aloud?
Bird, would you like some Kashi?

10. What is the best ice cream flavor?
Phish Food...or strawberry...or coffee...umm...you shouldn't ask an Aquarius to choose a favorite anything. We rarely have one.

11. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Mmmm, water...

12. What are you wearing right now?
Cotton-linen blend pajama pants and an old sarong shirt. I decided not to get dressed today. Yeah, decided.

13. What was the last thing you ate?
A bowl of Special K cereal.

14. Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
Nope.

15. When was the last time you ran?
I dunno, when was the last time I was chased?

16. What's the last sporting event you watched?
I suppose the Super Bowl...I started watching for the commercials but kinda got into the game, too. The shame...

Where's seventeen? There's no seventeen!! What do the meme creators have against seventeen???

18. Who is the last person you emailed?
Mum.

19. Ever go camping?
Oh, yes. I like camping. Yes, even the tent kind with bugs and cooking over a fire and sleeping on the ground.

20. Do you have a tan?
No, nor do I have skin cancer. Hmm, think there's a corollary?

Twenty-one, twenty-two, and twenty-three have gone in search of seventeen and will not return until they've found it!

24. Do you drink your soda from a straw?
That's no way to treat good scotch!!

25. What did your last IM say?
I don't remember...probably telling my roommate J what was for dinner...

26. Are you someone's best friend?
Sometimes I wonder...

27. What are you doing tomorrow?
Hmm...Thursday...more cleaning of the mess, doing of the laundry, making of keylime pie for Friday, and then going to Borders to pretend to write and hang out with my friends (we have a discussion group that meets there weekly and I go early to goof off write). Then, probably a late dinner at Fridays and home. Gee, aren't you glad you asked??

28. Where is your mom right now?
She was online a moment ago, so I presume she's home.

29. Look to your left, what do you see?
A wall and some cobwebs.

30. What color is your watch?
Uhhhhh....ummmmm....ahhhhh....watch? I DO have a silver pocket watch that I use on occasion, but it's old and grumpy and doesn't always function. I love it, kinda like me!


31. What do you think of when you think of Australia ?
Wanna go, maybe run away from home and hide out under a wallaby or a wombat or something.

32. Would you consider plastic surgery?
Yes. Yes I would.

33. What is your birthstone?
Amethyst.

34. Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?
Unless I intend to let Bird play in a play-area, I drive through.

35.How many kids do you want?
Three, one of each kind.

36. Do you have a dog?
Nope.

37. Last person you talked to on the phone?
My roommate J, who wanted to know if a package had come for him. I looked out by the door and the garage. It hasn't come yet.

38. Have you met anyone famous?
Umm...well, yeah, actually. When I was a kid, I played with that guy from Sha-na-na's beard. Not Bowzer...one of the other guys. I sat on his lap and tugged his beard. I have no recall of this - my dad swears it's true. Also, I have met and almost rescued Paul Newman, sewed patches onto the driver's suits of several race car drivers (Including Boris Said who still owes me for it...heh...), pulled a few more out of tire walls, and met Patrick Dempsey who is just about the nicest fellow ever. You get to meet all kinds of folks at the race track.

39. Any plans today?
House keepery, cookery, and general skullduggery.

40. How many states have you lived in?
Let's count...umm...comfusion, suspense, distress, misery...oh, wait, I bet you meant how many of the United States I've RESIDED in. Five.

41. Ever go to college?
For a while, but it wasn't my cuppa - I like thinking outside the box, for myself, and it turns out that most colleges aren't so keen on that sort of behavior.

42. Where are you right now?
I am here.

43. Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
The constant struggle to get this place clean and keep it that way.

44. Last song listened to?
Something the Doodlebops were singing, goddess help me.

Concerned about the fate of our other missing numbers, forty-five is organizing an expedition into the wilds of the hard drive to find them. Wish it luck.

46. Are you allergic to anything?
Yep.

47. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
Crocs.

48. Are you jealous of anyone?
Happy people...I want to know how they manage it on a regular basis.

Forty-nine is making sandwiches for the trip and will get back with us in a bit.

50. Is anyone jealous of you?
Let's don't be silly...

51. What time is it?
It was before nine-o'clock when I started this thing, but now it's a bit after ten.

52. Do any of your friends have children?
Most of them do, in fact.

53. Do you eat healthy?
Healthy, unhealthy, positively deadly, I am an equal opportunity consumer.

54. What do you usually do during the day?
As little as possible? Read blogs, comment, write blogs, laundry, check e-mail, write e-mail, run errands, clean house a bit, school Bird, play with Bird, feed Bird, clean up after Bird, watch TV with Bird, read, bathe, cook, nap, and try to finish one of the million-and-two stories I'm working on but never seem to get anywhere with. Also crochet, quilt, make sarong shirts, bead, chain maille, color, paint, and generally exhibit crafter's ADD.

55. Do you hate anyone right now?
Only myself.

56. Do you use the word 'hello' daily?
I have no idea, but probably.

Fifty-seven is sulking because it wasn't invited on the expedition.

58. How old will you be turning on your next birthday?
In two days I will be precisely one year older than I am today.

59. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Once or twice, but not recently.

60. How did you get one of your scars?
Hmm...which one? There's the windshield scar, the tape dispenser scar, the spear-to-the-face scar, the amazing-exploding-appendix-while-pregnant trio, and the c-section. And that's not including emotional scars! Which one did you want to know about?

See-Saw

Bird just wandered into the living room and lost his mind over...I have no idea what. Something to do with his cup. We told him he can't have an open cup in his room, it has to be a straw or sippy cup - they don't spill. He wasn't pleased about that...

He came into the living room and told me he never wanted to drink from that kind of cup again, then burst into tears and didn't want me to look at him. Huh. Kids are an enigma. I coaxed him onto my lap - he didn't want to climb up while there were tears in his eyes, but they wouldn't stop coming, wouldn't leave him alone. I told him he could wipe them on my shoulder - no, that wouldn't work because he was wiping them on his own should and they were still coming. His words. He didn't want his mum to see him crying. Good grief, he's only FIVE!! Can't he be allowed free emotional release for a few more years before he has to man up?? I don't know who told him big boys don't cry, but I will knock them into next week if I find out they did it again. I will hunt them down and knock them into next week. Let my kid be a kid, for cryin' out loud!!

Like I said, I managed to get him onto my lap, and I asked him why he was crying...was he sad? Angry? I explained that I cry when I'm angry or sad, or even happy, which is completely unreasonable. He smiled. I told him it was OK to cry when he felt strongly about something - it helps to get the sad and mad out of him. I also told him that I found it helpful to talk about what made me sad or mad. He thought about that, then explained about how he wanted big-boy cups in his room, but he was bad at night and he couldn't have them. Wha...? I told him he's not bad at night...I know sometimes (OK, most of the time) he plays even after the lights have gone out, but he DOES eventually sleep. Poor little guy. I think it's easy for the mind of a child to blow things out of proportion. I think he was crying because he talked himself into believing that his straw cups would go away forever, and it broke his heart. And everything else followed.

I held him close and told him a mommy story (one I made up, he likes them even if they are about as interesting as watching tar harden) and sent him to bed. One little outburst later, he snuggled on down clutching his straw cup. Oh my goddess, I love him so much, it makes my heart stutter. I can't keep him from hurting, even if it's only over a cup...but I can still make it better. Mommy power still in full effect. Whew.

Up, down, up, down...

Thumbnail Moon

It's getting late, and I'm tired, but I can't go to bed yet. T told Bird he could cuddle, so the bed is full of the pair of them, playing. Bird usually has one cuddle night a week, on Thursday when I am at Borders pretending to write writing and having my one night a week to be an adult unencumbered with a brilliant, beloved, sweet, loving...spawn. Even mums of the best children (Bird's not perfect, no worries) need a little time out. Er. Off. On Thursday, T and Bird order pizza and do that male bondage bonding thing. They watch cartoons, wrestle on the big bed, and stay up way too late. It's good for Bird, good for T, to have that kind of playful time.

This week, Bird has had several cuddle nights as T goes to bed before I do. I don't mind, much. Right now I hear Bird laughing and playing with T, and it's a nice sound.

I'm tired, but I don't want to end their fun. I hate being the wet blanket.

So instead of going to bed, I am watching a new (for me) show called "Some Assembly Required" on Discovery. It's amusing and informative, so who could ask for more?

Somewhere on the right side of this page is a list of blogs I read. I'm adding one to it. No, I won't tell you which one, you'll have to pay attention. Go read them all, they deserve a little time and attention. I'll keep...I'm tired, but I will be here for a while, lurking in blogdome so the Evil Genius gets his daddy time.

I can stare out the window at the thumbnail moon, made fuzzy by wet and heavy skies. Maybe if I go outside I'll hear the owl calling - either something akin to a phone ringing or a horse whinnying, depending on his mood. Yes, he's still hanging about.

I read something in another blog this morning that elicited an "Oh, thank goddess I'm not the only one!" response from me. Dawn over at Because I Said So said something about how she feels when her husband is home sick from work. Her answer was spot on for how I feel. It's not reasonable, no, but there you have it - emotion so rarely is.

Meanwhile, me and the moon are going to hang out and contemplate our navels or something. G'night.

Heart stopping stuff.

I'm in the mood for love. Or cooking. And since it's dinner time...

Now, this isn't exactly gourmet stuff, here. If you want classy cuisine, go over to: http://thepioneerwomancooks.com/ and prepare to have your socks knocked off, your waistline expanded, and your wonderful self adored for serving the people you cook for her fantastic recipes. I may have mentioned in another blog that I have a teensy blogger crush on her, but that has nothing to do with my plugging her site here. Nope. Not a bit.

Where was I? Oh, right, cooking. A little white trash, middle class, casserole style cooking. Mmm.
For Xmas, I learned a couple of new tricks. I already told y'all about the cinnamon rolls here: http://kyddryn.blogspot.com/2008/01/cinnamon-rolls-long-reprint-with.html so tonight I'll just write about the casserole recipe I found on the Internet and completely ignored in favor of winging it. See, I had two potlucks in one day and I needed something to bring to both of them that involved a vegetable. One of the events specified that I was to make broccoli happen. Hmm. I always like the broccoli rice casserole at Folks restaurant (a Southern style place that make my favorite peach muffins. I know, I'm easy.) I figured I could add that new trick to my culinary repertoire AND manage to make two dishes in one go. After much researching the Internet, reading, and gnashing of teeth, I decided to wing it because nothing looked quite right for my needs. So here's my own recipe for something everyone else probably already knew how to make, Broccoli Rice Casserole (the meal in a baking dish version).

First, the culprits:

Some butter.

1/4 to 1/2 a large onion. I used a white one. You use whichever kind you like best. You want about a cup, chopped kinda small.

A couple of ribs? stalks? pieces! of celery, chopped to the same size as the onion, also about a cup.
Some garlic, chopped, or garlic powder. We've been over this, but just to make the non-fresh-using folks feel better, I used powder this time. OK, that's not really why. Really, I forgot to chop my garlic and I didn't have time, so I used powder, but I didn't want our non-fresh-ingredient friends to feel left out.

Boneless, skinless chicken breasts. I used Springer Mountain farms, because they're organic and local, and I really don't want my son developing breasts (not that I'm making any kind of social commentary on men with breasts and if he decides he wants them I will support him in his choice, but he's five and a little young to make that decision, and it's a recipe for heaven's sake!). You understand. How many? I have no idea...let me check. The package said 1.12 lbs, and it had three boobs in it. Happy? Cut 'em up into bite sized pieces. You don't have to use the chicken if you want this as a side dish.

A one pound bag of broccoli cuts. not florets, this is a casserole and you don't need it pretty.

A can of condensed broccoli-cheese soup. Use the name brand stuff, for the love of Pete. You'll thank me!

Some milk. I use organic, because you know...son with growths...yuck...

Some white wine (optional). If you don't use it to cook with, you can always drink it later. Win-win.

Salt and pepper. I use grinders with sea salt and peppercorns, because someone loves me and got me grinders for Xmas and I could.

Enough shredded cheddar cheese to choke a goat. Please don't ask me how much that is, I really don't know. I just sort of tossed it in there.

Cooked rice - I used one cup uncooked, only I cooked it up. I don't know how much that is all made up. Read the box or bag or whatever.

A largish pot.

A baking dish, greased. I used a 9 x 13.

Right, ready to fly? Here we go!

Preheat your oven to 350 or so.

Heat the largish pot over mediumish heat. Toss some butter in there. How much? What is it with you and measurements? Don't you know how much SOME is? More than a little, less than all of it! Oh, ah, sorry...I realize that not everyone speaks kitchenish. About a tablespoon or so. Feel better?

Let the butter melt and get all sizzly. Sizzle, sizzle! Reduce the heat just a touch.

Dump the onion and celery in. I mentioned you need the onion and celery chopped, right? If you didn't notice that up there, pay attention! You need about a cup of each. I didn't measure, but I think my pretty cobalt blue ramekins are a cup, so...yeah. Stir them up and get them all buttery and happy, then let them cook a bit. Not to brown, but to translucent. If you're using fresh garlic, add it a minute or two after you dump the onion and garlic in. Burned garlic can just ruin your day.

When the onion and celery are as transparent as my kid looking for a treat (uh, mommy, I love you...), toss in the chicken chunks. Stir 'em up in there so they're mingling like it's a party and everyone wants a date. Salt and pepper to your heart's content. If you're using garlic powder, shake it on. Shake it on good. Yeah.

Cover it and let it be, stirring from time to time, until the chicken is just cooked through. How long this takes depends on how big your bites are. Mine looked a little dry and tense, so I poured a tot of white wine in to help it along. It was happy and relaxed in the steam bath. You can do the same if you want, or don't worry about it. Machs nichts to me.

Once the chicken is just cooked, dump the still-frozen broccoli in the now getting crowded largish pot and give it a stir. Cover again and let it steam a bit. Umm...a couple of minutes or so, just enough to let the broccoli thaw a bit, but not enough to cook it entirely.

Add the broccoli cheese soup and give it a stir.

Now it gets complicated. You need to add enough milk to thin it out a bit, but not so much that it's all runny and stuff. I think I put in about the equivalent of 3/4 of a can in there. The chicken and broccoli were mostly covered, anyway. Let it bubble for a bit. Not too long...just enough to enjoy the hot-tub treatment.

Add the cheese. Reserve a handful for later, or just have some on hand to grate. I used everything I had - it was pre-grated stuff, about two cups or so. Yep, enough to choke a goat.

Stir, baby, stir! When it's all thick and yellowy and integrated, dump the cooked rice into it and stir it up again.

Easy, there, folks, we're on the home stretch. Dump as much of this stuff as will fit into your baking dish, but leave a little room at the top for something truly wonderful to happen later. If you have extra, container it and freeze it for another day. I did.

Cover it up and slide it into the oven. Now go give yourself a pedicure or something. Something that takes half an hour or so. Now remove the bubbling mess from the oven (using mitts, for heaven's sake!!). Take away the foil. It looks nice, huh? Not nice enough!! I grated cheese right over the top of mine, about a quarter of a stick of Cracker Barrel sharp cheddar, melting into ooey-gooey heart stopping goodness. Mmm.

Slide this back into the oven, uncovered until the cheese has become a bubbly, golden blanket of dairy love. Ten or fifteen minutes oughta do it. It should look a little like this:

Oh yeah, baby!

Look closer - that is cheese nirvana!

Now serve that puppy while it's still lava temperature. Mmm. White trash, middle class dining at its finest!

Sorry, I mistook your dress!

Ah hah! I have been informed by the stepmum of all things birdish and by a lovely person from the actual owl pages who (I hope) wasn't looking to hunt me down and smack me upside the head for the egregious crimes of not knowing my owlish pal's proper sort and stealing her pictures...pant, pant...that what we have is, in fact, an Eastern Screech Owl. My stepmum said something about Rufuss, but I don't know the owl's name and am not about to ask - I think he's shy. (Kidding, I know what she meant, please don't flood me with messages both correcting me and calling me a monumental dumbass!!!) I know how that is - I am always awkward around new folks, too.

So, here's a proper picture (once more robbed borrowed from http://www.owlpages.com/) of an Eastern Screech Owl:

And my giant red squirrel new friend:
What do you think? Are they one and the same? I believe so...the coloring is much closer.

Kudos to S (my stepmum) for making the effort over the phone, and it wasn't a video phone either. And for using my blurry, Bigfoot-like picture to narrow it down. Also to D from Owlpage.com for identifying him with the same crappy picture. They both need to join some of those Yeti-watching expeditions and save us from grainy photo hell! Or the alien groups. Either one could use the help!I am happy to know what kind of neighbors we have moving in here, and T is somewhat less thrilled at the idea of a permanent resident who makes screeching noises. Heh.

I still have no idea if it'll stay. I may have some better pictures of it if I ever figure out how to load the video camera contents onto the computer via cable gizmo, and then onto YouTube (where it will receive the fewest hits ever) and then link it to...whew, OK, I'm exhausted and am now going to rest, have some tea, and try to think of ways to talk our feathery delight back tomorrow.

Update the second.

He (or she, for all I know - it's not like I can walk up and ask!) is back again today. I wonder if this means we have a new friend? Whatever the reason, I'm tickled to see it. It's not very big, so I am thinking it may still be a little young. Then again, I have proven that I have a dirth of knowledge regarding owlish things, so it could be an octogenarian!

So what do owls mean to y'all? I've always seen the owl as a messenger between the worlds and a guardian of dreams. I give friends and family little owl figurines or pictures to hang above their kid's beds, and there's a large, black stone owl outside my front door, one of my house guards. Perhaps an owl tattoo is in my future. Mmm, ink. Something a bit tribal, maybe like the Alaskan tribal art I see from time to time.

As I sit here typing, I can turn my head a little and see our friend sitting ever so still on the same branch from yesterday - it looks like a statue up there. In a little while, some of the smaller neighborhood birds will start hollering at it - seems they don't like owls hanging about, something about not wanting to be dinner.

Hah! It moved! A moment ago he (I can't keep calling the little feller "it", that's too impersonal and I am growing fond of him) turned his head around and had a good scratch. I can't blame him, feathers are itchy! A blue jay landed on a branch near him and began scolding, and the owl slooooowly turned and gave the jay the stink eye. The jay suddenly realized he (this one WAS a boy, I could tell by the coloring. I'm not completely hopeless!) had something urgent to do on the other side of the yard. I think we'll see more movement today, as it is far less windy and our feathered chum is feeling more comfortable.

It's better than the Discovery channel! Maybe Bird and I will learn about owls this week as part of our schooling.

I hope we weren't blessed with our new chum because it lost a home elsewhere. There's so much construction around here, soon our tiny patch of woods will be all that remains. Sigh.

Is it a sign of how dull my life has gotten, that I'm this tickled about an owl??

An update.

After hours more completely scientific observation (staring out the window betweeen solitaire hands)(oh, and while making dinner, because I am nothing if not a model home maker)(and I have a bridge to sell you...), contemplation, squinting, and muttering (including trying to peer through the detached eyepiece of a telescope which rendered the world tiny and upside-down), we here at Casa Bewildered have determined the mystery critter to be a Great Horned owl and not a giant red squirrel (unless it's a mutant giant red squirrel, in which case we'll be moving soon). It did, in fact, fly away at dusk.

We are hoping to see more of it, as it's possibly the third most exciting thing we've experienced here in Blahsville, the first being the advent of Bird and the second the new fridge. Sadly, it didn't leave an owl pellet, so Mike Rowe won't be stopping by after all and providing me with a new second most exciting moment (Bird will always be first, making me a complete schmaltz. I'm good with that.). Sigh.

What the...?

There may, or may not, be an owl in our Leland Cyprus trees. It's been there a while - at first I thought it was some trash that had blown up there (it's a really windy day, today), but when I got the (old, old, really, really old, and as it turns out not very useful) binoculars to take a look, I sort of thought I saw feathers. Hmm. I got the other binoculars (not old at all but rather cheaply made and also not really useful) and looked again. Hmm. The other birds of the neighborhood were upset with that portion of tree, which made me think that something was up there, so why not an owl?

Where's Owl-o? Hint - two-thirds up, dead center, give or take. That reddish-creamish blot. Yep.

I went outside to shoot pictures, but alas...I haven't really got any sort of telephoto lens. When I walked closer to the trees, my owlish friend got cheesed off and ducked through the branches towards the trunk, the disobliging sod. He came back to the sunlight when I came back inside. Dang it. I shot some other pictures through the window, using my camera's mega-zoom feature which is terrific for taking pictures of alien spacecraft and bigfoot.

See? Nice and blurry!

I looked for our poor, abused bird book, but it has gotten put away somewhere I may never again find it, so I was pondering what to do. Ah-hah!! I looked online. No help there, none of the owly things I found looked like my critter. Hmm. Perhaps I have something new?

Yeah, not bloody likely!

So I did the next best thing - I called my dad. He and my stepmum are ornithologically excitable people. She's written a book about the birds of Martha's Vineyard, with pictures in and the approval of the Audubon society, and also a second book with additions to the first. Cool, huh? They travel all over the freakin' world looking at birds. Look, there's a bird. It's in Africa. Hey, there's another one. It's in Spain. There are birds to be seen on Madagascar, Japan, Antarctica, Alaska, Russia, and Paris (I didn't know there were any birds in Paris, besides pigeons). Also in Guyana, but they were a touch distracted by the bugs there, and possibly not as excited by the birds because of it. A few hundred mysterious insect bites will put a damper on birding, I suppose (although if they were real enthusiasts...wait, I'd better not go there, they might read this some day, get cheesed off, and never again help me figure out what kind of flapping things I have emptying the feeder). I described my feathered lodger to them, and they narrowed it down to two likely suspects:

It could be a Great Horned Owl



Or a Barred Owl

I also thought, based on nothing but a randomly pointed finger and a few squinty glances, that perhaps it could be one of these:

A Boreal Owl

Of course, it could also very well be a giant one of these:

A Red Squirrel

The markings are the same, after all, and you saw the picture - how do I know a giant red squirrel isn't equally upsetting to the Blue Jays, Cardinals, and even Mourning Doves as an owl is?

What do you think? None of the pictures that I blatantly stole borrowed from http://www.owlpages.com/index.php look like my blurry blob-in-a-tree, do they? The squirrel picture, also stolen borrowed from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_squirrel (please don't come hunt me down or send the law-doggies after me for theft borrowing these...please??) looks more like what's in my tree, except for the size. It is maybe a foot or two high, and I really don't want to think about a squirrel that size...oh, dear...what sort of nuts would I feed it???

I sent my really bad pictures of the owly critter to my dad and stepmum vie e-mail in hopes they can garner more information from them and help me identify our new friend. I'm not much of a birder, myself, but I do like to know who's (hah!) in the neighborhood. I think they were tickled that I called them to ask, truth be told...we don't talk often because they're not usually on this planet in the country - they're off leading ornithological (try typing that word in a hurry!) and natural history tours through Central America, or birding on other continents or communing with the mother ship participating in bird counts. So it was neat to not only find them at home, but to have a chance to talk to them about something that interests them. It was worth the long distance fees for making a call from Georgia to Martha's Vineyard at peak time. We don't really need to eat next month, do we?

Meanwhile, our hooty pal is still hanging onto that branch. Dad said it would probably take off around dusk, and maybe I'll get a better look at it. It's in the shade now, sun setting and all, and it's still so windy that he goes for quite a ride every few minutes. Umm...do owls get motion sickness? Hey, maybe it'll cough up an owl pellet, and I can get Mike Rowe to come clean it up! Bonus!!

On call.

There is a bird declaring its presence outside my house with loud, long calls that sound remarkably like a phone ringing in the distance. I wish whoever he's calling would answer. I dislike the sound of a phone ringing.

Also, my roommate J asked me if I would come pick him up this morning, if he dropped his car off to have more (unnecessary unless you're a guy who likes the latest toys) work done on it. Cue fluff headed girly voice here: It's a red one! Nah, I'm not that hopeless. It's a Trans Am and he's pondering door panels or some such thing. The guy's version of redecorating - altering their cars over and over again.

Anyway, he asked me if I'd be willing to come get him. If he decides to have the work done. But he won't know until he gets there and talks to the guy. So I am waiting for a phone call, and I have no idea how long I need to wait before I'm in the clear, because he didn't know. Sigh. You ever try to get a kid dressed and into the car in less than half an hour? If J calls, he'll have a long wait, but I guess it is better than driving down there with him and wasting the trip if he doesn't have the work done.

I swear, marshalling troops across Europe has to be easier than organizing my family life! I tip my hat to the women who keep families with three, four, twenty kids organized and running (somewhat) smoothly - my one Evil Genius is enough!

So there's this bird outside, sounding like a ringing phone, and I keep thinking "Oh, J's calling, better get the...d'oh!!" I may have to throw one of T's stinky old sneakers at the critter. Oh, wait - that kind of cruelty in warfare was outlawed by the Geneva convention. Seriously, dogs run from the stench of these things...dogs that will happily roll around in, then consume, weeks-old road kill. Last time T wore these shoes home, I thought something had crawled out of a swamp and expired on the shoe rack.

Excuse me, I think I hear the...d'oh!

Thank you, I'll be here all week...

It's nice to know that I have a purpose in life besides holding down the computer chair, using up the Internet, and munching helpless organic baby carrots with impunity. Today, I may have found it.

What is it? Being a mother? Well, yes, that's pretty special and would normally be at the top of my list, but not today. Being an (unpublished) author? No, no, that's more of a hobby, at least after today's revelation. "What? What is this new thing??" I hear you cry. "Tell us lest we perish from curiosity and leave our beautiful corpses littering computer desks all over the world!!"

Ahem.

I made a Republican laugh. Yes. Yes I did. Out loud.

I know.

World peace must surely follow.

How did I manage this unparalleled feat? I'm so glad you asked!

Today, the Republican National Committee (or whatever they're calling themselves these days to get the kiddies hooked) phoned, desperate for the opinion of our little slice of middle-but-getting-closer-to-lower-with-every-so-called-tax-break class America. They wanted T but reluctantly (or enthusiastically, how do I know, they were political people) allowed as how I might do. Gee whiz, thanks y'all!! Before I could respond to anything more than the young lass's query regarding my identity, she launched her opening salvo.

The first thing the young woman asked, without asking if it would annoy me or delay the toenail trimming plans I had for the morning or if I had any issues revealing my most intimate political truths to a stranger on the phone, was how important is was it to me on a scale of one to five, with five being most important and one being not at all important, that the Republicans win the upcoming elections. In a trice, an entire herd of snide comments stampeded through my mind, each vying for my attention and pride of place on my tongue.

I refrained from unleashing any of them. She was a perfectly nice young woman, after all, and at least it wasn't a computer like the last lot of politically motivated calls I'd had. Rather, I replied (Georgia accent slathered on extra thick for effect) "Ah, sugar? I'm more of an independent, free thinking sort. You may want to call back when -- is home to get the answers you're looking for. He's the Republican 'round these parts."

I have no idea why that tickled her, but it did, and she laughed. Out loud. Really! Then she politely thanked me for my time and hung up. I hope she didn't hurt herself, being in politics and all. I thought I heard a gut busting, but I can't be certain. They can't fire her for it, can they?

See? I now have a purpose: Making political fund raisers (I could hear the register keys dinging while she was asking me her one question) laugh and garner disapproving looks from their (possibly) soulless supervisors. Who knows, maybe I saved her from a lifetime being ground down in the political machine? Hope springs eternal.

Meanwhile, they haven't called back - maybe they're afraid I'll corrupt another one with my wild promises of free thinking, laughter, and neatly trimmed toenails.

The Finger of God

I was watching some video clips of the tornadoes that pranced on through the southeastern US on Tuesday - awe inspiring, they are. The clips sparked some thoughts about the storms, about how they are formed and the superstitions that used to surround them...and maybe still do.

There was a tribe - I can't remember which one - that called tornadoes "The Fingers of God".

I have experienced my share of tornadic storms, those pea-green, pink streaked, frothy black lowering skies that boil just overhead and seek an earthly landing - they always call me outside to watch, to see...something about the power they embody, I suppose, the raw force of nature at her maddest.

And she does rage when she is maddened.

Five or six times, I have watched a whirling, reaching funnel pass overhead on its way to some other, more preferable place. Once or twice I have finally taken shelter with my son, the cats, and my laptop in the only place my current home offers, the downstairs bathroom. My heart wasn't in it though - I wanted to be out with the storm, tearing up the trees, rooting along the ground, unleashing myself all primeval on the timid world.

So I wrote this thing while watching the video clips. Enjoy, or not, whatever...poetry (and to some extent, prose) is so subjective it's a wonder the form survives.

And please don't take my awe, my love, my respect for these storms as a lack of feeling for those who suffer them - my heart breaks for the people whose lives are shattered when wind takes shape and comes calling. Had I some way, I would shield them from it, make certain that the cruel beauty of a tornado never did anyone harm but vented itself somewhere else, somewhere not human. Had I uneneding funds I would rebuild what I could (a house is so easily replaced...what lived in it is not), give solace where I could. I never, ever, want to know firsthand how the darkness can come to life and tear my family to pieces. I don't want to be forever marked, labeled with the appellation "survivor", pitied, feared. We are so fragile...


And then comes down the sky
And with his fingers does god touch the lives
Of those below
Touch and tear, rend and make wretched
And then comes down the sky
And howling , whirling, whipping winds gnash and slash
And the great grumbling beast,
Godmouth
Takes whole his due
Swallows whole his due
And then comes down the sky
And scatters nine-pins like
Who stands before him shivering
Man shaking his fist
Shouting through the fury
Screaming through the fury
And then comes down the sky
And one is left standing
Untouched
Blessed one
Chosen one
Mad one
To speak witness
Of the coming down

Feeling a little Horse...

Yes, I'm ridiculous. So what? I did Bird's, just for fun. Heh.

The HORSE … THE HEADSTRONG HORSE (Headstrong...hmm...I see they've met my son.)

The valiant Horse loves speed, adventure, freedom and change. (Well, he's only five but...yeah, that's really true. He likes new things, doesn't like rules and restrictions, and he LOVES race cars!)

Impatient by nature, Horses insist that life revolves around them. (Again, he's only five but...hell, yeah!! Good lord, if his lunch isn't made three seconds after he announces he's hungry, it's like working at Denny's again...ugh...flashback. He gets frustrated when things don't go his way, and yeah, the world rotates around him. Heh...I have frequently told him that I am NOT the entertainment director on the cruise of his life!)

When they have a chance to do something great, they will dive in with both hands, but their lack of discernment between promising and not-so-promising opportunities can block their success. (Yeah, Bird'll throw himself equally into any project without worrying about how I'll feel about it. Paint on the paper, paint on the wall, what's the difference??)

Their great sense of humor makes Horses amusing friends. Their intelligence, passion and discipline will create good luck for them. (Oh, yeah, Bird is always making me laugh. He's better than Comedy Central...)

Horse people are full of nobility and grace but at the same time they show great strength. (He is a strong little mump...)

They can work extremely hard and will achieve success. (He DID win two games of Candyland yesterday...)

Horses adore magnificence and beauty and enjoy being among groups of people, where they can shine with their knowledge and charisma. (Because they like being the center of attention? Bird does like hanging out with his friends, but I think that's because he gets sick of me all the time. Also, he's always telling me facts about things, like your kidneys help you breath. Who knew?)

In fact, Horses flock to performances of all types and love passionate things. (Hey - he always likes to dance at my band's concerts, and he knows all our songs by heart. Mostly.)

Be sure to always compliment the Horses you know for their talents and accomplishments. (Just a little while ago, I told him he was the BEST pottier I knew.)

They want to create and produce many wonderful things but sometimes they simply want too much. As honest stallions, they are the first to acknowledge their failures and the lessons learned. (Bird loves art, especially water colors, and he often wants to try his hand at EVERYTHING he sees me doing. Oh, he does love to "help"! He isn't so good at the learning part yet, but then...hello? He's five! He'll get there!)

Oh, Rats! (Happy Chinese New Year)

Happy Chinese New Year, friends. I found this while wandering around on the Net, thought I'd share.

http://www.tarot.com/astrology/chinese/

The RAT … THE RELENTLESS RAT

Determined when he or she wants something, the Rat will work hard to get it. (Yeah, that's true, I DO tend to bulldoze my way through things if I REALLY want them. Hmm...how can I apply this to a winning lottery ticket??)

Rats are also very conscious and measured around money. (Read - cheap as hell. Heh. Unless it's important or will benefit others, I really don't like spending it, and I'm always asking if we really NEED whatever we're buying.) (Unless, of course, it's the sexiest fridge ever, and then the answer is, we DO need this to live.)

Sigh, so dreamy...

But under their calm, charming veneer, aggression may be lurking. (What??? Why I oughta... You take that back or I'll lose my Zen and use my titanium spork to carve you a new one!)

See? I'm armed and dangerous, baby!!

The Rat uses intellectual power for critical decision-making and is a mastermind when it comes to small details. (But I guess we are blind to the big picture. Does this mean I can't see the forest for the trees?? "Cause I have to say, this doesn't sound like me at all...except I CAN be a bit nit-picky. And here I thought that was the OCD...now we know it's really my ratnicity shining through!)

Practical, but sometimes lacking vision and courage, the Rat can block his or her success because of greed and conservatism. (Umm, OK...now we're WAY off course. I am slightly granola, organic, free-spirited, legalize the smokey stuff, let me have my freedom or else...calling me conservative is like calling H. Ross Perot sane. Laughable. Also, I'm a mum...don't tell ME I lack courage! I bet a childless guy wrote this part!)(But I AM a pragmatist, too. Dang.)

Inner fear makes Rats unpredictable -- so don't let their charm fool you. (Hah! I wear my fears right out in the open for all to see - saves having to explain myself.)

The Rat survives in ways no other signs does. He always finds a way to get out of trouble, as he applies his mind to every detail. (My motto: I'll muddle through somehow. I do tend to think my way out of things, but mostly because I'm lazy and THINKING takes so much less effort than DOING. Of course, I find it helps not to get into trouble in the first place...)

Perfectionist as the Rat tends to be, it is hard to stay friends with a Rat for very long. (I'm not a perfectionist...it's OCD...honest!)

Rats have great insights and are very telepathic, but in the end they may be lonely … because the Rat never completely trusts anyone. (Oooh, snap! I know what you're thinking.....heh. I AM often lonely, but that's why I have the Internet, isn't it? You all love me, right? Right??)(Notice how I dodged the trust thing?)(Sigh.)

They create magic when they love you but become paranoid and suspicious when they stop trusting you. (Yeah, that's about right...but how do you love when you don't trust? Answer me that, grasshopper! Anyway, I came by my paranoia honestly - I got it from my grandmother!)

Fun, huh?? So which critter are you??

But I got better...

Honestly, can you have a bad day when there are Rice Krispies Treats? The answer here is no, no you can't. I still have tin foil cuts, and they're about as fun as they sound, but the day improved when I remembered that, among the other things left on the counter last night, there was a box of Rice Krispies and a bag of marshmallows. Hmm...now what was I going to do with those, do you think?

Also an entry into the "Improve the Day" column is the game Candyland. Yeah, it encourages kids to have a licorice jones, but it's simple, fun, and the Evil Genius likes it. We played two rounds and he won both without any help from me. He was so proud of himself. Heh. I really didn't cheat, either. Not that I do - I don't patronize the kid that way, he doesn't need it. He has to learn about losing and perseverance or he won't be able to face the real world.

I don't think everything has to be fair, I don't think every kid should make the team, and at the end of the season, not everyone gets a trophy. He needs to learn that now, not after he's been filled with unrealistic expectations by people who don't want to dent his fragile self esteem (which is tougher than Rhino hide thank you very much - you couldn't dent it with a cannon!) so they'd rather set him up for a fall later. No, I don't feel strongly about this.

Anyhoo, we played Candyland and made Rice Krispies treats, and then taste tested them to make sure they weren't toxic or anything. The we tasted them again, just to make sure the first pieces weren't a fluke. They weren't. Whew, what a relief.

Before the nutrition Nazis come after me and flog me with a rice noodle or something, he ate plenty of apples, carrots, cheese, and other healthy snackish things today, too. Relax.

I managed to make the lasagne and the key lime pie without hurting myself or my kitchen, so T had his birthday dinner without incident. Whew, another relief.

Also, it rained buckets, and that was brilliant - we're still about thirteen feet below normal in the lake, and it'd be nice for the fish to have somewhere to swim. These are the same storms that ploughed through Alabama and killed several dozen people, but thankfully they calmed down and got a little more Zen and a little less Sumo before they visited here.

Bored yet? The point is, the day did improve with a little effort. The same things pissed me off that always do, but at least I got the hell over them and muddled through somehow.

Cooking therapy wins again!

A rocky start.

Oh, my goodness, some days it doesn't pay to surface through the ether of dreams into consciousness.

Let's begin with something positive - Bird slept wonderfully well in the ridiculous bed, surrounded by several million dozen stuffed critters and possibly a cat or two. The cats like the bed, too, funny beasts.

Right, now for the grumbling. Let's see - it started around five-thirty this morning when my innards began doing the cha-cha. Things were a-happenin', and my body wanted me awake for them. Whee.

Then I couldn't get back to sleep because my mind kept flitting from planning my day - I am making lasagne and key lime pie for T's birthday dinner, and I want it to be ready at a reasonable hour so I need to start cooking early this afternoon - and a week long event in June...yes, June...that I need to make a menu for as well as shopping and packing lists. In June. Sigh. Stupid brain.

I finally gave in and got up, wandered into the kitchen, and...squish. A stray green bean from last night greeted my foot. Oh, just yuck. There were several on the floor, dropped there by one of the cats who got up on the counter to search for interesting tidbits. She only does this at night when we're asleep because she knows she shouldn't be up there. Usually, I put away any leftover food and make sure there's nothing for her to get into, but I went to bed feeling ill last night so it didn't get done.

Which brings us to the mess that was waiting for me this morning. Dishes. Pots. Pans. Cookie sheets. Wait a minute...I didn't even use a cookie sheet yesterday; why do I have to clean it up?? Unless you are completely crippled and reliant upon me for life, or a child incapable of lifting your dishes up to sink level (and Bird actually does put his dishes in the sink and help unload the dishwasher), I shouldn't have to clean up after you. If you used the freakin' cup, put the freakin' cup in the dishwasher - or if the dishwasher is full, run it through and put your freakin' cup in the sink - or if the dishwasher is full of clean dishes, take a moment to put them away, put your freakin' cup in there, and save us all from my urge to smother all of you in your sleep!!

And while I am ranting and raving on the matter... It was really sweet of T to collect my dinner dishes and place them in the sink last night. He doesn't often offer, so I am grateful when he does it. But, umm...I know I've mentioned this many, many, many, many, many. many, many, many, many...sorry, I had a skip...many times before...when you put dishes in the sink, you should really make sure there's no food, napkins, wrappers, or other non-dish related items on them. That way, when someone runs water in the sink, the food, napkins, wrappers, or other non-dish related items won't get all wet, clingy, disintegrated, and generally icky to deal with. Because we? Don't have a freakin' disposal in there, and we never have! There's nothing that quite compares to the texture fiesta that is a sodden napkin or water-logged meatballs.

And what happened to "I cook, you clean"?? 'Cause I seem to do all of both around here, and it's pissing me off again. And putting leftovers way? Umm...I seem to recall that someone else was going to do that so I didn't have to every night. And last night it would have been especially nice since I felt like crap. Sigh.

So I was a mite narked at the state of the kitchen, but I sucked it up, wiped the smushed green bean off the bottom of my foot, got the sodden food items out of the sink, began emptying the dishwasher...all before I even had a cup of tea. In the end, housekeeping is my job, my nine-to-five (even thought I say I'm a writer, it doesn't count because I'm not published or anything, and if I tried to claim my music as a job, I'd be on welfare) that's more like twenty-four-seven, and if I get pissed off because some folks think that means they can just be thoughtless and leave messes wherever they want, well...I bet they're not thrilled when I don't do laundry for a while and they run out of underwear, or don't clean the downstairs bathroom ever and mum gets mad at them for the weirdness that ensues because she uses that bathroom when she visits. If it had just been that, maybe I'd just be my usual low level annoyed, but no...no, there had to be more.

I was putting away a baking dish and decided to pull the lasagne pan down for later, save my lazy ass some effort. Pull down? I'll say - every oversized plastic cup that no one ever uses but pitches a fit over if I want to throw it away because they might use it some day, every pitcher, every one of Bird's straw cups came tumbling down on me. One of the baking dishes tried to follow suit, but with Ninja speed and flexibility and a few choice swear magic words, I managed to avert that disaster. I got the rest of the dishes put away without incident, although that one knife was eyeballing me kinda funny.

I mentioned having to clean up dishes I didn't even use? Yeah, that's just not right. But while dealing with the cookie sheet, I had to remove some foil, and somehow managed to give myself foil cuts on my left thumb and my right forefinger. Owie.

And my scale lied to me and told me I gained four pounds in one day. Either that or someone turned the gravity up when I wasn't looking. It couldn't be the rivet-covered pants I'm wearing or the two thirty-two ounce cups of water I drank this morning...

If things don't improve in a hurry, I am going back to bed until next week.

Now why would I be frustrated?

This morning wasn't at all frustrating. The ridiculous bed came, the ridiculous bed was assembled, Bird played on the ridiculous bed, all was well. The same cannot be said for the rest of the day. Oh, nothing went wrong, per se. No. Just...annoying. You may have noticed there's an election on? Well, here in Georgia, today was the day to go and vote. Apparently this means that it was the day for the candidates to crank up the evil charm and let the voters know how terribly important we are to them, how much they love us and need us and how they know we are an integral part of the political system and their future.

How do they go about this? I'm so glad you asked.

They could pound the pavement, shake hands, meet and greet, hold town-hall style meetings, or even go door to door. They could. Of course, that would mean actually coming face to face with voters, some of whom may not like them. The horror. No, best not risk it.

Instead, they call. Well, how lovely, to have a chance to chat with a candidate, hear their views on the issues that mean the most to...what?...wait...oh, I see. It's a recording.

Yes, that's how much we mean to them...we mean exactly enough to annoy the crap out of us by making the phone ring every fifteen to twenty minutes all day long and playing a recorded message about how important our votes are to them.

I feel so loved, really. How could I not? Several of the people running for president of this nation took time out of their busy day to dial my number and...what?..they didn't dial my number themselves so they could let me know how much I mean to them? It was a random auto-dialer? They don't even know I exist, don't really care about my thoughts on things like taxes, immigration, education, human rights and freedom? Oh. I'm crushed.

If they are wooing me by computer, how on earth am I supposed to believe that they give a rat's ass?

Truth is, they don't. Not about me, or my son, or what I think about any of them and their annoying computer calls every fifteen to twenty minutes all day long. They may care when they find out that I won't vote for anyone who has a computer call me and do their dirty work (at the last minute, no less). I am OK with my place as a nobody in the political machine - after all, I don't give them my money, don't sport anyone's bumper stickers, pins, hats, tattoos, or other signs of support. I'm just a voter. What good are we?

Ah, ahem. Perhaps they'd like to think about that a little. Meanwhile, perhaps you'd like to join me? Tell your candidate you won't vote for them if their computer calls you. This isn't a party thing...it's not about who you prefer or why. It's about respecting us enough to make a little effort, to appear in person and give access to the people they need to win this whole silly game. I know it's a lot of work, it's a lot of travel, it's a lot of walking, schmoozing, time on the trail. So what? We, the people, aren't worth it? They're asking us to give them our nation's top position so is it really too much to ask that they let us say hello, shake a hand, offer 'em a hotdog or something? Nah...most of us aren't lobbyists, special interests, or millionaires with money to offer, so we don't count.

I guess they think it's enough to have a computer randomly dial us up and kiss our ass.

I wonder if they break up with people's answering machines, too?

The Ridiculous Bed

It came early. As in, I just pried my sorry butt out of bed and was thinking of maybe crawling back in again because it wasn't full daylight yet early. Then the phone rang, and it was my ten minute warning. Scramble!!

The evil genius was still sleeping soundly on his mattress on the floor pirate ship, but he had to be moved. I was hoping he'd sleep through the transfer to my bed, but alas, such was not to be. He was content to loll in my bed and watch Disney TV while the nice men from Haverty's built his new pirate ship bed.

He is delighted. I am informed that His Majesty will consent to recycle the old bed and permit the new one a place of honor in his apartments.


Below are a couple of pictures - please ignore the millions of toys stacked to the ceiling, and all the other mess - we had to make room for this thing, and some furniture still wants moving in order to ensure a good fit all around, and we had to stack a bunch on the train table, and, and...who am I kidding? My kid has more toys than FAO Schwartz, and I really need to just suck it up and get rid of some of them. What the hell happened to my "Please don't give him toys for birthdays/Xmas, because he doesn't need them"request? Oh, well...

I had to take this from the hallway, the bed is so big.

What mess? There is no mess. You are getting sleeeepy...

Now he can slide right into the shelving, knocking off all the toys and books at once, saving the effort of all that pesky work. Or he could fall out the window for a change of pace...
There is no mess...sleeeeeepy...

You can see why I have some rearranging to do. The second picture is all tilty because I had to stand on one leg and sort of hold the camera up over the train table, and there was a rogue cat and some Legos, and...ah...well, you get the idea.

Now, isn't this the coolest bed? Don't you wish you'd had one just like it? Wouldn't you like to come over and help clean up around it so you can play on it? Huh? Dontcha??

Finally...

...I dug up the camera dock and loaded the pictures of the new fridge into Bob the Wonder Computer. Are you ready for the sexiest refregerator ever?? Hands off, it's mine!! Heh.

Here he is, installed and reday to service all my needs.

Come to my arms and I will take you to the Casbah...

I see, you have a child...oh, well...I'm here for you, anyway...

Isn't he dreamy??? Sigh.

I don't have a picture of it full, because, well...it's hard to photograph chaos.

Angry Bird

My son is angry, right now; he just discovered that his old bed is missing. We had to dismantle the old one to make room for the new one coming tomorrow - there won't be time in the morning. That makes sense to an adult. To him, all it means is his mattress is on the floor and his old bed, even though it was falling apart and looking ratty, is gone.

He doesn't really have a concept of "tomorrow, a new bed will be there." He is five - at this age, even though they have a sense of time, it distorts, and they're still very "now" minded. Not with the immediacy of an infant, for whom now is the only moment, but it's still tough for kids to hold onto the idea of delayed gratification. He has no bed now, so he'll never have a bed. If I can get him to calm down a little, he'll understand...but for now he is in his room, angry about this sudden change...this change that he has been a part of, as he helped pick the new bed, watched and helped me clean his room, watched T dismantle the old one.

How we fear change, even when we initiate it. He is responding with the honesty and confusion of a child. The new frame will be here in the morning, between eight and eleven. I am hoping it comes earlier rather than later. The sooner he sees that slide and the fort (shut up, I know it's ridiculous!), the sooner he'll forget the old heap and be happy.

In a few minutes, I am going to go talk to him about outgrowing things. T took him down to see his very first bed, ever - a cradle a friend of the family built for him that was only big enough for the first few weeks since he was born toddler size (ten pounds, four ounces, almost twenty-two inches long) and grew fast. I am hoping he'll understand, otherwise I am in for a long night. Sigh.

Sorry, Geek Squad.

Yes! Bob's back!

Our roommate's brother was kind enough to take pity on my Bobless plight and found the problem. Apparently Bob the Wonder Computer wasn't speaking to himself. It seems he decided to get a little confused about which wireless Internet card thingy he had in him and was trying to access the Internet with a card that he didn't have. Yeah, I have no idea.

So D fixed Bob and now Bob is speaking to himself, me, and the Internet once more. All is right, at least for now. I'm sure the Geek Squad won't even miss us...especially since I never called them to make an appointment in the first place.

And now I am off to the wilds of Bird's room, where I need to clean, move furniture, and question my sanity re: the new bed coming tomorrow. Who said anything about measuring??

Crockpot Roast

My kitchen is in chaos. The new love of my cooking life is installed and happily chilling in there. I took some pictures to commemorate the occasion, and as soon as I unearth the camera dock, I am posting them because I know you're just desperate to see. The front remained pristine for a whole sixteen seconds before the magnets, art, bulletins, and other various stuff began covering it up, but I can still see the cool steel shining through. Ahh.

To help get the old unit clan, I pulled out the crock and started it heating this morning - that's one of the nice aspects of a crock pot, you don't need to put leftovers in a container. If there're enough of them, you can just leave 'em all in the crock and put it in the fridge.

I am now enjoying my much delayed and very much appreciated lunch. So. Hungry. That's why the kitchen is in chaos - I got too hungry to wait any longer, and really? The kitchen's always in varying states of "Holy crap, what happened in here???" It's just worse than usual right now.

Here, have a recipe, because I love to cook and share what I've made, but chances are if you're reading this, you're not here with me...so sharing the recipe is the next best thing.

Warning - if you've read the Cinnamon Roll entry, you know that my recipes usually don't have measurements, but rather include a lot of the terribly technical and precise "some". Just remember that.

Crock Pot Roast
~~~~~~~~~~~~
-1 Chuck roast, of a size to fit nicely in the crock. I used a three-plus pounder last time.
-1 mediumish onion. I used a white one this time, but yellow is fine, too. Sweet ones aren't as good, I think, but it's your dinner.
-Some fresh garlic. Yes, fresh. You'll thank me. If you can't get any (what, you live in Outer Mongolia or something?? Geeze, even the Huns had garlic!), then garlic powder will suffice.
-Some fresh thyme, if you can get it. Otherwise, the dry stuff will do.
-Some sage. Again, fresh is nice, but the dry, rubbed variety does fine, too.
-Some salt. I like sea salt. You use whatever makes you happy.
-Some pepper. I like to grind mine fresh. Whatever floats your boat.
-Some clean potatoes. I used the little Yukon Gold ones, fingerling or baby, that come in a little net bag in useful amounts, but you can cut up some big ones of your favorite variety if you want to work that hard. I don't.
-Some baby carrots (I use one small bag), or big carrots washed and cut into small pieces.

There, that's the ingredients list. Now for the hard part. Nah, not really. That's another nice thing about the crock pot. It's low maintenance. Let's get going!

Cut the onion in half from root to tip. Peel it before or after, whatever is easiest for you, but peel it!! Place one half cut side down and slice thinly from root to tip. Toss about half of the slices in the bottom of the crock. If you like oniony goodness, use all the slices and then slice the other half for later.

If you're using garlic powder, head on to the salt-and-pepper step. Otherwise, peel some garlic. I use a lot. Really, a lot. Last time I made this, I was in a hurry and used less, but it was still about eight cloves. Sometimes I do a whole bulb. I have a deep love for garlic. However many cloves you want to use, peel 'em. Now comes a technical bit - you can slice them, smash them, crush them, dice them, or insult them until they're egos bruise, it's up to you. Me? I usually sort of squash them so they're still whole-ish. Drop half of them in the bottom.

If you're using dried herbs, head on to the salt-and-pepper step. Otherwise, pick out a few sprigs of thyme and fling on in with the onions and garlic. Do the same with some sage leaves.

Here we are at the salt-and-pepper step, rejoined by our powered/dried/non-fresh ingredient using friends. Hey, I understand, sometimes you just don't have stuff on hand, and it's mid-winter, and you're snowed in. It's OK!! Liberally salt and pepper your roast all over. Give it a massage with the stuff, if you like. Make friends with it, it's going to feed your family! Coat that bad-boy. If you're using garlic powder - and sometimes I do, even when I have fresh garlic happening, too - sprinkle it on, now. Same with the dried herbs. Let 'em rip! When your roast is dressed for the party, place it on top of the onions and other stuff in the crock. Push it on down, wedge it in there. In a perfect world, there's no big gap between the meat and the onions, or the meat and the sides of the crock - it's snug and cozy in there with its fragrant friends.

Now scatter the rest of your onions and garlic on top. Add some thyme and sage if you're using fresh.

Your crock should be about one third to one half-full (We're cooking - there's no pessimism in crock pottery!).

Brace yourself, it's getting complicated again! Dump the potatoes on top. Dump them all, or as many as you want, but make sure you leave room for the carrots. You don't have to use potatoes at all if you don't want - you could boil them later and mash them with some of the garlic cloves fished from the cooked roast drippings (See? I told you you'd thank me!) or roast them in the oven or whatever. It's your dinner. I'm lazy - I put them in the pot.

Dump the carrots on top, careful not to overfill the crock. The lid needs to fit right, or you'll have a dry roast. That's a tragedy not worth contemplating.

Put a lid on it, turn it on high, and walk away. No, don't add any liquid!! Put a lid on it and walk away now!

There. All done. Go to work. Home school your child. Go shopping all day for a bed, a television, and a refrigerator. Take a nap or two. Just leave the crock pot alone. It's a professional, it know what it's doing.

If you are home and you are fearful, after four or five hours you can turn it to low. I don't. It's up to you.

Doesn't your house smell yummy? Mmmm....

Just before dinner time, take off the lid. Is it bubbling away? There should be a lovely dark broth, and the potatoes and carrots should be steamed into submission. Usually I don't advocate soft-cooked veggies, but this time it's OK. The meat should be falling to pieces, totally relaxed, mellow in its tasty hot-tub.

To serve this, take a fork and grab chunks of roast. Plonk them on the dinner plate, and then add some potatoes and carrots. Voila! This is fine by itself, or with some steamed green beans sauteed in garlic, or a salad. Also, rolls or corn bread. You can butter the veggies if you want, but they shouldn't need it. If you used fresh garlic, you'll have these soft, white, lumps of flavor-wonder floating around in there - snag a couple and smush them in the potatoes or some of the roast while you're eating. Bliss!! Now go kiss your sweetie. Kidding!! Do feed your sweetie some of this roast, though.

You can make a gravy from the liquid in the crock, or save it for the next time you're making soup.

This isn't like a traditional pot roast that's been seared and placed in the oven, but it's a dandy meal anyway. Enjoy!!

Phish Food

I always figured my mum loved me. Never doubted it for a minute. She shows her love, as mums do, in many ways. But now I know how much she loves me, because she brought me this:

This is Phish Food, perhaps Ben and Jerry's finest flavor ever. Now, I'm not knocking Cherries Garcia, Vermonty Python, or any of the other good stuff they crank out up there in the lovely, delicious, frozen North. I just think that Phish Food is the crown jewel of their flavors.

My grocery store stopped carrying the stuff. They have some of the other flavors, but I guess after I cut down my pint-a-week habit, they didn't see any reason to continue ordering it. Dang. Mum was shopping at her store up where she lives and saw my favorite frozen treat, and she bought some to cart down to me. The woman drove over an hour to bring me ice cream!

Tonight, as T was cleaning out the freezer in preparations for tomorrow, he asked where if he should leave the Phish Food. Yes, please. Both of them? Both? There's more than one? Aww...my mum really loves me!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go wash the marshmallow off my face...

Freeze!

Check this out...it's neat!

How fast can you spend it?

The first thing I did this morning was answer the phone and confirm with the fraud protection center of my bank that I did, indeed, spend that much money yesterday, counter to my usual habits. Nice of them to check, but couldn't they have waited another hour or so and let me sleep in? I mean, if it was fraud, would another hour make a difference? Sigh.

The second thing I did was drive back to Fry's for my heart's desire, left behind yesterday in order to sate T's need for a taller, wider, sexier...television set. I walked in and Spencer, the appliance guru, fridge pimp, and sales manager extrordinaire, had the paperwork ready for me. You have to love it when your dealer is ready with your fix. Ahhh, drug references, aren't they just the best?? Say no to drugs, kids, unless they're organically grown and produced, sustainable, and earth-friendly. What? huh? Oh, sorry...umm...just say "no" and forget that other stuff.

This afternoon, the new viewing-beast was installed, and although it's bigger than the old one and therefore horrible in my eyes (the perfect TV for me would probably be the size of a postage stamp and never get louder than a whisper)...well, I kinda like it. It is wider, and taller, but it takes up less space than the old one by way of being flat screenish. It scootches right up to the wall. And it has a pretty colored light around the edge that I can stare at, drooling while it feeds me subliminal messages.

Last night, we cleaned off the old entertainment center and removed it because the new TV wouldn't fit in it. Now there's all this space where the hulking brute used to loom over the room. It's nice. We may leave it this way. Oh, and mum? Sorry...we took the little stand from your room for up here, but we'll replace it soon, honest! I put that old center together myself, long ago when I was single, had a smaller TV and stereo, and lived alone without cable, satellite, or other fiddley electronic things. Ah, those were the days. It has survived several moves and TV (alleged) upgrades, but this is the end...the end, my friend. T and I wrestled it down the stairs and into the garage last night, and unless someone lays claim to it before trash day, it's goin' to the happy furnishing grounds.

Tonight I have to inform the dust menagerie that it has to relocate, at least until the new fridge is installed. I was joking with Spencer, the appliance guru, fridge pimp, and sales manager extraordinaire about disturbing the menagerie...the dust bunnies, dust rhino, and dust anaconda (the anaconda keeps the bunnies in check - those things breed like crazy!!) among others. So I have to disturb the habitat - I hope there's nothing endangered up there - and remove the varying things that seem to collect on top of a fridge when one isn't looking, then empty the thing, and it'll be ready to go to wherever no-longer-loved appliances come to rest. Hey, it did its job, but it was old when I got it, it's had a good run, and anyway, I didn't pick it out. Arranged marriages are weak.

This brings me to the whole freakin' point of this post - spending. When I was living with my grandparents, I would occasionally go shopping with Mimi. That woman was a champion spender, in a class all her own. I don't know how she had the stamina - her credit cards would be whimpering by the end of the day, worn thin and sending up little wisps of smoke. At that time, I had no concept of income and outgo and all that. I thought you just went places, got what you wanted and had it delivered.

I learned about income, budget, and debt the hard way after I moved away from Mimi and the magic plastic. Years later, once I was (mostly) on my own, I had a number of jobs that didn't come close to supporting me and my learned habits. I had to unlearn in a hurry...which I (sort of) did with a little bailing out of the financial boat help from mum.

I try not to buy things I don't need. Things like a new TV when the old one works fine, just because the new one was on sale for less than half the original price and a pretty glowy light around it and how on earth can you walk past that??? Even the new fridge isn't really a necessity - I could have gotten a perfectly serviceable one for much less money and fuss. After all, it's just meant to keep things cool, and spending more because you like the lines and color of one better than another is a little silly when you are constantly strapped. Still...there's one time of year when we get a tad silly with our spending - refund time.

It drives my mum and friends crazy - we allow a bigger chunk of money to be taken from T's paycheck than we have to so we get it back as an uber-chunk. I can't tell you how many time I've been asked why we let the government have our money all year, essentially lending it to them without gaining interest, when T could claim differently and bring home more each pay-period. This is why: we can't save for shit. We try. I'll get the savings up to a few hundred bucks, and then something happens and we end up using it. This way, once a year we get a big chunk, enough to cover some of the expenses that we otherwise couldn't manage without asking my mum for help. I hate having to ask mum for help - I am a middle-thirties grown-type woman and I shouldn't have to run to mummy for help. I should be running to mummy for drinks and gossip.

We actually make a list and prioritize it, budgeting the tax refund before we even get it so we don't forget something important. Like a bed for the kid.

Until we have greater income or better spending habits, this is how it has to be - otherwise we'd never be able to replace the fridge when it's crapping out, or get new tires for the car, or fix the laptop, or any number of things. So my chatter this last two days about shopping? Yeah, don't expect much of that - once a year, I get to pretend I am back in the sweet life of spending-without-consequence, but that's it. For the rest of this year I'll be bitching about scraping by, if I discuss finances at all...which I don't usually, because I wasn't raised that way. Just so you know. The manic madness of yesterday and today are already fading into "Oh, dear, perhaps I shouldn't have gotten the more expensive fridge even if it does have a bit more room and a better ice maker and water filter..." and "Maybe Bird could live without the ridiculously awesome bed we got him and just live with something cheaper..." and the like.

Still...how can you ignore love at first site?? The fridge did have a better Energy Star rating, and it's soooo dreamy....sigh. And the bed may be ridiculous, but he's my kid and he'll only be a kid once. It's solidly built and will last longer than the Evil Empire special we bought two years ago, and he's not going to slice himself open on it. The slide and canopy/tent/fort attachment are insane but neat as hell, and if he's going to play on his bed anyway...

I know, I know, I'm sounding a little defensive...but I am feeling a bit guilty. I do earmark (where did that phrase come from?) some of the refund for charities, and a percentage goes into savings where I hope it'll last more than a week, and whenever I have anything to spare I end up giving it away to someone who needs it more, but...but...sigh.

So the answer is, I can spend it so fast it won't even leave lint in the bank vault...but only once a year, and only when I've planned it out ahead of time. At least until the tax system changes or I win the lottery, and then all bets are off.

Now that I've blathered on at great extent about nothing of interest, I am going to try and get in the way help T figure out why the new view-beast and the old stereo aren't speaking to each other. Yay.

And what a day it's been.

It started out simply enough - I got up before everyone else and made a wholesome, nutritious, freshly cooked breakfast for my beloved family dropped in a load of laundry and did the meme I was tagged with. Bird was asleep when I got up, and I did nothing to discourage that, even shushing the keys on the keyboard when they clacked too loudly as I typed.

After Bird and T got up, we were looking over our six-inch stack of bills - that's no exaggeration, I measured them, and even without all the inserts, offers, and extraneous stuff, it was a six-inch pile - and trying to decide who got the two dollars and twelve cents we had left before next payday. On a lark, I checked the bank account. Perhaps the money fairies visited?

Oh, glorious day, they placed a beautiful egg in our rather sad little nest!!

OK, not really, but our tax refund did finally get kicked through the system and came to rest right where we wanted it - our anemic bank account. So far, a good day, yes?

Well, in the spirit of conspicuous consumerism and doing our part for the economy, we decided to do something today that wasn't in our original plans. We decided to go shopping.

Well, after we paid some bills, of course - I am not a complete irresponsible moron.

Fast forward a few happy minutes doing the online bill-pay thing, because we are nothing if not into instant gratification around here. This is where things got a little hairy.

You see, Bird wanted to play with his GeoTrax trains. Lord and Lady above, he loves those dang things. He had his heart set on building an enormous, top-floor-of-the-house-consuming track system with multiple levels, ramps, bridges, guard rails, buildings, and a thriving economy, and a presidential race that could heat to boiling at any moment. So when I told him we were going out to run errands, his Majesty didn't approve. He strenuously disapproved, in fact. Loudly. At great length. This set the tone for the rest of our day.

First, the furniture store, to get the poor boy a bed. He has a bed, but it's a little...well...the worse for wear. It seems the evil genius, when three, figured out that he could pull out the nifty drawers in the base of the my-parents-are-cheap-bastards-and-won't-spring-for-decent-furniture-so-they-bought-this-POS-bed-at-the-Evil-Empire bed made of particle board and use them to stand in for added height, thereby causing the glorified cardboard bottoms to fall through, the sides to cave in, and general mayhem to follow. Now there are gaping holes in the base of the bed. Also, the corners are sharp enough to slice through a tin can and then cut paper thin tomato slices with no dulling! So the kid needs a new bed. T tried to show him the one we were looking at online, but it wasn't there any more, and Bird decided he wanted the one with pink and purple flowers instead. Oy. I don't care, but T takes it personally when our son suddenly wants to be a girl.

As we were negotiating the Treaty of Versailles our egress from the house, I realized "Oh, crap, I forgot to start the roast for dinner tonight!!!" In italics, no less. So we tagged off - T wrestling the resistant child into clothing (a bit like getting a cat into pantyhose, I think) - and me retrieving the crock pot from the highest shelf in the cupboard without dropping the lid on my head or toe, slicing onions, almost my finger, garlic, there goes a nail, put them into the crock pot with some fresh thyme, add the roast, why isn't Bird in his pants yet?, salt, pepper, garlic powder on the roast, in the crock pot, did I just see a naked butt come through here at mach 3??, more onions, garlic, thyme, I did, I did see a naked butt!!!, dump in potatoes, no time to check for bad ones, they'll just have to behave except that one which looks suspicious so fish it out, add carrots, cover, wrangle the anaconda child into jacket and...go!!

Whew.

We did get out the door and loaded into the car, even made it into the furniture store without too much trouble, but...well... We found the bed, he loved it, we bought it. No, not really. You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?? No. No, it wasn't. You see, we live a credit card free life. We do have a debit card, but it has a limit. Remember we paid bills earlier? Uh-oh. Before we left the house, I called the credit union, went to our local branch and wrote the little "May I please spend our money?" note, and was told "No problem, go, be free." At the furniture store, it seems that the bank didn't actually mean what they said. Sigh. I had to call them, ask the sales lady if I could fax something, faxed it, waited, tried the card, nothing, called the bank, had to fax something else, went through the whole song and dance again, all while Bird was trying out every couch, recliner, sofa, ottoman, bed, chair, table, bench, desk, light fixture and lint ball in the place, with T in tow trying to minimize the collateral damage of a rogue five-year-old. I think I had the easy bit, truth be told.

We did it, though. Getting Bird back into the car was a bit like nailing Jell-o to the wall. Go on, try it, I'll just sit here and file down the fingernail I sliced off earlier.

See? Not so easy, is it?

On to Lowe's, where we browsed through the refrigerators, pricing them. I must say, I was shocked that the dang things cost as much as a used car these days. Who knew? Not really enchanted with anything there, we left, but not before we had to retrieve Bird from the lawn-tractor section where he was making goo-goo eyes at a John Deere, two-timing it with the Husqvarna, and triple -timing them both with the Troybilt. By the way? His feet almost touched the pedals so sometime next year he'll be opening his own lawn service company to support us, or at least his gummi-worm habit.

We had to stop for lunch because I needed sustenance and the Nathan's hot dog stand looked so lost and forlorn without us that we had to take pity and stop for hot dogs, fries, and shakes. Really, it was necessary.

Fortified with our nutritious meal, we made our way south to investigate our next necessary purchase - a functioning TiVo (ours is lingering in a half-dead daze). Bird took advantage of the ride to recharge his mischief unit nap. Lucky us. We made it into Fry's without too much trouble - we have rules about parking lots that Bird knows well and actually honors, so no one got run over or anything.

Have you ever been to Fry's? It's an electronics wonderland! We love that store. We can spend hours there, just wandering around drooling. We found the TiVo, but after a lengthy discussion with the very helpful salesman we decided not to buy the TiVo. Please don't ask me for details...my head was spinning with all the technical jargon flying around - I had to duck one phrase that looked like it was headed right for my eye! Bird was disinterested, so he and I wandered off and entertained ourselves with the varying views of Ice Age available on the never-ending television displays until T staggered back to us with the news that the TiVo era was over, for satellite viewers. Shot through the heart. Oh, well...why not wander over to the appliances and...say, what's this? Is it...is it...a Phillips Ambilight television on sale for...for...how much??? Argh, snared!! There's no escape, save yourselves!!!

It followed us to the appliance area and sat brooding in the corner, menacing anyone who mentioned not buying it (namely, me). It didn't matter, though because once among the appliances, I was smitten.

I didn't mean for it to happen. Mostly, I figured I would be fishing Bird out of the freezers, dryers, dishwashers, and varying appliance cavities into which he crawled seeking...I don't know what, honestly, while half-heartedly perusing prices and thinking they were all out of my league. Instead, I saw it. From across the room, my eyes were drawn to a handsome, strong fellow with a come-hither shine and wearing a tiny little price that just screamed "Take me!! Take me now!!!" I tried to resist. "You're not right for me, you're too big, too polished, too refined for me." I wandered over to another, tried to love it, but I couldn't. Even though I knew this love was all wrong, that I could never reconcile it with the rest of my appliance family of black and (ugh) almond, I couldn't deny the love I had for this steely beauty. Oh, my. The others would welcome this newcomer, wouldn't they? They'd learn to love him as I did, right? I opened one door, then another, trembling at the sight of so much emptiness waiting for me to fill it with...ahem. I found my fridge. Yes I did. If the dishwasher and stove don't like it, they can be replaced next year; the fridge has stainless kin just waiting to pile into my kitchen and delight me.

During this extravaganza, this showcase of the ultimate American pastime of spend, spend, spend, Bird was bored. Bored, bored, bored. Fry's may be a wonderland for the grownups, but it's a colossal yawn for a little guy. He started running hither and thither, but not yon. Not yet. He was saving yon for a total meltdown, which thankfully never quite came. We were close, though. So while the bored, active, inquisitive little evil genius was finding ways to amuse himself, T was trying to avert complete disaster and I was mooning over my new love. Sigh. So dreamy. Luckily we were there during a slow patch and the sales people were kind, patient, and understanding, even when I had to examine several units (refrigerators, you pervs!!) to compare features, call my mum a dozen times to ask her advice, and waffle several times before finally conceding the obvious - that I couldn't live without the one who first caught my eye. Bored child finally settled into one of the "fun chairs", the floor sample massage chairs. He loves those things. Not as much as his GeoTrax, but they'll do in a pinch.

The television was not pleased to learn that one of them would have to wait until tomorrow to be claimed as our very own. I relented and told T the television could come home first, and they did a little dance in the aisle while I whispered reassurances to my new love that we would be united in only a day - for I shall return tomorrow and complete our arrangements to have the dashing fellow brought to me on Sunday. Ahh, bliss.

The journey homeward was pleasant - T and I each replete with our purchase choices, minds occupied with plans for our new additions. T has to clean off the entertainment center and I must empty the current cooler-of-foodstuffs. Mum told me I have to clean the floor underneath, but why? There's going to be a fridge on top of it! Kidding!! It'll be the one time I clean that patch of floor, truth be told - I am not the move-the-fridge-to-clean type, unless something actually spills under there. Leave the Serendusti in peace, I say.

Now that I've thrilled you with my tales of thriftless living, I am spent (ha!) and am off to bed, perchance to dream of a certain stainless steel, magnet friendly new amour...

Oh, and the roast turned out fine.

Tag, I'm it!

I got tagged, I got tagged!!

Squeeee!!

Or something.

Considering the sheer volume of memes I've done, you wouldn't think I'd be excited, but this is the first time I've officially been tagged with one! Thanks, Laurie. She's over at Foolery. I don't know how to do the fancy link thing, so I'll do it the less attractive but equally effective way. She's here: http://foolery.typepad.com/foolery/ What makes this cooler, in a silly, geekish, OK let's face it completely ridiculous way is that I don't know her, except from her blog, and vice versa. So it's not a pity tag or anything. Heh. I feel so...so...included!

She said I shouldn't feel pressured to do the thing. Umm...Laurie? Have you actually read the whole OCD thing? Not do it?? Hah!! Without further ado, my very first ever properly tagged meme.
~~~~~
First, the rules.
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Now, on with it.

Thing the first - I like to polish silver. Really. A lot. I enjoy taking a badly tarnished, grotty looking piece of silver and polish it until it shines. It's therapeutic. It's magic. It's...weird. But I love it, and my friends and family know that, so they save their nasty silver polishing jobs for me. Aren't they sweet?

Secundus - I have a collection of fuzzy animal slippers. Not just the usual suspects. There are teddy-bears, leopards, big blue monster feet with sparkly toenails, black cats, brown bear feet (Hah! Bare feet, get it??), black and white cows, and the piece de resistance - pink flamingoes complete with tall, arching necks and big silly beaks. I used to wear these various slippers to the grocery store, usually when I shopped around midnight.

Tertiary - Country music causes mood swings. Really. I am a big old girl, and quite a few of those songs make me cry like a big old girl. And the Craig Morgan song "International Harvester" cracks me up and puts a grin on my face every time I hear it. Check it out, see if you don't smile a little.



Quatro - I read trashy romance novels. Janet Evanovich, Lindsay Sands, Margerie Liu, Jennifer Cruisie, Katie MacAlister, Lori Foster, and the whole slew of women who wrote the Banzai McGuire and Crimson City series...serieses....sereii...ummm...collections. I can't get enough of them...cotton candy for the brain, and I can read two or three in a day if Bird's feeling low-maintenance. Keep your panties on, I don't, I'm just saying I could...I would never neglect my son for a trashy romance. Harry Potter, maybe...

Five - Sometimes I think about running away from home, changing my name, and dropping off the map. Of course, I'd have to bring my son. And cats. And books. And Bob the Wonder Computer. Oh, and you know, clothes and kitchen stuff, and flutes and all that. Never mind.

Final - I really enjoy getting tattooed. I mean, really. Yeah I know, right?? But it's a huge rush. Speaking of which, my ink meter is getting a little low...time for number six...hmm...

Now, who shall I tag? Hmm...that's a toughie - most of the folks I read online are relative strangers. I mean, I know I'm reading their inmost thoughts and recipes and things, but we've never met, in like, person. Oh, well...here goes!
1. Mum at: http://www.myspace.com/sauteecat because I luvs her so.
2. David at: http://www.myspace.com/dark_ambientbecause he deserves it...payback's a...you know...
3. Kit at: http://www.myspace.com/kitmamabecause I know she doesn't have anything better to do and she's sick of sitting around eating bon-bons all day.
4. My cousin E. at: http://www.myspace.com/foxevaxevax She won't mind, will she? Even though we only see each other about once every decade or two ?
5.This guy named Danny over at: http://www.dadgonemad.com/ because who wouldn't want the online equivalent of a water balloon dropped from a third storey window onto their heads by a complete stranger??
6. Whoever reads this can consider themselves the sixth person tagged because I am fresh out of ideas for people to annoy include in this fun.

There...all done. Now I can get on with my day. :-)