Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

More On Gary

Gary has a little girly gushy crush on Chris Matthews. I don't get this.

I understand why my husband gets breathless about charismatic celebrities.  I completely understand his new girly crush on BNL and I can listen to him rhapsodize about how talented each individual member is and why. Some people have universal appeal. Ask me if I'd do Angelina Jolie someday.

But Chris Matthews? Really?

Incestuous PandaJam

Jeeez, I've only been playing the guitar for a year and a month and Gary finally consented to accompany me on the drums.

There are good and bad points to this.

The good: I imagine I played every note correctly.

The bad: I have to rely on my imagination because HE PLAYED SO LOUDLY I can no longer hear. And he wasn't even on the full drum set, he was just on the congas. Did Ricky Ricardo play the Congas so loudly Lucy was temporarily deafened? No? What? I can't hear you BECAUSE I AM DEAF.

Don't think I didn't complain. "GARY!" I bellowed, "I CAN'T HEAR MY GUITAR!"
"TURN IT UP!"
"IT'S AN ACOUSTIC GUITAR!"
"PLAY LOUDER!"
"PLAY SOFTER!"
"ROCK IS LOUD!"

So, fine. Now I'm prepared. I'm hauling the "big" amp up from the basement, and I'm turning it up to 11.

Weekend Update 3

First, an aside: It appears that Breathalyzer results notwithstanding, I was drunk at the Conservabration, evidenced by the fact that I went out and bought the Crossfade CD. Not only is it, as Tony the Late Tiger would say, Crrrrrrap!, it also has some type of Digital Rights Management setting that tries to install software on your PC so you can't run iTunes.

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The Perfect S______ storm (oh...that was a big hint), or three birthdays and Valentine's Day celebrated at the in-laws, became a harmonious affair as soon as the outsider arrived: Arzaana-fay's boyfriend ... uhhh ... Ack-Zay.  Which is not to say the in-laws were not their usual nutty selves, they just didn't squabble.

For example, our niece got up to go to the bathroom, coughing.
"Oh, no," Sandy moaned, "She's going to throw up."
"THROW UP?" Gary roared, "You mean she's got BULIMIA?"
"Oh, no," Sandy reassured him, "She just has the flu."

[She does not have the flu. She just coughed. Now, if life really was like a movie, sure, if you cough you have the flu and are dead in ten minutes. But she went to the bathroom for a drink of water and SOME FREAKING PEACE AND QUIET. - Ed.]

"The FLU?" Wilma wailed, "I think I have something for that in the medicine cabinet!"
"No, it's just because she hasn't been taking her vitamins. She's been complaining her neck aches too."
Karen gasped, "Oh, I hope she doesn't have meningitis!"

The poor kid came back to the table and I asked, "So, is your meningitis acting up, honey?" because I am SUCH a bitch.

This short-term exaggeration explosion was echoed in the rumors that the nephew is moving in with his girlfriend. As it turns out, reality has a much more mundane explanation: if they are still together next summer they are going to move to Chicago together. Given that the nephew has never been on four dates with anyone, I doubt there will be an actual living together crisis. This will comfort the S______ family, in which recently a fourteen-year old was encouraged to marry the boy who got her pregnant.

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Brazil is being reforested, slowly and sparsely. I may have to maintain this. I'm thinking about you, Toe Fetish fans, because I know exhausting it can be to have to go in and re-edit all your sexual fantasies every time someone grows or trims hair. (I'm looking at you, Tom Selleck. You set me back in the '70s. I wasted a lot of time on you.)

In Which It Turns Out I Cannot Mock My Husband

The in-laws and, sadly, Gary, have their own dialect. I don't mean just calling soda "pop." They have at least three terms exclusive to the tiny little region of Saint Louis called Gary's Childhood Home:

a. Noseblower. As in, "a gentlemen always carries a noseblower to offer a lady in tears" or "She dropped her noseblower to attract the gentleman's attention."

b. B. O. Medicine. I hate this one. I can't break Gary of this. And on top of that, we had quite the disagreement on whether antiperspirant and antiperspirant/deodorant were the same. I can't discuss this any more.

...and almost c. Towelcoat. I almost convinced Gary on the cruise (number of posts not mentioning the cruise: #1) that no one knew what he meant by "dropping our 'towel coats' for the naked photo." I kept trying to explain that no one else on the face of God's earth uses the term "towel coat." And now? Cary Grant just told Doris Day in That Touch of Mink that there was a "towel coat hanging in the closet."

Things I Learned at The Girl's Night Out

A few things I learned at the Conservabration:

1. When it comes to Graquel's taste in music, I do not like Incubus but I went out and bought a Crossfade CD based on two songs she plugged into my head from her iPod.

2. Bourbon? A waste of time. I drank several ounces of fancy bourbon (Single barrel? Does this mean anything to anyone?) and it did nothing but instantly give me a headache. I didn't even register on the Breathalyzer. Does Single Barrel mean alcohol free?

3. Sleep eating is perhaps the funniest sleep disorder ever, especially when the sleep eater is describing the detritus left on the floor by the bed after the sleep buffet.

4. People can be scary when they are drunk and get RIGHT IN YOUR FACE to let you know they make charitable contributions.

5. Conservatives have more faith in humanity than I have. I still don't think individual people would give as generously and even-handedly as the goverment.

6. Areas of agreement: George Bush is a moron. Bill Clinton also in many ways a moron. Both too much in love with their penises.

7. I am the only one who thinks artists who get grants from the NEA should have more sense than to insult their patron, the government. Everyone else is all "Oooo, art should never be censored." Well, fine, but a little self-censorship? A little common sense?

8. Our black conservative said "Okay, well I'm worried that someone will shoot Barak Obama too, but if that's what it takes then so be it." Actually, I think what she said was "so be it, baby," but she was drunk.

Oh. Man, I am Not Looking Forward to This

A perfect storm of in-law crisis is brewing at the S_____ house this weekend. They have planned all of these activities for Saturday:

1. Niece birthday
2. Nephew birthday
3. Father-in-law birthday (because hey, we don't have to spend money on Christmas for the kids, so we are loaded when January comes around)
4. Valentine's Day, or as I like to call it, Incest Day.

- Let me interrupt this to report I just realized I completely spaced on my brother's birthday, because as you can see the actual date of someone's birth is immaterial in the S_____ culture.

So aside from the expense of four dueling holidays and everyone but Gary and I clamoring to be the center of attention for the day, there is a more ominous undercurrent rumbling on the horizon.

Nephew may be moving in with his girlfriend. I only know this because Karen (Gary's sister) sent an email cataloging what we cannot talk about on Saturday. "Don't mention the naked photo that really upsets Dad. Don't talk about religion and politics that really upsets Mom and Sandy. Don't say anything about you-know-who moving in with his girlfriend."

My first thought? "Ken thought that whole naked thing was a riot when we first mentioned it. Wilma must have gotten on his case. Hm. Wilma thought it was funny too. Wonder what happened to change - whaaa? Arhan-fay is moving in with his girlfriend?"

And of course it all became clear. Wilma and Ken know it's futile to try to impart moral guidance to their grandchildren, so as soon as they heard about their grandson living in sin they've doubled up on the one person they think they can guilt: their 52-year-old son, Gary. 

Actually, this post has been therapeutic. Not a bit of this crisis or celebration centers on me. I can just sit back and enjoy the show.

What Does This Meany?

If you were a book, what book would you be? The Book Quiz claims I would be this book:

(From Five Dollar Camera)

You're A Prayer for Owen Meany!
by John Irving
Despite humble and perhaps literally small beginnings, you inspire faith in almost everyone you know. You are an agent of higher powers, and you manifest this fact in mysterious and loud ways. A sense of destiny pervades your every waking moment, and you prepare with great detail for destiny fulfilled. When you speak, IT SOUNDS LIKE THIS!
Take the Book Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.

Okay, this is soooo NOT me. "A sense of destiny" does not pervade my every waking moment. You know what pervades my every waking moment? Running the opposite direction from destiny.

And, hey, HUMBLE beginnings? Suckmyballs, John Irving.

I am Stupid and I Have Bad Hair

I was recently (for reasons that have been discussed at length) in the Caribbean. (Slap yourself if you just pronounced in Car-ri-BE-an. It's Ca-RRIB-be-an. And extra points for rolling the Rs.) My hair loves the CaRRIBean. I don't have good hair in the Northern Hemisphere. Every individual hair has its own interpretation of which way to curl. (See Exhibit A.) But, get me next to the equator and the hairs, they cry, "Let us band together as one! Think of the great things we can do if we organize!" Then they start singing Joe Hill and The Internationale and link strands into a tidy mat of curls.

I washed my hair with sadness on Thursday night, our last night at sea. Since I was just going to be trapped in a plane Friday I saved the next tiny bottle of shampoo for Saturday. Then on Saturday I thought, "I don't have to wash my hair every day; I can just stick my head under the sink faucet. That'll be good enough for the road trip home." I don't wash my hair every day: yet another contribution to my 10% White Trash Score. One factor they didn't count is my shampoo/conditioner laziness. I always get the shampoo/conditioner combos, because I can't be bothered to shampoo, rinse, repeat (HAH!) and condition. The 10% of me that is White Trash is all concentrated in my hair.

Sunday as I showered and shampooed I thought, "Man, I forgot how hard the water is here."
Monday as I showered and shampooed I thought, "Wow, they must have had some kind of de-ionized water on that boat. I'm having to use twice as much shampoo as usual."

Today as I was still in bed Gary came out and said "Where's the shampoo? I've been having to use that stuff that feels like there's big chunks of salt in it."

I sat straight up. "MY Lush Big Hair shampoo? That stuff costs thirty-five dollars a jar! Don't use that! That's for special occasions!" (The Lush shampoo just sits there to remind me I am so insecure I will spend thirty-five dollars for shampoo. Because sometimes I forget to look at my permed and tinted eyelashes.) "Don't use that; use the new stuff in the pink bottle I bought before we left. That's what I've been using."

"That's just conditioner."

Ramen noodles? What are They?

You know what a piece of crap my long-term memory is. That's why I'm going to hedge this reminisce so that I don't unjustly accuse any female relations of being classist.

I distinctly remember being in the grocery store with a female relative. I was young, young enough that I could easily see things on the bottom shelf. Old enough that I could read the labels.

"Older female relative," I asked, "What are Ramen Noodles? Why don't we ever eat Ramen Noodles?"
"Because only White Trash eat Ramen Noodles" was the answer.

I remember this conversation every time I see Ramen Noodles.  Gary, for example, loves Ramen Noodles. I don't eat them, of course.

From Kim:

I am 10% White Trash.

I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box.

Take the
White Trash Test
@ FualiDotCom

I have no idea what cranked me up to 10% - oh, wait, yes I do:

I Swear to God I'll Shut Up About the Cruise and Go Back to Mocking My In-Laws After This.

Us as we flee from the Ice Storm. ROAD TRIP!

First night in Nashville, visiting Elvis and Eric:

Check out Gary the next night as he tried very hard to be disappointed in the Presidential suite, including:

...the Presidential bed:

...the Presidential flat screen:

...the Presidential bar:

... the Presidential shower:

...the Presidential hot tub:

...and the Presdiential dining room:

.

And if you want proof that this was the Presidential Suite, check out this photo:

Yes. If you note, the upper right tells me I'm on CNN Headline News, yet I was watching Sean Hannity on FOX. I spent a good three minutes trying to figure out why I kept menuing to CNN but I kept seeing FOX. Then, of course, I realized, it's the Presidential Suite. So I had dirty dirty defiant sex just to spite George W. Bush.

Then as we embarked, the band had a nice surprise for everyone:

Notice how everyone else looks great and hot and I am upping the chin count to three? This is what happens when I am surrounded by real-life rock stars and I try to act cool and not smile.

And yeah, you would think if they want to express to passengers how important it is for everyone on a floor to meet in one area if there is a fire, they could do a better job than this graphic:

That graphic says to me "Families wait here to be attacked by random strangers."

Lovely shots of stringrays and the beach:

So you may say, where are the photos of concerts? Well, here you go, this is the Guster - sorry, Trippin Balls concert that had me laughing:

Right before the BNL drummer kills the big yellow chicken:

Somehow I had enough wits to take a photo at the second Vanity Project concert:

You know how on every vacation, usually right before the end, you have that vacation realization moment? This was mine:

That's my giant head on the right, and I'm lounging on a deckchair, listening to Guster playing on the other side of that blue pole, rocking back and forth with the waves.

Oh, and this is everyone naked:

And this is just us:

Yeah, I'm Still Talking About the Cruise

Plane Ride Home
On the way home from the cruise, I was on the plane and pensive. I wish I was one of those people who could appreciate art and music without being heartbroken after. It's an intense word, but nothing else describes how I feel after I walk out of an art museum or, evidently, a four-day-long floating concert. I don't feel inspired when I leave the art museum. I feel destroyed. It's not just my competitive nature, if it were I'd bound out of the art museum challenging "Ha! Oils? Frescoes? Who can't do that?" Instead I float out until the cumulative effect of human condition hits me. Then I feel inadequate. Or perhaps I feel human.

Enough of That
On a lighter note, Steven Page looked at me in the midnight buffet for a good two seconds. It was an intense look. He could have been thinking:

1.  "Why is that woman wearing her pajamas to the midnight buffet?" (It was a rogue unauthorized pajama party for someone's twenty first birthday.)
2.  "I have a sudden overwhelming desire for that woman walking toward me with that guitar."
3.  "Get away from me with that guitar. I'm not signing that guitar. I'm hanging out with my family." (It didn't occur to me that his family would be the other people on board Gary's age. And I think signatures are silly. Like I need proof?)

However, I never found out why I was getting the snake eye, because handily my new friend Jody came up with a lost camera crisis.

In Which I Am Da Bomb
In the Miami airport I lugged Uncle Alvarez the guitar through security and watched as the X-ray guy called someone over to discuss what was inside my guitar case. "Mmumble mummble electric never mumble mumble." So I was not surprised when they asked me to move to a table and open my guitar case. I thought "Have they never seen a guitar? Maybe it's the capo. Maybe the picks? They are made of plastic. Maybe its like C4."

The TSA agent opened the case and lifted the guitar out. "You aren't going to ask me to play it, are you?" I asked. She staring picking through the picks, and like a good little terrorist I volunteered, "There's another little hidden compartment there," pointing to the compartment under the neck. She opened it and found my metronome, which my GOD looks just like an explosive device.

And Finally (Well, Finally except for the photos tomorrow)
My mother-in-law gets very annoyed at me that I don't take photos, I'm a little annoyed at myself for not taking even one photo to express how close I was at the first concert, but then I found this on YouTube:

The guy in the green dress is Steven. For the whole video with a tiny flash of Gary's head, go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjVdO1EZT0w

More Photos (including nudity!) tomorrow.

Mad Libs Friday

Friday we ate: airport food.

It took .5  hours to disembark.

Then we waited for the entire day at the airport.

Then we came home Saturday to ice storm destruction. When we pulled out early on the 13th to dodge the storm it seemed that one of our limbs in the rightmost front yard tree was hanging low. Then, as of course those of you who watch CNN know, we had another ice storm. Evidently this one sheared off half of the leftmost tree. So, instead of two perfectly matched pear trees, we have 1.5. I've got to collar one of the neighbors tomorrow and find (and thank) the tree fairies were who carved it up. On the other hand, it was probably blocking the street, and hence the bill for $500 on the front porch from, I imagine, The City.

Additional damage from the cruise: While the Brazilian is healing, it has changed into something I like to call the Turks and Caicosian. (I can't picture another name for a resident of Turks and Caicos.) For an authentic T & C, you must start with two yellow bruises, a previously uncharted gray mole, and some nubbly purple bumps. Add to that a landscape of sparse hairs all sheared off evenly where they snapped in contact with the hot wax.

Oh, and in non-pubic damage news, I have the stereotypical white girl collarbone sunburn.

Regardless, it has been a magical holiday, starting with the Swimsuit miracle (I had 14 suits, the first suit I tried on was as good as it was going to get and I bought it without even looking at the rest), and ending with Gary pleading "Can we please listen to Barenaked Ladies on the drive home?"

Mad Libs Thursday

Band member sightings:    So far: Steven 5, Ed 3, Kevin 3, Jim 2. Tyler 0. No off-stage sightings of  Tyler. Hmm. Really, this cruise has been like a four day floating concert with a giant backstage pass. I recommend everyone go to www.sixthman.net (not com) and sign up for one of their activities, or sign up someday for next year's BNL cruise. (January 27-February 1 2008)         

The songwriting clinic was:        only available by lottery, which i did not win. Ironically, one of the guster band members did. Instead we watched as the fans guitar-heroed with the lead guitarist, Ed. ("Guitar-heroed" was for you, Friend #2.) 

The second BNL concert was:     much more comfy in the balcony.      

The showing of the environmental movie, An Inconvenient Truth:        was done in not the bowels but the very rectum of the ship on the stormiest day.      

.... and it made me feel:      that we need a sequel. the info was fundamental. Still, I didnt know plugged in toasters waste energy - i thought the circuit wasnt complete if it wasnt turned on. 

Mad Libs Wednesday

Band member sightings:   Oh, you know, too many to count, blah blah. As of yet I have not spoken to anyone but the ever-accessible Kevin, because of course I have nothing to say. And because it appears I SUCK at casual human-to-human interaction. If I could figure out some way to have my facade talk to their personas I'd be set, but when it comes to actually relating as a human being I've really got nothing here to give.

Wednesday we ate: conch that was still alive when it was being served to us. Better than it sounds.

The stingrays on Turks and Caicos were:   velvety. The fine professional captain of the snorkeling boat floated a life preserver over to me when I began to panic when I couldn't stand up in the four-foot-deep water. Everything on Turks and Caicos has been great, probably since it just opened for tourism two years ago.

UPDATE: We were in the crowd watching yesterday's first BNL performance and who stands in front of us (yes, he should die) but the Mob Guy. Not Fin, but a man who looked almost exactly like Fin dressed in Evil. Gary didn't even notice him, and I asked if that was the guy who'd denigrated BNL. "Yeah, that's the guy." So, genial Fin has an evil doppleganger who is talking trash about the band, drinking the free liquor at the Deck Party, and talking loudly to his Mob Pals instead of listening to the band. Oh, well. He'll be sleeping with the fishes someday.

Another UPDATE: After singing his heart out for two solid days, Steven lost his voice. Well, he was a little froggy. So that means he sounded spectacular instead of breathtakingly spectacular. He sang a number of songs from his side project The Vanity Project I hadn't heard before, so there might be another album out there someday. At any rate, he had to rely more heavily on his charisma and guitar skills. But the question of the morning is: Is he feeling better?

An ASIDE: A tipsy woman came up to Gary and I at the Deck party and said "Every time I see you two in the buffet I think, I want what they have."
Damn girl, I puzzled, it's a buffet. Just go get a plate.
Turns out that's not what she meant. So now every time we start to squabble I remind Gary that we have a reputation as the Old Couple in Love to uphold.

And FINALLY: I laughed for half an hour solid yesterday when Guster came on stage and did a parody of all those Instrumental Cryptic Rock songs that go on for-freaking-ever, like Hotel California. They just played a lot of overwrought music, intermittently made arcane meaningless pronouncements, and it all ended with the BNL drummer coming out in a diaper and bludgeoning to death a giant chicken. The chicken wasn't quite dead, because at one point he resurrected long enough to start the audience clap-along. Of this, I have photos.

Okay. Gotta go. No idea what I'm doing today yet. All I know is my ever-grumpy codger husband has said "This has been the best vacation ever" more than ten times in the last three days. Perhaps I'll play the guitar I lugged halfway across the country.

Mad Libs Tuesday

The concert last night was   remarkable. We were in first row Steven. It was more than a little uncomfortable but I think he may have sweated on me. I'm looking forward to the next show, of course.

The prom night was bypassed. We waited in line for the concert instead.

Band member sightings:   Really, they are everywhere. We were in the elevator with Kevin. I smiled politely. Gary had a long conversation with "someone from New jersey who he thought may have been with the Mob. Steven was beingasked for autographs and photos, are Gary commented to Mob Guy, "It's too bad how some people won't leave these celebrities alone."

Mob Guy responded, "What celebrities?" 
Gary explained, "Why, Steven Page."
"He isn't a celebrity."
"No, he is," Gary said, momentarily wondering what a Mob Guy who doesn't like BNL is doing on this cruise. "This is a famous band. They've been around forever."
"Nah," Mob Guy said, "This tour must have been planned just to get them publicity.  I've never heard of them."

A few hours later we were watching the BNL documentary and Gary recognized the Mob guy as Fin, the BNL tour manager.

Today we ate:   Sushi.

The naked photo was:    Populated by about 500 other very white flabby people. I would show off the photo at work but I am showing nipple. Just a little.

Other activities:   Um ... one...two....three... four concerts .

Mad Libs Monday

The ship is:   swaying violently. Decorated so tastelessly it spoils you appetite. Cruise is still great .

Band member sightings: Uhhh.. countless. They're everywhere.  I keep trying very hard to be cool, so it turns out I have successully ignored them each time I encounter them. So I'm rude. However, I did tell Kevin he appeared lost. I did not say anthing to Ed. I have had several Steven encounters but I have not made eye contact for fear I shall burst into flames  .

Seasickness, on a scale of 1 to 5:   If I were to be seasick, it would have happened before now. This ship is all over the place  .

It took     2   hours to embark!

Food I have eaten:   I ate breakfast twice last night and once this morning .

The midnight buffet PJ party was:   Adult .

My guitar playing met with:      disinterest in the face of adult conversation. Most of the people at my table were parents and happy to compare vibrators.

An aside: I have seen, hmmm.. I'd say two mini-BNL concerts, one Kevin only concert, one Steven only concert, and the end of the Guster concert. The ship set off at 5 and I went to bed at 2, so that's an average of one concert every two hours? I guess thats right, I've been either walking to music or seeing it.

Okay, well, gotta go get naked.

Mad Libs Sunday

Our trip to the airport was:   aided by the gps. Loving the gps. 

The hotel room is :  THE PRESIDENTIAL SUITE.  Luck of the draw. We are pissed now we have to leave it and take this cruise. 

The beach party was:   great.  I'm wearing a name tag and my grade 9 photo to all parties from now on. After we left we went back to THE PRESIDENTIAL SUITE and ran naked in front of the windows. Some guy swam naked.                     

Mad Libs Saturday

Okay, here's the plan: I post every day, but the skeleton of the post is filled in beforehand. It's like MadLibs.

So, here's (via blackberry) Saturdays post:

Saturday we:  drove to nashville so we could take a different flight and ended up saving five hundred dollars on hotels and car storage.      

Then we:   got an impromptu guitar lesson from a busker and touched eric claptons guitar at hard rock cafe.      

And we ate road trip food until we found a starbucks.

MHF

Okay, which of you Googled "mormon husband fingering" - I know it was one of you.

Dance, puppet! Dance!

Every vacation, Gary does a little dance in which he threatens to be so important at work that he can't go on vacation. I called his bluff last time.

So, this time? He just made me dance by looking at other options for getting to Fort Lauderdale in case the Perfect Ice Storm of Aught Seven traps us in the Midwest and we miss our cruise.

Actually, I danced right along with him. And to be fair, I insisted he pull some of the weight of rescheduling and stop making me his assistant.  In the end, the point was moot because all fights out are booked.

At any rate, now I am paying closer attention to what residents of Kansas say than to the Weather Channel, KMOV, and the voices of doom in Gary's head.

Too Much TMI to Even Get a Title

If I knew how to do it I'd ask you to send a naked photo of yourself before you could click the link here because this post is so far beyond TMI that we need to be on an equal footing. No, no actual nude photos, but very bad mental images. Continue only if you think you can take it AND you are nowhere near work AND you have access to a shower so you can clean the nasty off you. Believe me this really isn't fit for public consumption - and if you want to know why that was a really regrettable choice of words, then click here ...

An Unretouched Photo

My hair this morning:

How many photos I had to take before I got one that was an acceptable level of hideousness: 12. This one actually makes me look good.

Look at the gravity-defying hair! It leads your eye toward the stencilling on the soffit. The sheet crease on my cheek vanished after a few minutes vertical.  Even after that, I still looked bad.

But I was strong! Because I had hope! Because I was going to the spa with the red-headed Catherine in the evening! And I had a variety of painful procedures scheduled. (And before you even ask: yes. Later.)

One of the non-invasive procedures was an eyelash perm and tint, because when one wakes up looking WORSE than the photo above would suggest, a girl needs her eyelashes to carry a lot of weight.

Its just what you'd think: your eyelashes are rolled, I swear, on little perm rods, and then tinted black.

And, in effect, you feel oh so pretty because you gave someone, ANYONE, ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY TO IMPROVE ANYTHING PLEASE GOD ANYTHING.

So, Gary gets to wake up tomorrow to this hawtness:

Not As Sad As It Seems

So, this upcoming cruise and the convergence with Mom's doctor appointments is making me think of the cruise I took about ten years ago.

The story starts about a week before we were scheduled to cruise to Jamaica (et. al.). I woke up and my feet were asleep. The next day my feet were asleep up to my knees ... then up to my thighs ... in three days I was asleep up to my armpits. Oh, and I felt like my insides were Superglued together. Strange, but not that worrisome. Baffling, though. What could it be? Hmmmm? No fair guessing!

I was laughingly telling my friend Carol the ICU nurse about these odd sensations, when she interrupted to tell me she wasn't going to speak with me again until I saw a doctor, then she hung up the phone. Harsh!

Well, my insurance had started five days earlier. Why not go see a doctor? And why not look up "armpits asleep" in the medical encyclopedia? Told me nothing! Same for "superglued guts." Time to get a medical opinion.

A few days and a few doctors later, I had to explain to the neurologist that I couldn't take an MRI test next week, sorry, because I was going to Jamaica. He glared at me and said pointedly, "Well, I suppose the worst that could happen is that you'd be paralyzed on the cruise."

"Okay!" I chirped, and scheduled the MRI for the week I got back. Then I skipped off to Jamaica. And, I had a lovely time. [Warning: Photos are dated. It was ten years and 70 pounds ago.]

We snorkled:

...we relaxed...

...we wore FREAKING GIANT GLASSES:

(Oh, and let me interrupt, you fetuses in your thirties, not only did I weigh 30% less in my thirties, I made 30% less too. Hah! Suck my balls.)

Speaking of my balls, we were only able to flirt with the idea of nudity:

And overall, though I put off getting a massage (imagine a full-body massage while your entire body has pins and needles), my mystery illness didn't bother me at all.

Of course, we came back, I got the MRI, and was promptly diagnosed with MS. (I should have looked more closely at the bottom of the life preserver in the photo above.) "Huh," I thought, "that's what they gave that soap opera actress on Days of Our Lives." Think of it, it's the perfect soap opera illness:  amnesia, sudden dramatic swoons, peeing on yourself - well, maybe not the last one.

Later that week, Gary came to visit me in my hospital bed, with the cruise photos he had picked up at Walgreens. (Where they had been developed. Because they were film photos. Again: Suckmyballs.) I thumbed through the photos, when I found this one of Gary and I climbing up the waterfall at Ochos Rios:

I looked at that photo and thought: "Idiot, what were you doing climbing a waterfall?  You're the sickest you've ever been in your life. Never mind that you can't swim, you have MS. Look at you ... look how sick you are."

I looked at that picture for a long time, then I decided, "Pretty good for a sick girl."

Since we missed petting the stingrays on that other cruise 10 years ago, we'll be visiting them on our snorkel trip in Grand Turk. There aren't any waterfalls I know of we can scale.

Mice

Someone I know has mice. Since Gary and I were able to survive The Great Mouse Infestation of '87, we feel we can give advice. Got mice? Consider your options, one of which is glue traps.

1. Glue traps. Why?

• The mice really suffer, and after your husband sweetly buys Humane Mouse Traps for the darlings, and they bite him as they are released into the field, and then run directly back into the house, you will want them to suffer.
• I mean, they really SUFFER. If you get two stuck on one trap (as we did when we acquired thirty-one mice while we futzed around with Humane Mouse Traps) they will mercifully kill each other by chewing each others heads off.

2.  Glue traps. Why not?

• You wake up every day to the screaming of the mice, Clarice. Out of compassion, you have to euthanize the mousies.
• The mousies cling to life. You can elect to throw them away and let them starve (cruel!) or to drown them (very effective) or to hit them on their heads with a hammer.
• DON'T HIT THE MOUSIES ON THE HEAD WITH A HAMMER. Because you will miss, and then on the upswing you will have a mouse coming at your face, stuck to a glue trap, stuck to a hammer. Then you will have to throw the hammer away. And, you will have to flash back that image every time you use a hammer.

See me? See how I give and give and give?

Milestone Birthdays

Arhan-fay turned 21, and Arzaana-fay turned 16, so they came in town from KC and were feted.

Arzaana-fay had asked for a "MP3 player, nothing expensive, nothing fancy." So when Gary started talking about getting her an iPod Nano I quoted the "nothing expensive or fancy" back at him and showed him the documentation. He tried to convince me a Nano was not fancy. "Okay then," I challenged, "buy me one too since they are evidently the cheapest and most basic of all MP3 players." He came back with twin iPods for Arzaana-fay and me. Sometime sarcasm pays off.

This is why I was surprised when Arzaana-fay squealed upon opening the Nano, "Oooo! I was hoping you'd get me an iPod!" I sat up and exclaimed, "Then why on earth did you ask for 'nothing cheap, nothing fancy'?" She rolled her eyes and said "Well, I didn't want to say 'Buy me an iPod.' That would be greedy." Clearly the Pakistani side of her coming out. I was quite impressed.

Karen initially tried to be the Birthday Nazi. She harped at Arhan-fay so persistently for wearing his hat at the table that Gary got up and put his own hat on.  (View this photo )

I helped keep Karen in check with some carefully selected profanity. She started directing me where to sit, I gave her a pre-sarcastic look, and she said to the crowd, "Oh, okay, she doesn't want me to tell her what to do. Though I should because she's family."

I growled, "Damn straight. Watch it, bitch, or I'll kick your ass." She laughed nervously, because no one swears in front of Karen because Karen never swears.

Besides the Nano, the other notable thing Arzaana-fay got was a "Lie Detector" game that randomly shocks the players. Mr. Wonderful tried it first and screamed like a little girl when he was shocked. Sandy immediately said "It hurts that much? Let me try. " It so shocked Sandy she screamed and hurled herself back on the couch. (You Gotta View this photo.) Arhan-fay, Gary, and Karen all grasped at the air and cried "Me! Let me try next!" Arhan-fay screamed. Gary screamed. Karen screamed "Shit!"

Then she clasped her hand over her mouth. Then pigs flew out of her ass. (I made that up.) Now Arhan-fay and Arzaana-fay are adults. The adult / child boundaries are crossed now. It was a notable day. Notable, not just because of the cursing, but also because we convinced Karen Arhan-fay can take aspirin now and not get Rhy's sybdrome.

Arzaana-fay stayed the night with us and installed and updated her iPod, then I did mine. I'd had it a few days but hadn't used it, because really, it's the same songs just on a different media. Then I plugged the iPod into my ears and immediately became a walking iPod commercial, where the silhouettes are dancing and twirling about. I generally don't know what to do while dancing. The closest I ever came to spontaneous dancing was the Cradle of Filth concert when the giant monolith speaker was pushing me off my feet. Now I have the Nano and my arms even knew what to do. Arzaana-fay was dancing just as wildly to Nirvana. Then she started snarling to Alanis. "An older version of me/ Is she perverted like me?" I screamed at Arzaana-fay: "Katmandu! Goodnight everybody! -- Katmandu is the greatest rock song ever! Say it! Say 'Katmandu is the greatest rock song ever!"

"What?" she screamed, "I can't hear you!"

"WHAT?" I screamed.

Gary reported the next two hours were just a cacophony of Arzaana-fay and I bounding around singing competing songs in varying keys, all off. A snippet: "I feel stupid and contagious"..."when you try to scream but all that comes out is a yawn"..."Of getting older all the time"..."and party every day."

The oddest moment was when "Crazy" by BNL started up and I could hear someone quoting what sounded like lines to a play in my head. I've heard this song before many times, and no one recites anything in the middle, not that I've heard. But evidently it's there, and credited on the liner as "Crazy Sounds." I started worrying about subliminal messages. (Arhan-fay suggested the messages, if you could hear them, would be "Dump Windows. Buy Mac.") I could not hear Arzaana-fay, Gary, or barking dogs, but I could hear a guy burp in Cheap Trick's live audience.

And I just want all of you to know it's been nice communicating with you. From now on, I am not talking to anyone. I will send messages to the outside world through this blog, but don't bother talking to me because I can't hear you. I have music between my ears.

Naked to Mine In-Laws

Oooo, boy howdy. Are we in trouble.
Gary and I are going to Hell.
Catholic Hell.
Charismatic Catholic Hell.

Gary's Mom is condemning us to C.C.Hell because of the nudity issue. The nudity we will embrace on the BNL cruise. See, Gary told them of the nudity on the heels of their daily downer phone call from Gary's sister Sandy, which always distresses them.

Gary cheered them up with, "Hey, guess what I'm going to do on this cruise? I'm going to be naked!" I was there, and I heard the response. "Ho ho ho," and "he hee hee," and a couple of "tra la las." No smiting from God.

Well, they've had a week to consider it (and a week to hear Gary's sister Karen's opinion of it, I fancy) and now we have third-class tickets to Hell. ("Fans, you've been listening to Third Class Tickets to Hell, the new single by The Incestuous Pandas.")

I wasn't there when Gary was condemned, but reportedly his Father was too angry about it to even talk about it. His Mom had to relay all the information. I feel for her because now instead of just praying we don't shipwreck they have to pray for our very souls.

And who do they blame? Me? HAH! HahahaahHA No! The band. They blame Barenaked Ladies and their demonic influence over their virtuous son and incorruptible daughter-in-law. They point the Pointy Fingers of Judgment directly at the band.  (Strangely, Gary and I are going to Hell, while the band seems to be in the clear, hell-wise.)

Gary went through the DVD of all the videos in an attempt to find one that made the band (and by association us) look innocent. Strangely, every video had either a) red hair (sign of the devil, ref. August 8, 2001)  or b) dark chin beards or c) dreadlocks or d) cats at parties.  So, no luck there. I'm thinking we could If I Had A Million Dollars off iTunes, reverse it in SoundForge, and dub in "Wilma? Ken? This is God. Ellen and Gary are going to Heaven," then reverse it back.

(Oddly, the first time the in-laws met my parents they walked into a house decorated prominently with charcoals from my Figure Drawing Class. "Oh, Ellen drew that nude in art class," bragged my Dad.)

-----------------------------(brief interlude)-------------------------------------

Gary just came back in from walking the dog. "You know, Ellen, I don't know if I feel comfortable doing this naked photo."

-----------------------------(brief interlude)-------------------------------------

I swear, just as I was typing in that LAST paragraph Gary talked himself back into the naked photo. Here's where he's at now:

"If we're lined up, and I'm on the end maybe, or if theres a guy and youre on one side and Im on the other side, maybe - I just can't hear something like "oh my god theres an old naked perv over there" - I'd have to spend the rest of the trip in my cabin. I have pervo-phobia. No, that's fear of pervs. whats fear of being identified as a perv? I'll check it on the internet."

(Sorry about the typos, but I was taking dictation right as he was saying it.) Sigh. Now he's looking up the definition of pervert and various types of perversion to be sure there isn't a specific type of "stand naked next to another naked person" perversion he may be found guilty of. You can always count on a visit with the in-laws to make Gary feel guilty about something he wasn't even doing.

Whooohoo! Bring on the Army of Clones!

I get dibs on a Clone Soldier:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070107/ap_on_he_me/stem_cells

Mail Ego

Ah, the fuss. The President wants a signing statement to allow the government to open my first-class mail. On the one hand, this doesn't bother me because no one sends me first-class mail about personal things, like, which vibrator has won my heart this week. I save that for the Internets. On the other hand, it is about the only thing in my life that has the label "first-class." Well, that, and the Sanctity of the U.S. Mail is yet another thing I learned in civics class that the President is pissing all over. Like:

Speedy Trials
Checks and Balances
All Men are Created Equal
Presumption of Innocence
The Geneva Convention
Habeas Corpus

(Have you all been watching Countdown with Keith Olbermann, by the way? KO is King of the Special Comments! I love the way he spits out "Mister President." I love how he finishes the Special Comments with this aspect of "There. Good Night and Good Luck. Now go away. I ... I just can't look at you anymore." Oh. Well, I guess I have to add "Objective Journalism" to the list.)

At any rate, I've been watching my first class mail for a few days to be sure no one sends me any little notes like: "Hey, are we still on for the revolution? Death to Infidels, XXXOOOO, Osama."

All I've gotten is a holiday newsletter that describes an "interesting year," with a dead puppy, a perfect golden child - seen her, she is - and a job loss.

BUT if you excise most of the words, you get this:

"Monsanto ... genetic... lab ... ball of energy ... worked ... it ... decompresses ... shopping malls ... many ...died."

One the other hand, you can excise other words and get a more Republican point of view:

"Cutbacks ... challenged... permanent ... Warcraft."

I can bring that up at my trial. Oh, wait! Trial? guess I can't.

Weekend Update 2

Once again, in lieu of activities, I can only give you an update on past activities.

Nudity: Gary went from shaming me about my body out of a perverted sense of loyalty ("Honey, your body really isn't fit enough to be out in public") to bemusement to wholehearted acceptance of the idea. He will be naked as well. He is telling everyone, including his parents. All about the naked, now, sure like it was his idea. Codger.

You, Your Heath, and Your Mom: I am slowly recovering from La Croupe. Mom has had a series of unsatisfying doctor's visits since the ER. I'm shuttling her off to my doctor's office, because he is associated with the worthy US News and World Reports hospital chain here, whereas Mom was trucking about with the Sisters of Mercy chain and their stressed-out inbred system.

More of Those Vegetable Thingees: I have had almost no vegetables since Christmas. Well, no fresh or grilled vegetables. Chicken Voila tries to sneak a few veggies in. Currently, my favorite vegetable delivery system is V-8 Frusion.

Brother Dave's Christmas: ...And birthday. And Christmas and birthday from Mom. And an additional stipend from Gary so he could hold his head up as a GeekLord before Dave. We all got him a cheap laptop.

Well it LOOKED like Skin Cancer to Me: The Annular Eczema (not Ringworm, not Gout) has faded almost to nothingness.

Movies: Well, it looks like I'll be running through the movie list from top to bottom. I've got Spinal Tap under my belt. I regret to say VH1 chopped it to bits, so perhaps I missed some classic comedy timing. TiVo is rooting out the Godfather 2, and Caroline might loan me Office Space if we are still speaking after the Conservabration!, in which we all celebrate Caroline's conservative political viewpoint. I say if the Mormon and the Individual of the Jewish Persuasion can take it, she can take it.

I Have Always Wanted a Monkey But Didn't Realize It Might Actually Cost a Million Dollars: One evening Gary and I ventured out to dinner and thought we might let the GPS tell us where to eat. But instead, I suddenly leaped on him screaming "Monnnnkkkkkeeeeeyyyy Baaaaarrrrr!" because of course, the Monkey Bar and Restaurant was the perfect locale for an adventure. We walked past the red carpet (huh?) past the velvet rope (what the?) and were suddenly stopped by a large man.

Large Man said "There's a fifty dollar cover charge."
"Fifteen?" I said.
"Fifty," he replied.
"Whaa - Oh! It's New Years Eve! Sorry, no thanks." And it was New Years, albeit 6:30 pm. Think they'd let us have the Early Bird Special without the cover charge.

I mean, there's no way a bar / club / restaurant would have the nerve to charge $50 every night, would they?

Sniffle

In my youth, I was known to (on occasion) weep. And I was not a good weeper. I did not melt men's hearts.  I'm the type men laugh at because I get the red nose and red eyes and giant blubbery lips with spit bubbles in the corners. Oh, and the copious uncontrollable snot.

At some point (and if you are young and a Bad Weeper may this give you hope) my tears changed. I noticed it last year as I was reading The Secret Life of Bees. I noticed on page 35 that tears were slipping out of my eyes and silently running down my cheek.

I thought, what the hell is wrong with Gary that he isn't asking me what's wrong? So, to help the boy out, I sniffed loudly. He glanced up, then down, and kept reading his own book. (Just so you don't think we sit about reading all the time, at this moment he is watching Futurama.)

I thought, what is the deal? Heartless bastard. We will have words about this. I hopped up and went into the bathroom and tried to pull my face together with cold compresses. It was then I noticed that I had cried almost bloodless tears. No red nose, spit bubbles, etc.  They were like Bad Actress Glycerin tears.

Well, it turns out my body's self-pride has progressed to a point beyond the Darryl Hannah tears. This past weekend I was crying in the car (for reasons I'll explain later). I was on the passenger side and the only eye that cried was the passenger side eye. Gary couldn't have seen tears even if he'd looked. At some point I took over driving and I swear, my body turned on the waterworks on the driver's side and shut off the right eye tear ducts. Again, dry as a bone on the side facing Gary.

This was lucky, because as it happened I had no reason to cry. At some point on Friday I became convinced Gary didn't love me any more. This continued on Saturday, and would have probably progressed if I hadn't remembered on Sunday that I'd forgotten my anti-depressants for a week.  I'm sure I would have woken up Monday believing no one loves me, and then by Tuesday I would have found myself guilty of starting the Iraq war, instead of these fellows.

Recipe for Disaster

I made a quiche for the family at Christmas and it was so fine I made one for us tonight. I am unable to make any recipe from memory, so I hauled out my recipes and found Quiche of Coma (as opposed to the whole cream version, Quiche of Death).

In hunting for the Quiche of Coma recipe, I ran across a recipe titled:

All We Ate Our First Year
1 pound mild pork sausage, browned and drained
2 cups cooked brown rice
3/4 cup milk
1/3 cup chopped green pepper
1 small onion, chopped
1 can cream of mushroom soup
4 ounces sliced mushrooms
1/2 cup processed shredded American cheese

Preheat oven to 350. Stir all ingredients except cheese into 2 quart ungreased casserole. Sprinkle with cheese. Cook 45 minutes until center is bubbly.

One serving, ONE, is 765 calories. I didn't know it at the time, I swear. The calorie-calculating software came well after our first year. 58.5 grams o'fat. 68.9% calories from fat. My favorite: the dietary exchanges. It all sounds good, 1.5 starch, 2.5 lean meat (I don't know what they think draining does to sausage) and 10 fat. TEN fat exchanges.

Ten.

And it is true, this really is all we ate the first year we were married. I was just 22. (I KNOW! Talk to Mom about it. ) I could make that and the staples my family ate: Kraft Mac and Cheese WITH the hot dogs cut up in it because otherwise it's a side dish; grilled cheese; and pork chops.

Gary complimented my pork chops the first time I made them. "Mmmm - I really like this breading you put on it."
"What breading?"
"The breading. The seasoned breading." He frowned at me.
"I have no idea what you are talking about." (Run! Run from the crazy man!)
"This. Breading." he said, scraping the Shake and Bake off the pork chop.
"That is part of the pork chop," I explained.

Come to find out, his mother did not Shake! Much less Bake! She fried them up in a pan. Freaks. I felt bad until I typed all her recipes into the software and found every one topped 70% calories from fat.

First Footing

Gary is never more entertaining than when his imaginary dramas are interrupted by real-life dramas. We were driving to Mom's today, and he was ranting about something while waiting for a green light. (But not a real green light, that's cruel ... I am sorry. This BNL cruise is in two weeks. It's just going to get worse after that.)

The light turned green, the car in front of us crossed, and A MANIAC WHIZZED through his red light and almost killed us. Since it was New Year's Day I can safely assume he was a drunken maniac.

After that, Gary was on high alert while we visited with parents. On the way home, Gary was panicking that the car seat was broken, because he couldn't adjust it.

"Damn crazy driver!" he roared, "I bet that sudden stop I had to make ruined the car seat!"
"No, the box of tangerines just got wedged behind the seat."
"Fix it! Fix it!!" Gary shrieked like a girl.
"Shhh, I'm fixing it." I murmured. Sarcastically.
"Turn left." the GPS system calmly advised.
"Be quiet!" Gary yelled at the new whipping bitch, the Snobby English Voice of the GPS. (He also has a new game called Mess with GPS. He sets a destination, then he makes up his own path so he can time himself yelling "Bite me!" just before it has to hush up and set a new route.)

Still, he turned left and continued down a fairly populated road by our house, when again he slammed on the brakes and I looked up to see a deer in the headlights, wearing not the classic deer in the headlights look but a "What are you people doing on my road?" look. Then she bounded off. Just as I thought, "I wish I'd thought to get out my camera," another deer ambled into the middle of the road.

"Two deer?" Gary screamed. "This is unheard of!" as that deer bounded off.
I really should have gotten my camera, I thought, as I SWEAR TO YOU another deer walked into the middle of the road as if it was a deer fashion show.

"Three! Three deer!" Gary screamed even louder than before.
I'm not getting out my camera, I thought, that must be it. As ANOTHER damn deer swaggered into the headlights, flipped her hair, paused, cocked her head and bounded off.

"FOUR FREAKING DEER! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" Gary screamed. "HOW MANY ARE THERE?"
I'd gotten wise by now. I saw one deer remaining on the lawn to our right.

"Just one more deer" I said. Just one more contestant on America's Top Deer.
"GOOOO!! GO DEER!!" (honk honk) "GO ON! GO ACROSS!"
The deer looked at our car as if to say, "No, you go. I'll cross after you."
"GO YOU STUPID DEER SOMEONE IS GOING TO CRASH INTO US AND KILL US! (hooonnnk)"
The deer said, "No really, you've been so patient. You go on."
"AAAUUGHHH WE ARE ALL GOING TO DDDIIIIIIEEEEE!"
The deer gave a little deer shrug, sighed, "Well, if you insist" and ambled across the road.

So, I know there is some type of tradition involved with New year's Day and the first stranger who crosses your path. Off to Wikipedia to see what it means if your First Footing is Five Deer.

Resolved

No new and original New Year's resolution this year.

Every year, I resolve to try and keep the one resolution I've been successful keeping.

It's the New Year's resolution I originally made one year in the mid nineties: Cut other people some slack. I went about conscientiously cutting people slack and that one stuck for a year. I renew it every year because it's one thing that goes against my nature that I can actually achieve.

Clearly I need to polish up on the slack-giving this year.