Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Freakapillars

Well, sad news. After putting each 'pillar in its own cup:

The smallest one become disconsolate, didn't eat, and went legs-up a few days later.

The two fatties then began a very strange dance. They ate all their food, then crawled up the sides of the cups to the coffee filter tops. They took their own paths to the top - but once they got there it was Olympic Synchronized Crawling. They couldn't see each other, but every time I looked they were angled the same direction.

My Friend #2, Hot Mom, checked on her identical twins in their sleep once and was a little freaked that they were sleeping in exactly the same curled up position. I thought of that when the 'pillars began curling toward the magnetic North Pole or however they did it.

They were two identical little fuzzy J's when I left the house. Gary had the day off, and I called mid-day for a report.

"They are both hanging straight up-and-down."

"No," I said, "They were like J's. The Painted Ladies turned right into brown chrysalises next."

"What can I tell you? They're hanging straight up and down."

Those things better not die on his watch, I thought as I hung up. When I got home later I rushed straight to the cups.

This is what I saw:

"Damnit Gary! You let them die! They pooped and died. There's just poop and a shriveled ball of fuzz!"

"They were there the last time I looked!"

I held up the cup and peeked upward. "Well they aren't here now. It's just poop, fuzz, and a green leaf they didn't eat - " and I almost dropped the cup.

It would seem that right before they pupate, Monarch caterpillars straighten out, void their bowels, shed their fuzz, then turn into a green plastic thing in a few hours. Very unexpected. It's kind of like if Hot Mom had gone in to wake up her twins the next morning and they had both turned into steam irons.

Irresistible Temptation

Well, I hate to tell you, but my fantasy life has stalled.

See, the problem is that I do have very detailed fantasy life. I could win a Best Screenplay Oscar for the careful plotting I put into my daydreams. Gary has to be disposed of, either by divorce, or if I'm feeling generous, death followed by a mourning period and convenient heartbreak weight loss. Sometimes I manipulate world events for my fantasy convenience. I can be quite creative.

So, this Steven Page scandal has really challenged my imagination. I just can't ignore it, it's a key plot point, and I don't have enough dramatic suspension of belief to work around it. I've tried to ignore it, turn on the iPod, have a listen and just try to go with just a musical montage, but it doesn't get me anywhere.

So, I figured I would just give myself a rest until inspiration struck, or new details come to light. And then my attention was drawn to this interchange between Wolf Blitzer (gray hair, I can work with that) and my dear Anderson Cooper (also gray, and gay, they say, but as an allegedly bi-woman I would not judge). Gloria Borger, Paul Begala and the almost gray-haired John King were there as well.

 

From the CNN Election Coverage Transcript

COOPER: ... I mean how much of the Republican convention is going to be about Barack Obama?

BORGER: A lot.

BEGALA: It was like spinal tap and the speaker could go to 11 instead of 10, everything they say ...

COOPER: By the way, if someone doesn't understand the reference of going to 11 they should rent the movie this is "Final Height."

[Ed. Sic. Sic Sic Sic. This is Spinal Tap. The closed captioning guy must have been tired.]

BLITZER: What was that band we saw when we got to the NBA All-Star game? That -- Barenaked Ladies. How good were they?

COOPER: Barenaked Ladies.

BLITZER: How good were Barenaked Ladies when you saw them --

COOPER: They made a song, the Wolf Blitzer song and they sang and that's why I think --

BLITZER: They were fabulous.

COOPER: They were very good.

BLITZER: They were terrific.

All right, we've got more secrets to divulge. That's going to be coming up; much more of our coverage coming up here at the Democratic National Convention.

And then who knows what they did during the break, because when they came back there was this:

COOPER: And it's nice to see that Wolf is still energized and invigorated with the band being silent for the last hour. I was fearful that as the midnight hour approached that you might sort of fade.

BLITZER: It was a terrific band. Great band.

KING: Are you going to reveal your secrets?

BLITZER: You know, I was in a band. I played --

BORGER: Oh, come on.

BLITZER: -- in high school, it was not a very good band.

COOPER: What was the name?

BLITZER: We were the Monkeys, before the real Monkeys, at Buffalo in New York and Wolf Blitzer was doing the keyboards, not very well, I didn't sing.

COOPER: You were rocking Buffalo, though.

BLITZER: We were a little bit. But I'd liked bands ever since.

COOPER: Not too loud. Just a little.

BORGER: We're going to make him do it back at the grill, at the CNN grill.

BLITZER: If we got lucky, I could do a little "Louie Lou-I." something like that not a whole lot of it, the repertoire was sort of limited. All right, let's move on. We've got serious things coming up.

Oh, Wolf, oh, Anderson, I could work with this. The gray hair, the refined musical tastes, the man on man action, this has inspired me. Finally, I can get a good night's sleep.

In Which I Play Catch Up with College

I only went away to college for one semester, and I spent my free time living Puritanically, so I did not have the college blackout binge drinking experience. At least, I didn't have it until my late 20's.

The first time I drank enough to feel the effects was a glass of Sangria at Pasta House. I have had several glasses of Sangria, some at the same Pasta House, and none were like that first time.

"I love you, Gary!" I said fervently. 

"What, are you drunk? You aren't going to get drunk every Friday like your Dad, are you?"

"I love my Dad!" I said fervently. "I love you both so much." And I did. I have never felt such universal love. All drinking was just a let-down after that, especially since I never again found the Holy Grail of Magic Sangria.

When Dad died he left me all the liquor, since Dave had a drinking problem. One night, Gary planned to stay at work till at least 12 am. I slammed down the phone after he told me, and then I decided to find out what all that alcohol tasted like. I didn't go crazy. I didn't just slam a shot of gin and a shot of anisette and a shot of sherry. I mixed each shot with half a can of Dr. Pepper and then drank that.

After an hour I remember getting out my new Victoria Jackson cosmetics (as Seen on TV!) and using them on half my face a la the infomercial. After an hour and a half, I let out the dog. Then Mom called, I panicked, I had to sound sober -- I forgot about the dog entirely. For half an hour. Then I let him in and I cried. After that, I have no recall what I did except for taking books off the bookshelves and not talking to Gary when he came home. I ran out of Dr. Pepper. I started with a six-pack. I can't do the math, but whatever I drank made me lose my memory.

I woke up the next day, still pissed at Gary -- and not hung-over at all. Luckily, the binge did not make me happy, or heal any inner pain, or do anything but delay the next day's undiminished unhappiness. There but for the grace of God, I guess.

Goo Goos, Go Gos, Whatever

I thought I was buying tickets for the Goo Goo Dolls.

Turns out it was tickets for the Go Gos.

I was still pleased.

Upgrade? Downgrade? Your views. Has anyone seen them both?

Epic GNO - SO not PC, in so many ways

First, Some Housekeeping.

Erin, that is not what Gooey Butter Cake should look like. Parts of it tasted good - mainly the parts #3 ate as we drove south to #1's (Catherine's). The brownies I brought were well received, however, so I made up for it.

Part Two: Boobs and Pubes.

Boobs

Let's establish this: Graquel (Friend #6) is black. Graq reprimands me whenever I say "African-American" instead of "black," ("It's too damn long!") so that's the term I'm using.  At some point Graq mentioned her tan. Someone (not me, I wasn't paying any attention) laughed at the idea that a black woman could tan. 

"I can tan! Here, look at my boobs." (This is when I began paying attention.) "Look, they're white. When I'm naked it looks like I'm wearing a white bikini." She pulled down her top and pushed her boob over her bra.

I was the girl the tan girls used as a baseline in high school, so I rushed over to compare her boob with my truly white scientific control boob. She said something about how someone on her Dad's side was white and her Mom's black, and she attributed her fair boobal skin to that.

If you are looking at the photo above, the left boob is Catherine's -- she's white, fair, red-headed.  The right boob is Graq's.  Of course, it is possible Catherine has some black ancestry, because when she gets drunk she sounds as street as Graquel does.

I related this later to Gary.

"Gary. It's so odd. Graq's got white boobs."

"Really? I thought black women were the same all over."

"Well, Graq says she's part black and part white."

(Hushed) "Really? She's white from the boobs down?"

Pubes

So, later that evening the talk turned to pubic hair, and I wanted to know if this rogue white gene was reflected anywhere else.

"No," she said, "My pubes are just like my hair on my head."

"That long?" asked Stephanie, who then said something really outrageous about how a dreadlock -- if prepared correctly -- could be used as a convenient tampon.

"Whoa," I thought, "She went there! Would I go there? Doesn't matter; she got there first. I am outpaced!"  Stephanie was hilarious.

I Am Outed

Catherine doesn't remember, but she talked a lot about her late cat Sam and got a little weepy.  We all admired her new puppy Chloe. I'm trying to trace the conversation to remember how we got on the topic of whether or not I am bi-sexual. I know I did not bring it up. I think Catherine did.

"Ellen, you are bi." Catherine announced.

I immediately turned to 0.75, who is gay. She expressively turned up her hands and shrugged. "Closeted. What have I been telling you?"

"Okay! Okay!" Graquel chimed in. "So, like, if straight is 1, and gay is 5, Ellen is like 3.5."

One would think that, were I bi, during the past 35 years of ornately detailed sexual fantasies a woman would have put in an appearance.

I think this is the most useless information I have ever received, of course, because, what am I going to do about it? Explore? Experiment?  If I were curious I could only hope that Gary would die at 100, and then I would be 92 and experiment with this bi-sexuality thing. I could totter on my walker to the lesbian bar and announce I was a virgin.

Actually, I am reminded of James Watt, who referred to his staff as "a black, a woman, two Jews, and a cripple." (And then resigned.) (Someone once won the Central West End Halloween contest dressed as James Watt's staff.) If I get to be the cripple, that would be our GNO.

Motherfrassers

The Girls Night Out was EPIC ... and I'm saving it. You'll hear about it later.

Instead of raw sexuality, what I have today is Muuurrrrrrdderrrr.

I had been wondering why they were two conflicting versions of instructions for the Monarch Butterfly Larvae. One said to segregate them in little 9 oz SOLO cups, one said to let them just hang out on the bush with the lid on. The lid fits now because they have eaten their way through both milkweeds, plus Mr. Biology Major would be in favor of the behaviorist method, so I went with the lid. I ended up with two fat caterpillars and two skinny ones.

Two fat ones were sharing a leaf. Let's call them Fat Bastard and Faterpillar. Faterpillar began chewing too close to Fat Bastard's personal space, and FB reared back like a cobra and BIT Faterpillar in the FACE. And the look of affrontery, outrage and violation on FB's face made me feel that this had some background and I shouldn't step in.

Later, FB was sharing a leaf with Tiny. Tiny was minding his business (molting) and FB surrounded him and bit him too. Just once, but it killed him. (Bastard. Fat Bastard.)

So, that explains why the instructions conflict. They should have a separate sheet of child-friendly instructions. I'm down to two Fat Caterpillars and one very still, very quiet little one.

Frass

Frass is caterpillar poop.

It is also my new vulgar term.

So, all the frassing larvae do is eat and poop.

(I spent a half hour watching one of them build a big ball of poo on his rear and then flick it off. And you mothers out there, think of that the next time you wish you had some time to yourself. (I then went and watched an episode of Sex in the City.))

What the frass? You are such a frass. I am so frassing lonely. (The Disaster continues.)

Luckily, the friends are gathering at #1's un-be-frassa-lievably cute bungalow. I am not putting on makeup or washing my hair or even my face. (I did wash my hands.) I think all this about women dressing for each other is butterfly frass.

A Fitting Coincidence

Gary is still flying off the endorphins of Disaster Recovery. Today on our walk we had this exchange:

"SO. Ellen! What do you want to do this weekend?"

"Well, I want to play with my Wii."

"I played with my Wii today when you weren't here."

"That joke never gets old."

"No it doesn't. In fact, we haven't even touched on the comic possibilites that we have a Wii FIT."

!!

Yes! How did I miss this? I hadn't noticed, but we are a Multi-Fit family, so appropriate for someone with epilepsy:

The Grand-Mal(nier) Honda Fit

The new Wii Fit

The Germophobe in-laws have bought us this for Christmas:

And somehow we have avoided getting a subscription to this magazine:

Ironic, since Gary has been pretty fit-free for twenty years now.

Night of the Larvae

I was sad. I decided I would work from home today as a big treat for Gary, who is off work this week. This would put me in his radar at all times, which he seems to like so much. Naturally he was called in to work, and has been there all day and all night.

Gary isn't sad. There was a massive hardware failure at work. He is high on disaster. He is '70s Charlton Heston tonight, out there, saving the data.

The house is relieved it doesn't have to support the combined weight of Gary and I, so the floorboards began relaxing and creaking ominously. I looked at the dog and realized I have no one to protect me. Thankfully, the footsteps we heard right outside the front door OH MY GOD THUGS AND HOOLIGANS RIGHT OUTSIDE turned out to be the delivery of a box of Monarch butterfly larvae.

I only got four larvae instead of five, which is unfortunate because I had planned to name them Ed, Steven, Tyler, Jim, and Kevin.  However, they came with a bonus narrow-leaf milkweed plant. This is good because my fat-leafed milkweed is only barely hanging on.

The instructions promised that I needn't fear about the larvae leaving the milkweed. I could just drop the larvae on the plant, wrap it in plastic, and leave it exposed at the top.

Three larvae huddled at the bottom.

One larvae crawled directly to the top.

... and looked like he was going to jump.

I just know Gary is going to arrive at four a.m. and scream OH MY GOD ELLEN THERE IS AN INFESTATION OF MAGGOTS IN THE KITCHEN THERE ARE HUNDREDS OF THEM I TOLD YOU TO RINSE THE PLATES BEFORE THEY GO IN THE WASHER THEY'RE EATING THAT FANCY PLANT YOU ORDERED.

I know it.

Misc., August '08 Version

• I now am the proud owner of a bruxism NTI-tss device. I tried it on at the dentist, and said, "Oh! Thath nah tho bad!" And then I waved goodbye to my sex life.
• Who walks in to Dunkin Donuts and walks out with an egg-white flatbread sandwich? That's like Baskin-Robbins offering celery as "a healthy alternative."
• Washington University claims that you can lose weight and gain health by starving every other day. Binge - starve - binge - starve.
• Gary again surprised me by telling me a story I'd never heard before. I knew that in his teens he had joined the Florissant chapter of a singing / volunteering group called Sing-Out. This Sing-Out cult organization soon mutated into Up With People. (Read the Wikipedia article if you want to know how to make a Gary.) I always assumed he became disenchanted with Sing-Out because, well, who wouldn't, but evidently he left on high moral grounds. He discovered no one in the audience could hear his bongos, and he explained to the director he didn't feel he could morally take his place on the stage if he wasn't contributing. He's still like that.

Doggyblogging

And now, a word from your canine.

Mac here. I'm here to let you know what's up in this household.

First of all, the hairier of the Furless Ones has been off work. It's been a Testicle Festival here! (To be honest, I don't know what testicles are. It must be a human thing; the smaller Furless One has been saying it since she heard it at some party last Saturday.)

I am now twice his age in dog years. I can't wait until he's in his seventies, just so that when he breaks wind I can scream, "Oh my GOD! What the Hell! What is wrong with you? Ellen, run!" And then Ellen will sigh, "Why is it necessary to make such a big-- GAHHHH!"

I had a run there of about three nights in a row when I got a second dinner by barking at one in the morning. Then for some reason they just stopped responding. I know they were awake, because I heard them say things like, "Hang in there." "Be strong." "If he doesn't stop after an hour I'm going to a hotel."

What do they expect? They stay up until one watching gymnastics and feed me then. Of course I have gas. And they don't let me eat the metal that calms my digestion, damn them.

Tied for the Olympic Gold Medal for Face Control

Oh! Did you see this?

How did that woman not spit? I thought she would any second. And Bela is going to defect from gymnastics or the Planet Earth or something.

I don't know who should get the highest starting score for difficulty: Alicia for holding back tears or Nastia for holding back spit.

Dave Louis

Ajooja (right) won a visit from Dave (left), so Dave came to Saint  Louis.

Dave is a man of mystery. How does he travel? Who does he work for? Who are his friends? What is his orientation? Where is he at any one time? If you've read his blog, you know none of these things. I know the answers. I'm not telling, because I respect people who have self-control and restraint in their self-expression. Unlike me. The Wife of Bath.

Dave showed up with lanyards and playing cards and buttons, but not enough buttons, prompting the plaintive "I want a Penis Salad too!" -- only not from me, and how I managed to miss making that that particular age-and-otherwise inappropriate comment I do not know. I did laugh lustily, though.

The venue was Blueberry Hill ...

... and people were lined up to see an Elvis impersonator. Or, possibly, a random Elvis impersonator was there and they lined up to see Katy Perry.

The only person you can't see in the photo above is Carlos, my drag-racing buddy, but here he is in front of the satyr.

Our guest of honor, Dave, said "Mini Bundt Cakes. MINI BUNDT CAKES. Who's with me!"

"Ted Drewes," we said. "Oh, and make some Gooey Butter Cake when you get back home."

Ted Drewes was surreal.  At one point, an elderly woman went down. She lay on the ground until the ambulance came. But, she recovered, walked it off and was able to get up on the gurney with assistance. This, of course, meant we were free to make sick jokes.

We were able to see our city through Dave's eyes, and I was able to join in the conversation by starting every comment with "About twenty years or so ago..."

It was a lovely evening, overall. Thank you, Dave and Ajooja.

In Which I Use Some Unfamiliar Terms

Forgive me for not giving a prompt update on Dave Louis, but something so remarkable happened after it was over that I must blog that first. Like Memento. Especially since I have yet to download Dave Louis photos.

At Dave Louis I once again thought myself the oldest of the group. Thankfully, Carlos H________ corrected me. I was so grateful I drove him to Ted Drewe's where I became fully hopped up on frozen custard. I blame the frozen custard buzz for my actions.

Carlos and I were driving back, and at a stoplight, which was coincidentally the stoplight by my Grandceil's house, and I heard the classic VROOM challenge from the car in the next lane.

"Oh. Lovely," Carlos commented.

 The light changed, tires in the next lane squealed, and needless the punk in the black sports car "took" me.

Incidentally, I had to research this phrase when I got home, just to make sure I used it correctly when I yelled at the next stoplight, "Wooooo! Big Man! You just took a 46 year old woman! You just took your MOM!" Your Mom in a Mini Cooper.  Which had the windows rolled up, so it wasn't as if I was challenging him.

"VROOM" said the black sports car.

"Don't do it," Carlos said, as the light changed. Carlos is a reasonable man, but I already had it in first gear, and as I said before, I had custard in my blood.

I think I took the punk by surprise. I think my Mini was surprised how fast the tachometer got into the red zone. All I know is that when the black sports car pulled into the next lane I was there at the light waiting for him.

"Oh. He's going to pull out a gun," Carlos stated pleasantly. But there were no guns drawn; the punk wouldn't even meet my gaze, because I was ready to yell, "How do you like me now? Who's your Mommy? WHO'S YOUR MOMMY?" The punk was Asian; maybe he wouldn't look me in the eye because of some cultural constraints.  He turned right on the next alleyway.

Perhaps I can take the Michael Phelps' approach and credit someone else's criticism as a motivation my winning. Hmm. A few weeks ago the Apple iPhone Saleschild said in disbelief, "YOU have Panic At The Disco on your iTunes?" If that salesboy last week hadn't reversed himself as fast as that black sports car accelerated tonight, I might have been fired up enough tonight to get out and demand that punk's pink slip.

Boob Usage

My Granceil amazed me by extracting money out of her bra. "Where did that come from?" I would think. "She reached up to her shoulder that time. But usually she reaches into the middle." (I think folding money was under the shoulder strap, change was in the cleavage.) I think women past childbearing age think their boobs need some purpose now that they won't be spigotting out baby beverages.

Here are two things I have used my breasts for just this past year:

1) Cell phone holder. In the hospital I was either updating a Mom friend or relative about Mom's condition or receiving a call from the hospice people. I tucked the cell phone in my cleavage. When I had a message, Mom would rasp: "Boobs. Flashing."  The green message light flashing against my skin did give my boobs an other-worldly glow.

2) Wii holder. I was surprised when the Wii Fit said I ran faster than Gary. Then I realized I had tucked the remote not into my pocket but into my cleavage.  The extra bouncing convinced the Wii I was putting extra spring in my step. I found you can crouch on the Fit platform, jiggle your boobs up and down, and "run" really fast. No fair using your hands though. I can squat, bounce my breasts and almost outpace the Wii dog.

My New Olympic Hero

Gymnasts amaze me. They have complete control of their bodies.

That's why this woman is my new hero:

...because my God, did you see the incredible control she had over her face muscles? Even if I could hurtle myself backward and land on my tiptoes on a balance beam, I would never be able to keep from bursting into tears.

There should be an Olympic Medal for Face Control. 

Roving Eye

Gary has always had a very open appreciation for other women.

For example, we were in the CD section of Barnes and Noble. I was thumbing through the CDs and he was at the end of the aisle deafening himself on the CD-preview earphones.

A staffer wandered over and asked if I need help finding something. She was 25 and dressed in a snug sleeveless summer sweater, tight black jeans, and a low-slung studded leather belt.

I said, "No, I'm fine, but that man over there on the end might need some help." See me? See me pimp? I've always done that. Gary's always checked out other women, I might as well send them his way and benefit from the subsequent horniness.

So I lounged on the CD rack and watched as the 25 year old politely asked Gary if he needed some help.

"WHAT?" he roared. Then he took off the earphones.

It's always fun to watch Gary check women out, because he is so subtle. For example, he looked this women in the eye, smiled politely, then as she turned to go his eyes went: BOOBIES! THIGHS! ANKLES! CALVES! ASS! ASS! ASS! ASS WALKING AWAY! then YIKES WIFE! LOOKING AT ME! as she walked past me.

If quizzed he can always come up with some complaint, like, "Her feet were too big. Did you see them? Disgusting. Like Angelina Jolie's."

Now that Gary's getting a little older he has a stiff neck, so he can't use his patented turn-his-head-and-cough toward the woman-who-is-walking-away technique. Instead, he has to streeeeetch his eye muscles.

And he has streeeeeetched his eye muscles so severely that he is now seeing flashes of light because he has the beginnings of a detached retina.*

So see, it does make you go blind.

*It's just the very beginning.  The opthamologist said he'd just need to start turning to face what he's looking at instead of peering out the corner of his eye. Snort.

Athletic Pursuits: Fencing

The Olympics remind me how uncoordinated I am. Michael Phelps chides, "Ellen, how can you be afraid to put your face underwater?"  The Chinese Fetal Gymnasts sneer, "What do you mean, forward rolls are all you can do?"

However, the U.S. fencing team nods politely at me, because I have disarmed my opponent in a fencing match. Well, "match" is inaccurate, it was in fencing class. And before you picture me in boarding school fencing with my BFF the Viscountess Whatevah, it was the fencing class at the Y.

The Y was able to pick up a fencing class because our community had a discontented, expatriate Prussian fencing instructor. Or, he might have been German, affecting Prussia instead because then he could scream things like, "Ellen! You do not have the blood-lust! Go for the kill!"

The Prussian was frustrated with me because I, in the words of the Chrysler workers I taught later, was "suspended different." I remember one day early on when we argued: "Ellen, just let your arm dangle." "It is dangling." "No, don't twist it like that." "I'm not twisting. I'm dangling." "Here! Give me your arm -- Oh. Well, I suppose that's the best you can do."

My awkward suspension is what enabled me to disarm my opponent. My opponent, a Boy My Age, was that rare combination of cute and smart. He and I assumed the stance:

 

...and the Prussian barked "Ellen! Put your hand behind your head -- "

"It is!"

"--gracefully."

Cute Smart Boy snorted. Then he laughed.

"What are laughing at?"

"You look like you're holding a makeup compact by your face - You just look so awkward --" 

Just as Cute Boy bent over in hilarity, "En-garde!" the Prussian barked. In a flash I executed the move we'd been practicing, and the foil flew out  of Cute Boy's hand and across the room.

He fell on the floor and giggled, "Hey! Not fair! I was laughing. I wasn't ready."

I stared at Cute Boy, hypnotized. He wasn't smart anymore, but he was somehow still cute. Huh. Really cute.

"Ellen," the Prussian sighed, "you do know what the goal is in fencing, don't you?"

Uh ...  to reconcile my Dad's respect for athletics with Mom's respect for Trollope novels? To flirt with Cute Boy once a week?

"Oh! Touch!" I said, and poked the Cute Boy with my sword.

The teacher just sighed and shook his head and mourned, I suppose, for Prussia and brown-shirted teenage girls.

In the modern age, if you encounter me on the street today and I am carrying an umbrella, you should know I am primed to execute a bind on your ass at any moment. Just watch it.

Chopped Salad

Here is the recipe for my famous chopped salad.

Buy this stuff:

Chop it up.

It even seems like you can get Pearl Mozzarella anywhere now, but better women than I could chop up Mozzarella.

And that big white thing behind the avacados is Jicama.

Technically, it should all be chopped the same size as kernels of corn, but I put the small olives in whole. Use the olives as a reference point for scale.

It makes a big bowl of salad.

=========================================

OH! And as an aside, I have missed Michael Phelps' pelvis so much.

=========================================

And, the Wii Fit knew it was my birthday and the icon wore a little birthday hat. Really cute programming.

Chapter One: I Am Born

I thought I'd told everyone the extended version of the first anecdote of my life: In Which I Am Born With an Extra Thumb. Strangely, I can't find it out there. So here it is.

===============================================

Mom, having had a child already, was all too happy to get the heavy-duty drugs when I arrived. I don't know what they gave her, but she was unconscious when I evidently frog-crawled my way out of her vagina.

Later, she came to just as the doctor was entering the room. The doctor assumed since I had been born hours earlier, Mom had woken up, seen me, counted the fingers and toes, freaked out, dismissed me, then gone to sleep again.

Unbeknownst to him, Mom had been sleeping off the drugs for hours, and hadn't seen me. Mom's side of the story was that he woke her up and said, "Well, congratulations on your baby girl. She looks healthy. Seven pounds. You have two children now, that should keep you busy. Well, we'll talk again in a few weeks. Bye for now." Then he left.

Then, Mom says, he stuck his head back in the door and said, "Oh, and don't worry about that extra thumb." Then he left for good.

Then Mom freaked out. Mom called the nurse to have me brought in so she could number my digits, since I'd already been weighed and measured.  While they were fetching me, Mom called my Grandmother.

Granceil said, "Well, you know your cousin had twelve toes AND a tail."

(I don't know if that made Mom feel any better. When Mom would tell that part of the story I always felt a little inadequate, as if, Damn, I should have had a tail, too.)

This is the only photo in which Mom was unable to hide the freak thumb:

You can't count everything on that hand, but know that the digit closest to my belly button is not supposed to look like that.

When I was sitting up on my own, some doctor resolved the situation with a big pair of scissors.

In  about sixth grade I realized I had never been able to bend that thumb, then I put my hands together:

And realized that damn, I have wrinkly old hands for a sixth-grader. No. I looked at the scar and the bump placement and realized they took off the real thumb and left me with the freak stump thumb.

Of course, if they'd taken off the Freak Thumb, I'd have been unable to close my hand without pressing on that little ganglion left over from the nerve for the amputated thumb. Bumping that thing causes me sickening pain. It's my Achilles Thumb.

This Will Confuse Those Who Don't Follow the Comments

As I watched the Olympic opening ceremonies tonight, I paired the name of every country with "Potato."

Telephony

I had two experiences today with automated phone systems.

1. The Water Company.

I had received a letter from Missouri-American Water that my Yearly Backflow Test had not been run and this was my SECOND NOTICE and I should feel great shame when calling them immediately. I called immediately.

A machine picked up and said, "Hello, this is Missouri American Water Company. If you have recently received a letter stating you have not submitted the results of your Yearly Backflow Test, be apprised that we have received a high volume of these tests this year, resulting in a backlog, and that your test has probably been received. In that case, please ignore the letter."

Click! I hang up and toss the letter in the trash. Excellent telephony experience.

2. The Insurance Company.

"Welcome to Cigna Healthcare. If you are a patient, say 'patient'."

"Patient."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. If you are a patient -"

"Patient!" I said, impatiently.

"Let me try again. If you are -"

"PAY! TIENT!" I spat distinctly and crisply. And I snapped that P. Like a snap pea. Like Leona Helmsley talking to the dog walker.

"If this is for a claim, say -"

"Claim"

"I'm sorry, I -"

I sighed in frustration.

"Let me try - "

"CLAYYYMMMM" I snarled. It got that. It seemed the system reacted well to abuse. Unfortunately, after I snipped and bitched and hissed my way through all the answers, I got to a human.

"Hello, ma'am, I understand you are asking about a claim?"

"YESSSSSS." I said in my new  Telephony Tone - like The Tone, only clearer. Can you hear my Tone now?

"Let me call it up on the system. How has your day been so far?"

I considered what my response should be, then said shortly, "FAIR." Then I realized this was a human and he didn't require one word distinctly snapped answers.

==============================

If only Cigna could have picked up the phone and an automated voice could have said, "This is Cigna Healthcare. If your name is Ellen, and we recently sent you a claim, just toss that in the trash right now. Bye!"

Business Leader

The TeddyJ department went out to lunch today, and instead of stubbornly making my own way back, I decided to follow Friends #3 and To Be Numbered Later. I just turned off my brain and tooled along behind them. In fact I was so brainless I spaced out completely and wound up going entirely the wrong way on Olive. But in that area, all roads lead to Westport, so I just went east until there was another exit that would get me to work.

Unfortunately, I quickly spaced out again and missed the next turn that might take me to TeddyJ.  And then I decided to get creative and try to find another route back. Regrettably, I grew up in Florissant, where all the streets are in a grid, and I assume all streets are like that.  I promptly got Lost. Getting Lost was one of my favorite pursuits as a child, so I wasn't upset. Besides, I always felt I knew generally where Teddy J was (west). So it was kind of fun.

Until I noticed the BMW following me. "Poor BMW," I thought, "It looks lost too."

Then I noticed it was really tailing me.

Then I noticed it followed me into my parking lot when I finally spiraled my way back to TeddyJ.

Then I realized it was my bosses boss.

Evidently she and her passenger thought I knew a really great shortcut. ...

It Would Appear I Enjoy Having Men Yell at Me

Remember when I was puzzled about what my very favorite songs all had in common? Well, there is a subset of songs that have one very recognizable feature.

I noticed this today, when I switched from "Joe Strummer" by Cowboy Mouth to "Over Under Sideways Down" by the Yardbirds.

Here are the lyrics to the Yardbirds song:

Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!
Cars and girls are easy come by in this day and age,
Laughing, joking, drinking, smoking,
Till I've spent my wage.
When I was young people spoke of immorality,
All the things they said were wrong,
Are what I want to be.

(Hey)
Over under sideways down,
(Hey)
Backwards forwards square and round.
(Hey)
Over under sideways down,
(Hey)
Backwards forwards square and round.
When will it end, when will it end,
When will it end, when will it end.

AND the Cowboy Mouth song:

Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!
She had all the tattoos and the piercings
Hates everything says everybody's wrong
She dressed like she slept with Guns and Roses
But I busted her singing all the boy band songs

And so it struck me (Hey!) that what I like best about those songs are groups of men yelling "Hey!" in unison. On further contemplation the syllable need not be limited to "Hey," I also enjoy the "Jump!" in Barenaked Ladies "Pollywog in a Bog."

And it can't be sung, it has to be shouted.

Clearly this needs to be a playlist. So, everyone, keep your ears open for songs that feature men shouting. Evidently it appeals to me. Hey! Leave suggestions in the comments. (Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!)

Bowling for Moles

(Yes, I know I slacked off this weekend. So, I have to make up for it. Two in a day.)

TeddyJ loves me so much that he is giving me entertaining things to do on the weekend. And he pays for them! (I love TeddyJ. I would so totally do him. If he really existed.)

So, this coming weekend TeddyJ wants me to go bowling. Gary heard about it and became very concerned.

"Since when can you bowl?"

"I can bowl. I just bowled on the Wii."

"Have you ever bowled in real life?"

"Yes. In grade school. We bowled. Oh, and you and I bowled once in college."

"I don't think we did." (Of course we did. He had his own bowling ball. I have saved that ball every time I purged the basement these past twenty years.)

"Gary, really, we bowled."

"But, do you still think you can do it? You know, you aren't in the same shape..."

My face replied, "Yeah, bite my ass big boy." But I said nothing.

He continued, "I just don't want you to throw your back out. I think you need to get some practice before this weekend."

"Great," I said, since I've been intrigued by the Pinup Bowl right by the Pageant.

He answered, "We'll just get my ball out of the basement" (readers, snicker at will) "and we can practice your form in the backyard." His face lit up with inspiration as he realized, "We'll scare the moles and solve our mole problem!"

I have tried to play croquet in my backyard, and I can tell you it is not flat, due to the aforementioned moles. It is no bowling alley. Plus, the high today was Crazyhotfahrenheit. So, I doubt this will happen. Especially since it is my Birthday Month.

Demographic

Excuse me, Amazon.com? I have a recommendation for you. I recommend you take a tasty bite out of my wobbly white ass.

I am tired of seeing "If you liked this, you might want to try ..." and "Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought" and "Oh, you are so boring and unoriginal. Just buy this already..."

I bring it on myself. I go to my favorite artist's Amazon lists and obediently buy what they recommend. And I like it. And then naturally I go to those artists' concerts and hear the opening act and buy that music. I think the one time I didn't follow my demographic was when Gary found the Cat Empire Two Shoes CD because he was listening to all the "C" CDs at Barnes and Noble. But of course then we went into Starbucks two months later, and there was Cat Empire playing on the Starbucks Station. Sigh.

I blame TiVo, for fine-tuning whatever suggestions and recommendations algorithm they use. (Even though my TiVO still thinks I'm a gay Catholic.) Remember when your demographic was based on what mail-order catalog you ordered from? Then that catalog would sell your address to another not-always-appropriate catalog? You'd open up the mailbox and find the Adam and Eve catalog staring playfully up at you. "Gary, you pervert!" you'd scream, "What did you do? Why are we getting a sex toy catalog?" And then come to find out it was because you innocently ordered a bra from Victoria's Secret. And God help you if you got something from Adam and Eve, then. (And I ask you, what accessories do you need for spanking, anyway?)

So, I need to break out of my demographic, otherwise I'm just going to keep seeing the same movie trailers at the movies that I'll see later in commercials when I watch one the trailer-movies on TV. But I'm so entrenched in my i-Phone / Trader Joe's / Sex and the City demographic that I don't even know what other demographics are out there.

I'm thinking of doing something drastic, like watching Girlfriends or Pussycat Dolls Present Girlicious.

Birthday Month '08

Gary reminded me that it is indeed my Birthday Month again. Start the 31 days of celebration!

And lo, what arrived on the second day of the Birthday Month? Sock Zombie!

Note the casual way my Sock Zombie reclines. "Hey, baby," my zombie says, "Check out my tiny wooden skull earring."

Oh, and the photo above was taken with my new iPhone. But, more important, an Erin-crafted Sock Zombie!

On the next day of the Birthday Month, there was the Birthday Celebration at the S__________s. I am convinced Mr. and Mrs. Wonderful are on to me. Tell me what you think: Mrs. Wonderful talked so emphatically without swallowing that she needed a bib because food kept falling out on to her bosom. AND she fetched Mr. Wonderful a string of dental floss and he flossed at the table. Because he was with family, he said, and that was true. I considered picking my nose in response but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

What do you think? Have my in-laws outed me?