Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

You Don't Send Meeee Floooowweeerrrsss....

I was at my redheaded friend Catherine C's house, chatting with one of her friends, and heard about this theory that there are four ways of showing affection. Everyone has a favorite way of showing and receiving affection, and a least favorite way. If your intended has a favorite way of showing affection that happens to be your least favorite way, then anticipate ... friction.

So the four ways are: Touching, Talking, Spending Time, Buying Gifts.
Gary likes showing affection in this order (from most favorite to least favorite):
Buying Gifts, Spending Time, Talking, Touching
I like getting affection in this order (most to least favorite):
Touching, Spending Time, Talking, Getting Gifts

The biggest friction comes up when he tries to buy gifts. Now, I don't want to hear about what a fool I am because I don't like it when he buys me gifts. You may say "But Ellen, you liked it when he bought you the guitar." Well, I paid him back in cash about a day later, because I hate it when he buys me big stuff. (I suppose it's because of the Unfortunate Decision by the Technical Father to let us kids know that he wouldn't be seeing us again because the child support was just too expensive, and blah blah blah, assbastard. If I go over that $200 a month 1968 child support maximum I start getting uncomfortable. I'm pathetic. I know.)

So, since our most and least favorite ways of showing affection are diametrically opposed, we've had to settle on our mutual second favorite, spending time together. Don't get excited and think this is quality time. This is worthless wasted time. Our favorite thing to do is for me to sit and watch him watch TV. He is quite entertaining to watch. Hot women come on the screen and he makes grunting sounds. Some politician does something stupid and he leaps up and flails his arms about like he's trying not to fall off a tall building. And football! Whee!

On the other hand, I know spending time isn't for everyone. I have a friend, Holly, who is Wound UP. She's got that crazy driven Border Collie look in her eyes at all times.  She makes extensive lists that are revised and re-copied at the end of every day to PUNISH herself for not getting more done. And her ex-husband would pin her down, lie on top of her on the couch, and force her to watch reruns of The Lone Ranger for hours. (The key word there is "ex.")

So, I think the big issue here is that we need to plan our time together so we make better use of it. My resolution is to get Gary to spend three hours a week with me doing something useful. Gardening, exercising, training the freaking dog, playing music, whatever. That's the plan.

Memorial Day Observed at the In-Laws

Shall I start with the conversation I had with Gary on the drive to the In-Laws? We were talking about the Kathy Griffin special in which she discusses "vagina drop." Gary said:

"At times ... as I have been doing my research on the Internet, I sometimes come across images of vaginas.  I think some might be droopy. But you can't tell unless the woman is shaved."
"And what is up with that?" I asked, "What is that for? Is it for...navigation? Or do men want the woman to look pre-pubescent?"
"I think those women are just very committed swimmers. Shaving makes you swim faster, and if you're competitive, well, every second helps."
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Then at the In-laws, Karen came in from the bathroom and exclaimed "MOM. Have you run out of Holy Water again?"

The S______s are not only Catholic, they are Charismatic Catholics, and I didn't even know those existed, but they do. Speaking in tongues, and miraculous healings with Holy Oil, and visions. Really no crazier than any other religion, of course.

Wilma and Ken therefore have Holy Water in little fonts on the walls screwed in next to all the light switches in every room. So you can anoint yourself whenever. So I figured they were overindulging and had run out. No, Wilma said, they were worried mosquitoes would breed in it. In the house. In the Holy Water. And you know, mosquitoes carry West Nile virus. And the birds aren't going to be eating the mosquitoes because they'll all be dead from the flu.
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Then, during the polite luncheon conversation Gary said he had been ridiculed by his friends at work for not washing his pants every time he wore them.

Karen gasped, "Oh I do! You don't wash your pants? That's disgusting." (Then she belched. I do not lie.)
Gary defended himself. "Well I wash my underwear every time! Do you wash your underwear every time?"
"Yes" she stammered. "When I wear it."

Forks dropped.

Well, Gary and my forks dropped. The elder In-Laws, Karen, and Mr. Wonderful continued eating.
"GGAAAAAAHHH!" Gary screamed.
Karen pointed out, "Well, neither does [Mr. Wonderful]"
"GGAAAAAAHHH!"
I turned away. "I can't look at you two ever again." I turned back. "No. I can only picture you naked now."
Karen left the room, and Mr. Wonderful leaned in and whispered, "She doesn't wear a bra either."
"GGAAAAAAHHH!"
"Gary, were we talking to you?" I inquired politely.
"Mom!" Gary screamed, "Make them stop!"

We did stop, and Karen returned to the room (I checked her out, no bra. At least no bra that had a strap in the back; I didn't grope her, if that's what you're thinking.) The conversation continued on a calmer track. For at least two or three minutes.

Then I asked Wilma: "You wear underwear, don't you?"
"Well, now I do!" she said, alarmed. I didn't say a word, but she went on entirely without prodding and volunteered, "It's hot running back and forth to that barbecue outside! But I put it on when I knew people were coming over."
"GGAAAAAAHHH!GGAAAAAAHHH!"
"Ken?" I asked. "How about you?"
"GGAAAAAAHHH! Don't answer her, Dad!"
He didn't answer me because Wilma needed to continue her underwear protest.
"Well why should he? It's hot! He wears it when he goes out!"
And it was about that time that everyone stood up because lunch was over and everyone got a long hard sideways look from me. We all started our farewells.
"Don't think I'm hugging any of you people goodbye," I insisted. And then I flashed my bra at them.
"GGAAAAAAHHH!"
"Oh, WHAT." I cried. "Gary, they. Don't. Wear. Underwear."
"GGAAAAAAHHH!"
"I can take off my bra if it will make you all feel more comfortable," I said, as Gary dragged me out to the car.

Perhaps underwear contributes to vagina drop. Maybe they're on to something.

"Fingering Husband's Rectum" on Big Comeback Tour

I got this search again from google:

"Finger my husband's rectum."

I don't know who you are, but I know where you live, 'google.UK' user. 

Me me me Meme

"Mom" I said this weekend. "You need a blog."
"I wouldn't have anything to write about."
"Well, you could write about your capers. And if you need a topic evidently there are these things called 'Memes.'"

Mom was disinterested. But I read of a meme  on http://www.amandarin.net/, and it mentioned Chronic Listaholic. The first list was:

"Google the phrase "[your name] needs." Then list the top 10 results that come up. "

Here's what I got:
10 suggestions that Ellen Degeneres needs to dump Anne Heche.

So then I changed the rules to be ' "Ellen needs" -Degeneres ' and here's what I got:

Ellen needs to know that this community is behind her campaign 100%!!!  Yes. That would be my campaign to eradicate Multiple Exclamation Points. You need to realize that one exclamation point is sufficient.

Ellen needs to read the fine print on the credit agreement. This is the first of many "Ellens" used in profoundly boring training sites. Evidently my name is accessible and non-intimidating, yet unique enough the instructional designers feel it shows some effort on their part.

I think Ellen needs to think rationally.  Yes. That's why Ellen takes medication.

Ellen needs to be contacted to see if she is a member and if not, if she wants to join. What type of club is this? Is it a religion? I don't want to join a religion that would have me as a member.

First, on the root level, Ellen needs to answer this question: Is my life worth living? Okay, this list thing is freaking me out.

What else do you think Ellen needs to know before she talks to people at work? Everyone at work just said sarcastically, "Oh, but Ellen knows EVERYTHING already."

Ellen needs to get away from the problems of her relationship with her boyfriend Jordan (Nicky Katt), but she plans to continue work on the magazine article. How old is Jordan? If he can be played by someone named Nicky he must be 12. Ellen needs therapy to stop molesting boys named Jordan.

Ellen needs to talk to people to check what training activity is happening to schedule around training or warn staff that the system will be unavailable ... Gahhhhccchhk. Even my meme life is boring.

I support this petition because Ellen needs to be back in Brentwood, all of her friends miss her! We need her back. This from the people on a first-name-only basis with Ellen Degeneres, I suppose.

"Ellen needs to get away from the problems of her relationship with her boyfriend... (This ... Ellen needs to answer this question: Is my life worth living? ..." This is where it got strange. Evidently someone named Ellen at the Dallas news read of this meme and wrote an article about it. And of course she got all the same links I did, even in October 2005.

Ellen needs to get something in her life worth mocking other than herself.

Gather 'round Ye Little Children

Today I...

...used a turntable to play a Pete Seeger record. A record that has not been released by Sony (bastards) in MP3 format.

... said to Gary "Well if it's so easy to build a fence, then why was it so hard for us to find anyone to build this fence twenty years ago?" And we thought, and thought, and realized the fence was built before the Internet. So we could not Google "fence" and our zip code.

...wondered then with Gary how we spent our time before TiVo and the Internet and the guitar and drums. All we could think of was that we watched every baseball game. We lay in bed and ate pizza and chocolate frosting out of the can for dessert and watched the '85 World Series on his black and white TV. And we were not ashamed, because lo, no one had told us about cholesterol. And then years later we saw the Nutrition Labels and we were filled with shame.

...looked back on our past sexual histories and wondered why were not like normal horny kids. Gary (who is even older than I)  said "What the hell was I thinking, not having sex in high school?  There was no AIDS!  It was a free ride. And I missed it." I realized I could have gotten under the AIDS wire as well, I graduated in '80 and remember a PBS show that year on "The Gay Plague" that was sweeping the New York bathhouses. Damn.

I am soooooo old.

Look to the Right -->

Okay, there's a new list on the right. You might have to scroll. In addition to the iPod (holds iPod to bosom) and the TiVo (runs over and hugs TiVo) these are the Smart Purchases I have made or have had made for me. I left off the garage door opener, since that's kind of a given now, but every time I use these things I think "How did I live without that?"

I'm sure a good shopper could find much better prices than the ones I found. I mean, I found better prices when I got this stuff. And perhaps, like the iPod and the garage door opener, everyone has one of these.  But if you don't, I recommend them highly.

NOBODY Expects the Mormon Inquisition...

...to be postponed. But it is. Fine, just gives me more time to assemble the ingredients for the Make-Your-Own-Jello-Salad Bar.

Thank you Saints Cosmos and Damian

(Cosmos and Damian are the twin brother patron saints of chemistry.)

I've been doing Instructional Designer duty on this Chemistry project; that is, I write the instructional text instead of programming the on-line instruction. Last Friday I typed these words:

"When the gas reacts with moisture in the tissues, particularly in the lungs, it produces carbon dioxide and hydrochloric acid:

COCL2    +  H2O           produces            CO2            +            2HCl

The hydrochloric acid then dissolves the membranes of the victim’s lungs."

 

Huh, I thought, perhaps I should soften that last sentence. Then I walked around the office gripping my hair and praying for release from this project. The project itself is going great; the soldiers will be on top of any chemical agent they encounter; and as a bonus I learned Chemistry. But the subject is dark. Too dark for total immersion. (And this from the woman with gallstones, MRIs, and colonoscopy photos decorating her guest bathroom. I never thought I could max out on dark science but I have.)

Saint Damien and Cosmos heard my plea and it seems the bosses need me to program lessons more than they need me to write them, so as of the end of the month, I am back to being a soulless programmer. I don't even have to read the words.

Damien, Cosmos, I offer unto you tributes of potato eyes, bleach, and ammonia.

Apocryphal of ...

Apocryphal of ... posies? Apocryphal of ...crap? You decide.

I have always loved apocryphal stories. This stems from when I was six and the Queen Mother dropped me off to stay with her mother (the Dowager Queen). Mom would pull Grandciel aside (for that was her name, the Grandma Lucille, and that is how it was spelled by those who didn't really know how to spell yet because they were six) and whisper:

"Seriously, Mother, don't let Ellen read any of your National Enquirers. I don't want her thinking that stuff is true."
"Of course not, honey," Granceil would say, and wave Mom goodbye, and then dump a big stack of National Enquirers in my lap. "Don't believe any of this stuff" she would say, very very seriously, and I would agree and spend the evening studying up on spontaneous human combustion and aliens.

I still love that stuff. Gary and I were just at the Barnes and Noble Industrial Complex and the checkout girl complimented our purchases as viewed from the top of the stack. Nine Stories. A Man in Full. The Lovely Bones. "These are great choices" she cooed. Gary said "Just wait," because he knew what was at the bottom of the pile.

I think that was why I was so delighted to turn Southern Baptist in Jr. high and find that my childhood Catholic Bible had the Apocrypha, a special section in the middle that the Baptists didn't have (plus an entirely different division of the 10 commandments that got around the Baptist commandment against worshiping the graven images). Only I had the Apocrypha! The National Enquirer of the Bible! Not true enough to make it into the "real Bible" but who knows?  And of course, a big stumbling block to Baptists and the "Inspired Literal Word of God." Can't have a "Partially Inspired Semi-Literal Word of God."

I read the Apocrypha then, looking for spontaneous combustion and excitement but it was pretty much like the rest of the Bible, just like the Book of Mormon was when I read that in High School. Ho hum.

But back then I was a child, and I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a woman, I watched the History Channel and yea, they turned me on to the motherlode: The Gnostic Bible. Way freakier than the Apocrypha.

Imagine the beginning of the book of John: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." (Okay, for fun, imagine literal Southern Baptists wrapping their heads around that.) Now imagine the Gnostic Bible's reprinting of the second century Secret Book of John. Secret! Book! of! John! Cool! Written at the same time as the rest of the New Testament, it's all like that first verse of the Gospel of John, except Jesus explains to John what "The Word" is, and he re-explains creation, and there's the Good God who creates a female God and they have a lesser Bad Ruler and He creates the Earth - oh, and there's a lot of stuff between the Real Bible's John first and second verses: "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth" and "And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness [was] upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." (Come on, that second verse is just a big subtitle that says: "Baptists! Don't take this literally. Poetry, people, poetry!")

And Jesus explains all the Big Secrets to John. First big shocker: dozens of angels were each assigned a body part of Adam to create. (Thank the angel Ikiban for man's molars, and Eilo for the testicles. Penis? Uncertain. They dug the Secret Books up in some cave somewhere. Of course, that would be the verse that rotted.) Jesus also rolls his eyes at the idea that Eve came from a rib. "It is not like Moses said, that she came from his rib." He cops to Eve coming from Adam's flesh, though, just not the rib, for God's sake. And Jesus takes care of the "Ignorant Savages" who have not heard of him. Baptists? Hell. Secret Book of John? Reincarnation.

Oh, and there's one verse in Genesis that always got my hand up in church.  Genesis 6:4 - "There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare [children] to them, the same [became] mighty men which [were] of old, men of renown." Oh, that always got the literal Baptists to become mad poets. "Ellen, 'sons of God' is figurative in this context." Well, you get the background story on those nasty sons of God. Very illuminating.

I'm just SO excited. Screw the DaVinci Code! If I find out any really big stuff (i.e Jesus was a girl, he had 15 kids who became the American Indians) I'll pass it on.

Best Shirt EVER

Okay, who wants this shirt? I do! I do!

Oh, and happy Mother's Day, Mom.

I Sing the Body Eclectic

Okay, tonight was spent investing in my iPod. It struck me that I must have at least one song from every iPod genre in my Library. But HA I do not. I am so not well rounded. People, I must be rounded, and rounded well.

My goal is to have at least one song of every genre, and I'm missing the genres below. Please leave a comment and recommend any really good music in any of these genres:

Country
Dance
Electronic
Latin (Yes! I have no Latin! And I took Latin in High School.)

Ok, not serious about the Latin thing - I know there's this Shakira woman. I might like her music if she wasn't so damn hot belly dancing all around like that. She can sing too, as I understand it. I just can't get over how hot she is.

Reggae
World

YES I KNOW. I like Reggae and World music, at least the snippets I've heard on NPR.

So, what's good out there.?

Broken News

I took a little break this morning from detailing how to blind 200,000 people at one time by adding water to your chemical pressure tank, and I checked out CNN because even hearing the same news over and over is better than daytime TV. Two things annoyed me:

They showed the RBS commercial that states lovingly that if Jack Nicklaus added together all his best scores from all the times he played the Master's he would have a score of 47. If I added my best scores from every time I played miniature golf I would have a score of 18, I bet. What is the Royal Bank of Scotland promising me? They can help me cheat by ignoring my failures? This commercial really annoys me.

Then I was distracted and turned away, and when I turned back to CNN I saw the Breaking News logo, not the pansy "Just In" logo, but the big spinning "Breaking News" logo, the one they played 9 times the night the 9 miners were rescued in 2002, the one they save for the big stuff, the one that will bring me out of a coma. Then they tell me that ValuJet flight flight 592 crashed.

"Huh," I think, "That makes the second ValuJet plane crash. Didn't one crash in the Everglades?" Then Daryn Kagan (dating Rush Limbaugh - amazing, I checked Snopes, not a lie) continued talking about the big crash. The banner at the bottom says "ValuJet Crash" and for a moment I thought "Dang. They got that banner up pretty fast considering it was Breaking News." Of course it finally dawned on me that ValuJet has been out of business for years and I had just seen a Breaking News Moment in Time, a Broken News if you will. It must be the 10 year anniversary of the crash and they were doing a little "You Were There" retrospective.

"Good thing ValuJet is out of business," I thought, "because if I had a relative flying from Miami to Atlanta I'd be freaking right now." And then I watched Daryn Kagan's face as she struggled to keep her composure as someone clearly began screaming into her ear: "Hey! You can't say that! The phone lines are going crazy!" But she soldiered on as if there were not Bylaws and Regulations dictating when the Sacred Importance of the Breaking News Logo can be invoked. If you call upon the name of the Breaking News in vain it loses its power. What is CNN coming to?

In Which we Mock Dog AND Husband

I would like to think my dog is housebroken. I would like to think that. It is a lie, but I would like to hold on to that lie.

I have only two dog rules:

1)       Do not move your bowels inside the house.

2)       Do not void your bladder inside the house.

I think the dog understands my list; he just has a longer list of loopholes and clauses that often override my two rules. If he could list his exemptions, they would be:

1)       I, _________ [state dog’s name] believe there is a rain and snow exemption to the two human rules stated above.

2)       I believe if a human is not watching me perform the act outside then I should “go” inside so they can appreciate it.

3)       I believe my urine protects the inside of the house from predators if reapplied daily.

So, he really isn’t breaking the rules, I just am not aware of all the conflicting dog rules. This applies to my husband as well. I have a very few limited rules, and while it seems that he ignores them, it’s just that his set of rules are sometimes in conflict with my rules. My rules are:

1)       Move your bowels and bladder inside the house and never let me know about it.

2)       Do not talk to me when:

a.      I am on the phone with someone else

b.      I am listening to music in the car and Steven Page is singing

c.      I am asleep

3)       If we have a party, do not make extra work for me to do.

4)       If I am working around the house, do not follow me around and suggest how I could be doing that housework more effectively.

Gary’s unstated exemptions to the above rules are:

1)       I, Gary, feel the first bathroom visit of the day should be announced so all inhabitants of the house know that elimination production is meeting normal standards. And I deserve a treat and a belly rub for that.

2)       I believe that:

a.      The people you are on the phone with would like to know I am still around.

b.      You need to be kept alert in the car.

c.      If I talk to you when you sleep you talk back in your sleep and say funny things with which I can mock you when you waken.

3)       If we have a party, and the books are not in Dewey Decimal order, you just don’t understand how that reflects on the man in the family.

4)       But don’t you want me to help with the housework?

This is what happens when you peak too early

My family and I went to visit my grandma's new apartment when I was 10 (almost 11). For some reason Grandma never turned the TV off when she had visitors, and it would stay on. I think she turned the volume down somewhat. This was a long visit (Long even by adult standards) and I was watching whatever images were on the TV. A lot of pretty horses were loaded up into a starting gate, that was interesting, especially since 10-11 is the cusp of the horse longing phase of a young girl's life.

So the horses started running, and I was watching. No big deal. Then three-fourths of the ways through some horse from almost the back, a horse that had no chance to my eye, took off and just ran like mad. I don't know when I stood up and began screaming. Then he won! I commenced hopping up and down screaming.  Then I noticed my family looking at me. Dad, a sports fan, watched the replay and explained that horses hang back sometimes to give a big burst at the end.

I found this fascinating. It fostered in me a love of the Kentucky Derby (because of course it was the '73 Kentucky Derby) and I watched all of Secretariat's races (because of course the horse was Secretariat). I learned the importance of hanging back so you can annihilate the competition later (not that I ever used this information - well, maybe the hanging back part).

Here's some video of Secretariat hanging back in second place until he destroys the competition in the Belmont Stakes. And if you want to see him win the Derby, join me as I watch the Derby Saturday - they always replay his Derby win. Every year I watch the Derby, waiting for another big Secretariat moment with a new horse, but no. That record remains unchallenged.

Mmmmm..Soylent Green

I just finished watching Soylent Green. (Spoiler alert! Read no more if you don't know how this classic ends. Oh, and stop having a life and join the Couch Potato Generation.)

I'd never seen anything but the big twist ending of Soylent Green.  I was surprised by two things. First, as a result of 9 months of Jenny Craig, Soylent Green looks pretty damn tasty even though it's people. (Yes, Soylent Green is people. I warned you about the spoiler. Watch the movie anyway just for an entertaining 1970's view of the 21st century and global warming.)

Here's another food that sounds good: elk. I've got a lead on a restaurant downtown that serves elk. I'm going to eat the elk to quench my mid-life cravings for food I haven't had. I've decided on elk even though Saint Louis is the home of the fried brain sandwich (Mad Cow disease on the side).

It's not just odd food I'm craving, it's odd drink. One drink I tried recently was at Girl's Night Out at Marcia's, at which I had what Marcia called a Tom Collins and I dubbed a Trisprite vodkaium.

In the same vein, I threw my back out today and Gary introduced me to a fine household muscle relaxant named Grand Marnier. It's not just for cooking. I've experimentally chugged it before and choked. He showed me how to take tiny sips and have it evaporate on my tongue. (I've never thrown my back out before. The phrase makes it sound as if one is casually tossing out ones back only to rescue it from the trash soon after. I didn't throw my back out so much as my back decided to turn on me and split me in two with pain. But now I know about Grand Mariner Extra Strength Muscle Relaxant and I feel muuuuccch better.)

Baby Teeth

So, evidently dreams can be contagious. I didn't have Catherine's teeth falling out dream, but Gary did. And get this - in the dream:

1) He and I had a baby.
2) The Baby's teeth all fell out.
3) He made a guitar pick for me out of the baby's teeth. (Hey, not my dream, but I'm still getting stuff. And you know I would so love a guitar pick made of baby teeth.)

Then, in the dream, his mother asked "What's the baby's name?" and he replied, "Dunno. We might not keep it." She pointed out the baby was old enough to have lost all its teeth and we couldn't give it back now.

I can't even start muddling through what all this means. The dream site Catherine referenced doesn't mention my understanding of teeth falling out (losing ones children). Which in this case would mean our baby had had children, which I suppose is a dream complaining we won't have grandchildren (but we will have guitar picks). Then again, her site also mentioned control issues (which makes me wonder why all S_____s don't have this dream every night) or loss of innocence. This would make sense and probably be spurred by our niece's determination to grow up entirely just in her Sophomore high school  year.

I don't want dreams like this. I want my subconscious to send me PowerPoint slides with bullets.