Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Bitter Bitter Bullets

• A CONSTANT stream of morbidly dressed children came to our door Halloween night. Gary was proud he had bought twelve bags of candy. He has decided this is exactly the right amount. Earlier (at about four in the afternoon) he had decided what we REALLY needed to rope in the kids was one of those illuminated Halloween balloons that almost dwarf the house. (If you just clicked that link because you don't know what I'm talking about then you live in a) a classy neighborhood or b) New Zealand.) Happily, as soon as he decided we need a giant spider he realized that it was four and we couldn't buy one and get back by "four-thirty, when the little kids start coming out." So, just like a scary movie, I thought my Halloween torment was over and then it bursts up from its grave.

• So, when did baseball decide it could use instant replay? Evidently TWENTY FOUR YEARS AFTER WE NEEDED IT IN SAINT LOUIS. Yes, I'm still pissed off about the '85 World Series. I am a little disgusted the Worst Call in the History of Baseball does not have its own Wikipedia page. Like http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Worst_Call_In_The_History_of_Baseball.

   

• Tonight I had a nice call with Carol (The Forgotten Bridesmaid). She talked about running and how "easy" it is.

I said, "Yeah. Remember the time in high school we went running together and I collapsed on your front lawn and puked my guts up?"

An embarrassed laugh. "I think of that every time I run."

So, good. I am glad that every time Carol runs she thinks, "Keep going! Ellen would be puking right now!" I live to inspire.

Just a Short Update

There are twelve bags of candy in this house. What did we say earlier? No Halloween this year?

We are going out for breakfast. More later. FORECAST: SARCASM WITH GUSTS OF RIDICULE

The Globe Returns

I heard this morning the Saint Louis Globe-Democrat, dead nigh these 25 years, has risen from the grave.

One paper came to my house, and then Dad would bring the other home with him. I asked Mom once why she read the Post, and she told me about the Pulitzers and their creed.

"So why does Dad read the Globe, then?"

"Because he's friends with the writers," she answered diplomatically. Dad's office was on 12th street and he drank at the same bar with the Globe writers (example: Pat Buchanan).

No paper was expected to be wholly objective. The Pulitzers even had their platform published in the paper.

[We] will always fight for progress and reform, never tolerate injustice or corruption, always fight demagogues of all parties, never belong to any party, always oppose privileged classes and public plunderers, never lack sympathy with the poor, always remain devoted to the public welfare, never be satisfied with merely printing news, always be drastically independent, never be afraid to attack wrong, whether by predatory plutocracy or predatory poverty.

I don't know if the Globe had a published platform, I assume it was "always support privileged classes" and so on. I was young, so all I knew was the Post had the Weatherbird. A cartoon on the front page! Always indicating the weather and often the Pulitzer take on the headline.

While the Post had a cartoon on the front page, the Globe had offensive photos. About a week before the paper folded in 1980, the MGM Grand caught fire. If the Weatherbird had traveled to that page he would have looked upward in horror at the huge close-up photo of a woman grieving at one of the funerals.

At any rate, there was no kerfuffle in my house about the conservative slant of the Globe and the liberal slant of the Post. It wasn't FOX and MSNBC. If you didn't agree with the tone, don't read that paper.

Typhoid Me

Well, hang a black wreath on the cubicles next door. Two cubicle neighbors have succumbed to the Wild Boar Flu.

As a public health service I will list the symptoms of Wild Boar Flu (and I will try to be delicate).

Early Symptoms: Coughing, Fever (100.5), Fatigue, Dizziness, Lightheadedness, and a symptom we will just refer to as "Olive drab."

Later Symptoms: "Coughmiting" (the medical term for "Puke-cough") combined with "Coughrination." Also, "Going to Vegas."

End-stage Symptoms: Insomnia. Exclusively in males: muscle spasms, burning skin, lower back pain, nausea, toe pain. Also, upper or lower respiratory infection. Quacking cough which co-workers ridicule. Desire to buy all new clothing.

(I just realized! I dumped all my "lightly used" clothing on Marlo and Ann at work. This is like the Native Americans and smallpox! So ... we'll just see if they're in tomorrow.)

Man On the Cusp of Male Menopause

Gary refused to join me by the laptop to watch the fox.com replay of last week's pre-empted House.

Instead, he chose to stay in the other room and watch The Princess Diaries. This was his primary show.

His secondary? Soldier. 

"They're obeying orders, Sir. It's their duty."

"Oh, your majesty, in America, it doesn't always mean to be quiet. Here it could mean 'Wow, gee whiz, golly wolly ... '"

"Fear and discipline. Always."

"You know most kids hope for a car for their 16th birthday, not a country!"

"Your men... are obsolete."

This has to be some type of hormonal fluctuation. Oh, Princess Diaries is over. Now it's a double-feature of Bring It On and From Dusk Till Dawn.

To Sleep, Perchance to Get Sick

The elusive sleep found me yesterday just as the head of my department made a PowerPoint presentation. I stayed awake for that, but was asleep in my bed at 8:00 pm.

After I slept hard till 7 a.m., I woke up with a sore throat. I have decided it's because yesterday I coughed my Donald-Duck-Hacks-up-a-Hairball cough often because I skipped the cough-suppressant.

But now Gary has a sore throat too. We agreed if we have swine flu it will be nothing compared to what we've had so far.

I Hoard Jeans

I just finished the seasonal closet purge, and I heartlessly ditched suits I bought just this spring - not even because they no longer fit, or had worn out - because I had grown to hate them.

I can't turn my back on old jeans, though. You see here a progression of jeans, from 16w to 20w. This is several years worth of jeans. I think I must look back on them like old photos. See those18Ms? I wore that to Niagara Falls.

A confession: I kept my size 8 jeans from college for years.

 

I Do Have Some - Well, A - Standard

I am going back to Plaza Frontenac to purchase a few more Eileen Fisher pieces I can' t find on-line.

(Non-Natives: Plaza Frontenac is the old-money mall in town, anchored by Saks and NM.)

One has to dress up to go to Plaza Frontenac. In the past I have worn my winter hat: a felt hat with a bow that made me look a British nanny for the Royal Family. Saleswomen don't blow you off when you have the hat.

So I checked my shopping outfit: pricey sweater, cheap jeans ... and Crocs. I shop in Crocs, otherwise my feet hurt.

Crocs? To Plaza Frontenac?

Crocs with a hat? Would that fly? Would the hat outweigh the Crocs?

So,that explains why I have extra shoes in my car for when I go to The Plaza De La Frontenac. Crocs for when I go to dinner with assorted friends at McCormicks and Schmiks at the lower-class mall. Still I'm going to count the Crocs at PF, just to see. I'll report back later.

LATER: Zero Crocs. Not surprised...

What Do Other People DO on Halloween

Last Halloween, Gary called it. "This is our Last Halloween," he said in disgust. "Sixty bucks worth of candy and TWO doorbell rings."

As you know, Gary doesn't like it when guests show up wanting treats and he doesn't have enough. So every Halloween he buys double what we've needed on the busiest Halloween. And then, every year we have to go through the Gary exponential math, in which 20 is added every time an amount is spoken, so this year it will have been eighty bucks worth of candy we had to eat last November. (Or, as we say now, not eighty bucks. One Eileen Fisher scarf.)

So, we've turned our backs on the candy and the kids, but what do we do now? There is no way we could stay at home with the porch light off and ignore costumed kids as they walked past our house AND JUDGED US.

So, what's a good place to spend Halloween? Where should we go? It's Saturday night, we could go to a club. There was a haunted house we've meant to go to the last five years but I think it's shut down now. I don't want to go to a party, unless it's an impromptu thing not involving costumes.

What's been your best Halloween Night Out?

I'm Sick of Health

Hello, 2:12 am. I'll be watching you till it's about 4. Then I might get 3 hours of sleep. That's how you roll now that I'm healthy; I was sick and you healed me with sleep, lo, now I am well and it's 2 in the fucking morning.

No sleep but a few hours each day the last four days. I'm not sleepy, but I'm distractable at work and I'm spending wild amounts of money.

For example.

On someone's blog I read something along the lines of "First it's Chicos, and by the time you get to Eileen Fisher you might as well say, 'to hell with it.'"

I'm sorry, Eileen who? Then I did a little research and discovered that Eileen Fisher make drapey clothes and seems very nice. "Recently, Eileen Fisher, Inc. donated over $100,000 to various charities specifically focusing on improving the life of women "in the areas of wellness, financial independence, self-esteem and prevention of violence."

Well, let's see how that philanthropy drapes over my ass I said. Then I found the reason I don't know Eileen is she hides at stores I don't frequent. NM, Saks and Nordstrom.

I tried on a dozen things at NM and bought a few. Then, armed with my (bogus vanity) size I came home and bought out eBay.

Sure, it's trapeezy and flows like Niagara over my ass, but I decided when I was thin I could hide just about everything but my thighs. Now I'm fat, and I can deal with everything but my rear. My rear will put me into arrears. I think I'm already tempted to go to Saks tomorrow. If I don't start getting some damn sleep I will.

Autumn Light

This afternoon, like every afternoon, I drove over my favorite hill. Saint Louisans, if you head west it's on the Page Extension before the Maryland Heights Expressway. You know it: suddenly the river valley spreads out full of clouds.

 
I hunted for a photo to show you scattered Dots, and eventually got on the (virtual) right track with Google Maps Webcam. I wish the day they filmed Page West hadn't been so grey.

But, today was also a grey autumn day, which made this tree across from the bank so much brighter:

When I topped the hill on Page I was singing along with Romans 10:9 from the new Mountain Goats album. And, I was thinking about a Twitter exchange I had with Julie, who cautioned me the singer might not be as religious as you would think from a CD of songs all titled after Bible verses.*

I was considering how much that pleased me, and why. Did I secretly like a little to be mocked for my beliefs? If it was Christian Rock, wouldn't I have felt pressured for not singing along with enough devotion?

I listened to:

"Look for the sign of Daniel, consider the clues /
Wait as long as i have to for Good News /
Wake and rise and face the day and try to stop the day from staring back at me /
Busy hours for joyful hearts and later maybe head out to the pharmacy"

Despair and hope, or is that hope and despair? "You'd think I'd know," I thought, then realized what I like about the song so much is I've been on both sides. Joyous and devoted, but then later despairing. 

Winter doesn't make me appreciate spring, but spring makes me appreciate autumn. The joyous pure blue skies were lovely in spring, but a vibrant spring just makes you appreciate the complex muted dying colors of autumn that much more.

*This article says the song, Romans 10:19? The one I liked so much I sang along? About suicide. OF COURSE. I was still in the "these words sound interesting," phase; I liked the contrast between despair and blind hope, but I hadn't gotten the suicide message yet.

In Which Strangers Do Not Appreciate Gary's Tone

These two tales date back to our Vegas vacation. Bear in mind Gary was feverish at the time, and he does not travel well. I think the reason he and his entire family don't travel well is that travel is exciting, and the S______s have a high excitement baseline. Waking up at home and making coffee? Perhaps the coffee will boil over or burn or, if this is a new can of coffee, it must be checked for dessicated severed fingers. Imagine waking in the Bellagio and making fevered coffee in a new coffeemaker. The excitement compounds exponentially. Two mouthy strangers called Gary out on his excited tone.

Mouthy Stranger 1: The older man in the airport bar

We were at the airport the requisite two hours early waiting for the flight to Vegas at 6:00. I left Gary at the gate so I could stifle my cough downing Maker's Mark. After a very long wait, I was almost next in line when Gary burst into the bar.

"Ellen! Ellen! They're calling our flight to Vegas! Right now! Get out of line!" Then he blew back out of the bar.

"What?" I heard a woman cry as I barreled through the crowd, "The flight's leaving early?"

"I don't know!" her husband said.

And yes, a flight was leaving from our gate, but it was a flight to Chicago. No real excitement. I went back to the bar.

"Is the flight really leaving?" the husband asked.

"Nope. It was the Chicago flight." And then I downed a shot of bourbon and didn't say anything else to the family and never made eye contact. (Strangers! In Bars! Chatting Me Up!)

Later, the bar family was next to us in line. The husband said to Gary, "So, turned out it wasn't our flight! You'd be in bad shape if you boarded that Chicago plane! Heh Heh Heh."

Gary was pleasant. "Yeah! Heh heh." His later comment: "Good thing for him he was old; I'd have punched him out."

Mouthy Stranger 2: The younger man on the bus

Vegas is big. When you say, "That hotel is just next door to our hotel," that may be true, but each hotel is the size of a mall with its own freeway exit. So when we started down the strip to the Venetian, we didn't fully realize we'd be Bataan Death Marching our way around five giant malls.

Eventually we paid three dollars and hopped on the bus to go one stop . When our stop came up, Gary said with a touch too much drama, "Ellen! Hit the button to stop the bus! They just announced the Venetian! This is our stop! We'll miss it! Hit the button!"

As I began to say, "Dude, chill," the guy seated next to me drawled, "Dude, chill. It's a stop. The hotel will still be there."

Gary turned away to exit the bus and, I confess, I mouthed, "Thank you" to the bus man because I'd had enough excitement already for one day. Vegas. It's exciting! Why crank it up?

Epilogue

To be fair, and because Gary insists I add this, he wisely didn't get on the bus on our return trip and we hustled back to the Bellagio before the bus made it through rush hour traffic. I didn;' want to get on the bus anyway, because Gary might have seen Mouthy #2 and clocked him or coughed at him, and then there would be real excitement on top of S_____ excitement on top of travel excitement.

Health

Check this out. After six weeks of illness (and a few weeks of laziness preceding) I finally re-hung some prints Gary knocked down.

Don't worry, I just straightened out the second from the left.

The thing is, this means I am returned to health.

I have missed my health, such as it is. Before the Wild Boar Plague began, I was thinking of a friend who just lost a terrific amount of weight due to a balanced diet and exercise, and then she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Whenever the people suggest diet and exercise will make me healthy, I think: Ship has sailed. Sailed, boarded by pirates, plastered with barnacles and sunk. 

I know I am returning to what I call health because Gary has segued from fellow sufferer to bitter sufferer. "GET ME THE BENDY STRAWS WHY DON'T YOU EVER BUY THE RIGHT TYPE OF COUGH MEDICINE STOP TOUCHING ME." That's okay, I know what he's going through. In fact, he's worse than I've been, and I am thrilled. Because I'm on immuno-suppressant drugs for the clinical trial and he is my Control. I expected to be so much worse than he is.

Granted, those frames took me the entire day, with three naps. Still, I fell better. I hope none of you ever get whatever the hell this has been.

Oh! And speaking of restored health ask me about my labia! Peachy and pink and perfect, thank you. No swelling, no bleeding this last month, and no new holes. So, diagnosis: strange virus. Don't know where I got it, so. don't rub your crotch across anywhere my labia have been. This PSA brought to you by the Missouri Crotch Council.

Outraged Over the State of Movies Today!

My fever is done and my cough is suppressed. (Suppressed, thanks to the lung-numbing meds. They got stuck in my throat yesterday and became scary swallowing-suppressants. Then my stomach didn't like them and then they were gone.)

Gary, sadly, is not better but worse. Worse and raving. He's making an unnatural amount of True Blood references. (He said my pity hug was like "when Sookie hugged Eric." Seemed a little random.)

So, he woke up tonight at about 7 and we watched a movie.

TIvO recorded The Water Horse because Emily Watson is on Gary's Wishlist. I started off rolling my eyes at the easy kid manipulation. Child bonds with cute magical animal living in the toilet bowl. Step aside, I need to puke.

THEN the full-grown animal ([SPOILER] aka the Loch Ness monster) is set upon by the military who think it's a German sub. And from that point on it just gets more and more violent and traumatic. Picture LASSIE being shot at, then Lassie tries to kill Timmy, then Lassie has to leave Timmy, then Timmy goes back to his mommy and says "Daddy isn't coming back from the war, is he?" Yes. THAT is the ending to this movie.

I remember when I was 11 there was an episode of McMillan and Wife in which some satanic cult tied up Mrs. McMillan, and Mom teased me because I was glaring so furiously at the satanists. I took it to heart. (I've never liked satanists since.) I can imagine being 11 and yanked around by this movie. The water horse almost dies, the boy almost drowns, the bulldog gets eaten. It's as if there were two writers, one a Disney writer ("Believe in your dreams!") and the other me in a mood. ("War kills pets and daddies, kids!")

I vaguely remember Water Horse caused some buzz, but not what the buzz was. According to the comments on IMDB this was a great family movie. Well, it traumatized this 47-year old.

Where the Wild Things Weren't

So these thoughts crossed my mind this afternoon:

"So evidently someone's made a movie out of this children's book, Where the Wild Things Are. Must be after my time. I know that the made the Narnia books into a movie, but that's really more of a young adult book. Isn't this wild things book like a bedtime story book? I'm assuming that it must be, because I'd never heard of it before this year. I might have seen it in a book store, and the name Maurice Sendak is familiar, but I don't know why."

My childhood bedtime books were, Pat the Bunny, Pat the Cat, The King the Mice and the Cheese, Go Dog Go, and the Richard Scarry Dictionary.

   

I looked up Where the Wild Things are on Wikipedia and found it was first published in '63 when I was one (count it! one). Since I could read The King the Mice and the Cheese when I was four (not bragging, it had elephants, which is almost my name) I think I missed the Wild Things generation.

I totally missed Goodnight Moon, and that would have been well before I was born. Until I just looked it up I thought it was a '90s book.

While I found the Storybook Dictionary delightfully literate, the Pat The series was woefully lacking in plot.

What children's books do you remember?

How Hoarding Starts

There was a time I would never have left a dirty house when I went on vacation. And I could not abode being sick in a dirty house. However, I no longer have the will to live, since I have been sick with what Gary now calls the "Feral Boar Flu" for five weeks now.

This is our life.

I come home from the grocery with paper towels. I ask Gary if wants me to put them in the linen closet

He moans, "Oh anywhere."

I open my hand and they drop on the dog's pillow.

Later when Gary sees the dog can't use the pillow, he wings the paper towels in the general direction of the linen closet. I kick them out of the way.

That's where everything is now. Everything bought at the store, brought home from vacation, we just let gravity take care of it. Another week and we'll be like that hoarder with the roll of bathroom tissue by his bed (the single scariest shot in that show).

Cirque du Sowhatthehellisgoingon

Glossary of Terms:

Cirque du Soleil: "a dramatic mix of circus arts and street entertainment." There are acrobats and clowns and contortionists, plus actors and actresses, and a good deal of amazing effects.

O: The permanent Cirque show at the Bellagio. It combines the spectacle of a Cirque show with water skills like diving and synchronized swimming. See Wikipedia article.

Guy Laliberte: the founder of Cirque, who just had a visit to the International Space Station.

Plot: The pattern of events or main story in a narrative or drama.

Lyrics: a song-like outpouring of thoughts and feelings.

Oh, wait, you won't need those last two.

Gary's a big Cirque fan. We liked to watch that show they had on A&E (I think) explaining how each Cirque show was made. I knew I wasn't a huge Cirque fan going in, but I love Gary and I figured he deserved it.

So, it began, and we were introduced in mime to the male lead, and the clowns, and ... the man in the tuxedo with the crazy hair ... and ... the bride lady. The male lead kept trying to hand her a red scarf, and red Scarves Are Important because they kept shooting across the stage. And then there was synchronized swimming. And a costume change for the male lead, and if we hadn't been in row 5 dead center I would have had no idea.

THEN the pool got shallow and there was ballet across the pool, and singing, which was puzzling because it was that incomprehensible Enya singing. The vowels are drawn out and the consonants are swallowed and you can't really tell what the words are. "Well," I thought, "I can look the lyrics up on line later."

And then a crazy lady in a red dress showed up. And there was much diving. Followed by a comic interlude by the clowns, who broke wind.

It was hard to keep your eye on the action, because you'd think you were supposed to pay attention to the giant merry-go-round horses but there was a guy with a horse head dancing with the zebra people, and that seemed to be significant too.

More clowns, and high-dives, and contortionists, and the singing lady. Then I remembered the A&E show said they sang in a deliberately made-up language. Nonsense lyrics. Lyrics that you are not supposed to understand. Lyrics, if translated, would say, "See the pretty colors! See! See! Guy likes the International Space Station! He says thank you thank you!"

But then the tuxedo man crawled into a giant basket on stage and I got all weepy. And THEN the bride and the tuxedo man sat on a silver piano that sank into the pool and the lead gave the scarf to the singing lady. Then the stage curtain did an amazing poufy whirly thing and it was over. The end.

P.S. When I asked Gary what his favorite part of the trip was, he said "The BNL show." They did do a cirque show to the tunes of the Beatles, maybe since Guy is a Canadian he might spectacularize BNL songs. Like have dancing emus and ottomans. Maybe make the ottomans into Muslims, because that would be MORE confusing.

BNL Concert in the Godforsaken Town of Primm Nevada

I had a little culture shock when we drove from the Bellagio to the BNL concert (40 miles outside Vegas in Primm Nevada).

Bellagio. Where the Chiluly glass ceiling gets boring, because a few steps past it there are giant glass fall leaves hanging over a fantasy garden, and then around the bend there is a chocolate fountain.
  
Counter that grandeur with the grandeur of the desert.

This is a mountain.

 

Desert mountains are made out of dirt! I'm sorry to offend any mountain dwellers, but I had just gone from this to mud mountains.
 
So we got to Buffalo Bills Casino in Primm.

Again, Bellagio:

Buffalo Bills:

 

I am sure that had I just flown right into Primm, I would have been fine and not as aghast. As it was, I was glad to see friendly faces in Brandy and Crystal. Following the Bellagio, my expectations of Primm were probably high, just like my expectations of the new Steven-less BNL. And I am amazed to say, I didn't miss him. Much. My biggest concern was they'd try to swap out Steven's tenor for Kevin's tenor, which would be swapping out a hurricane for a very pleasant gentle summer rain. Steven can turn his voice into a goat-annihilating nuclear firestorm. I'm afraid Kevin isn't vaporizing any goats. (Nor would he want to, fellow woodland creatures that they are.)

As it turns out, Ed's voice with a shiny finish of Jim's voice layered on top makes a pretty good substitute for Steven's voice. I only missed Steven on two songs: Life in a Nutshell, and sadly, one of my favorites: It's All Been Done. I imagine that I imagine the personal Steven influence in Nutshell, and instead of free Steven on the chorus of It's All Been Done there was close harmony.

However, those were only two songs of a long concert. Gary pointed out all things they did musically to compensate for Steve's guitar. but I am too musically-backward to say anything but "Music pretty."

However, this shocked me. Did you know there is this guitarist named Ed in the band, and he is very pretty? And the drummer, Tyler, sacked up and vamped out Alcohol like a pro. Jim spoke and gave a little counter to Ed, and so did Kevin, but they need to challenge Ed more. Ed is very pretty, and talented, and as such he needs someone to argue with every single thing he says. That person used to be Steve.

Ed: I am having a great time! That last song was rocking!
Steve: Really? I thought we could have done better. And the food here sucks.

On the other hand, I was glad to see band happiness (amid constant assurances they WERE HAVING FUN FUN I GET IT) and glad to hear new songs, including a solo one from Kevin. And yet another one "with really fast rhymes" that begs to be read and deciphered.

I must admit this though, it did make me want to go to Ontario and hear a few Steve concerts next year. A little. Not as much as I expected.

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

While in the internet blackout city of Vegas (what is posted in Vegas stays in Vegas, evidently) I see I have accumulated a backlog of comments since I was only able to get on for a few minutes a day. Commenting back will give me something to do tomorrow in the doctor's waiting room. There may be more codeine in my future.

Spunky also enjoys the tub.

Breakfast

I had the chocolate éclair ( not shown).

Tub

My new luvvah, Mr. Tubbs.

Rolling breakfast

Eggs benedict 17 bucks:

Bruce Hornsby in Saint Louis

I just bought tickets for the Bruce Hornsby concert at the Pageant in Saint Loiis on 11/19. I had to see what Becs has been going on about! Gary is not going but I got immediate companions from the women at work. They knew about him, I seem to be the only one in the dark.

Leaving Saint Louis

Eee! Leaving for Las Vegas in less than a day.

Gary is laundering ALL of his clothing. "Ellen, I only own jeans, Dockers, golf shirts, t-shirts, and shorts. I need a selection of each for the next four days. So that's just twenty articles of clothing."

Whereas, as usual, I am packing the bare minimum. If people don't like my J. C. Penney's top that makes old men in grocery stores chat me up, then screw 'em.

Gary and I have both hit the wheezing phase of the illness. This has caused some oxygen deprivation: we were buying cunning little 3 oz travel supplies at the grocery and Gary noticed the 3 oz KY-Jelly. He presented it to me by interrupting my shopping with - hello - mini jelly box directly in front of my nose. Then it was full-size hemorrhoid cream, and something called "Crack Creme," and I countered with Gas-X. THEN we got stupid.

So I'm pretty prepared for LV, only: I have a dilemma. It would seem there is a procedure when you check in at a Vegas hotel, when the desk clerk asks you for your credit card and ID, you hand the clerk a "sandwich" of: ID, folded twenty dollar bill, and credit card, and request the nicest room, perhaps one on a high floor, or one with a view. A BRIBE. An UNFULFILLED DREAM of mine. The only trouble is, I'm already in a nice room right where we want to be. I'll see either a mountain or the fountains; both are fine. So the clerk might be at a loss as to what I want. That's the thing, a perfect opportunity for a bribe but I don't want anything special. I am torn. Do I make something up? Like, "If there's a room next to the patisserie, that would be lovely," or "if there's a room with a naked Chippendale, that would be lovely."

What would you ask for with a bribe at the Bellagio?

Woof.

Woof!
WOOF!
How dare you ignore my demanding bark? Attend to me!

Better.
This is Mac the dog.

Did she even bother to tell you I had surgery? The doctor had to remove a foot boil. And afterward I DIDN'T FEEL WELL AND DIDN'T EAT FOR A WEEK.

She didn't tell you, did she? Because she and the male have been sick and making a big production of it. They start barking, and then making gurgling hacking sounds and yodelling up snot and talking about lew-gees, whatever that is.

Finally - hey - are you listening to me? I can pee for attention too. I don't have to bark. Okay! Finally they stopped hacking long enough to notice I wasn't eating my rice topped by Bob Evans hand shredded turkey. The female read some article on hypoglycemic dogs and I got some honey roast nuts and Ted Drewes strawberry frozen custard.

That got old the next day, so then the male came back from the store with ham salad , chicken-pecan salad, and meatloaf.

"Yum!" the bitch said.

"No!" the male shrieked, "These are for the dog!"

I sniffed all of those things, but they just didn't speak to me. Then he started with the filet-mignon dog treats, rolled honey chicken treats, Pupperoni. The Milk-Bone treats I remembered from my puppy days didn't even appeal to me.

THEN he pulled out this can of stuff. I sniffed it in the air and started lapping the plate while it was still empty. The food bounced off my head and then I gobbled it down. It was the best stuff ever. It was something called dog food. It comes in a can.

Canned Dog Food.

Food! Made for DOGS! Fuck me, that is genius.

Good Job, Everybody!

I knew you could do it.

 

And congratulations to

ANGIE

the 100,000th commenter, with "Meh."

List

Gary just came across my list:

Diapers
Poise Pads
Make dog EAT
white bread
drink whiskey

"Never mind that," I said, "It's the stuff I learned about this weekend. For the blog."

What I Learned This Weekend: Diapers

Friday, Friend #2 mentioned it's very difficult to have twins and diaper them alone, because you have to diaper one baby with one hand, because your other hand has to stay on the other twins' back so it doesn't crawl poopy and naked through the house.

"I would tie one baby to a table," I said. (Parenting - so easy.)

"Ellen. That's III-LEEEEEE-GAAAALLLLL"  #2 spelled out. "That's ABUSE."

I think I then suggested duct-taping one baby to the counter. I think the response was a group re-iteration that I shouldn't have children.

Later that night I thought, could you get an encyclopedia and put it on the baby's back? Would that slow the baby down? You could open it and put it on the baby like a teepee.

What I Learned This Weekend: Poise Pads

I was at home, I was coughing, I figured I'd find out what the capacity is of the second-lightest Poise Pad. So...now I know. I did fly without a net Friday at work, I'm proud to say, but boy are my Kegels tired. Oh, and I learned from Friend #3 it's pronounced Keeeee-guls. Had no idea. Been calling them Kay-guls.

What I Learned This Weekend: Make dog EAT

Mac has been very picky and neglecting his regular foods, even some he's always viewed as treats (Braunschwaeger, Deli Turkey, smoked Gouda). I found this article on dogs, vomiting, and hypoglycemia, and switched to sweeter foods like the milk left over from Fruity Cheerios cereal, peanut butter, and honey roasted cashews. He ate it and kept all of it down.

What I Learned This Weekend: white bread

So, the Babka (pronounced Bob-kuh) Enthusiasm has waned, because I'm a white bread girl. My heritage demands I make white bread. And my city demands I buy the Saint Louis Bread Company / Panera Bread Company Cookbook and make that bread. And I did, and it was good. You make a starter for all breads, like you make a sourdough starter, only this is white bread starter. You know how good this bread is? Gary doesn't like it, that's how good.

What I Learned This Weekend: drink whiskey

I've been drinking Baileys for my cough. Friend #3 wickedly gave me Makers Mark instead. I survived. However, I only have Jack Daniels at home. (You know. For the kids.) I found that if you slam a shot back you can follow it up with a mug of apple juice, then the shuddering only lasts a while, and you don't cough for four hours. Of course, now I must find a way to do this at lunch, and in Vegas during concerts. Gary was thinking flasks. Where would I get a flask? Dillards? Wal-Mart? So much to learn.

Extolling the Merits of Alcohol

1. It makes my friends laugh at any stupid thing I say.

2. It cures a bad cough, if only temporarily.

3. It cleans out ones digestion.

4. See number two.

I remember the glory days when the active ingredient in Nyquil was alcohol. It tasted better than what I'm currently using: half Scrumpy, half Patron. Scrumptron.

However, one thing it doesn't do is restore any spark of creativity. I apologize to everyone: the blog has also been infected by this virus. It's supposedly only going to last another week, unless Sister-in-law is right and this illness can be blamed on a house filled to the brim with mold.

Yet Another Neurological Humiliation

Went to the Newrologist today. He was putting me through the heel-to-toe tests, and asked me,

"Go to that back wall and walk toward me on your heels."

As I got close to him he said, "Go back and do it on your toes."

I teetered on my heels a moment. I heard Paul McCartney belt "No one will be watching us ... go back and do It on your toes."

Then I realized what the doctor meant. I switched from heels to toes, and started walking backward.

"No," he said, "You're making it too hard. Just go back to the wall and do it again but on your toes."

"Oh!" I spun around, only I was still on my toes and I slammed myself into the wall.

So ... points off for that.

Weirdest Dream Ever

Gary has the Simultaneous PukeCoughPee Virus now, only his pee has farther to travel and, as you know, he pukes only once a decade. One distinguishing characteristic of the Virus is, I surmise, that you breathe very shallowly when you sleep so not to cough, this starves your brain of oxygen and you have insanely vivid and base lizard-brain dreams.

Gary and I have begun a competition. We wake up and compare dreams. Yesterday he reported we had been participating in an orgy in his dream. I had just gotten out of a dream in which I got lingerie and French kissing from a fat Italian woman and her grandfather. "My dream sucked," I complained, "Tomorrow night I'm having an orgy."

Here's what I dreamed instead.  In short, I was a professor in a college town who held "salons" while in a bubble bath. And I was much admired. However, one day I impulsively decided to drive to Jefferson City, and by the time I got there I was lost, didn't know where I had initially been headed, and confused about who I was. I went about asking people if they recognized me and got more and more amnesiac and distressed. Eventually all I remembered was that my mother had drowned in the river. I found the place she had drowned, and crawled on my hands and knees down the mossy levee and into the green water. To die! The end. (Pirouettes and bows.)

I have never had such a dream before. In every dream I am there, I am the victim or the hero or usually the innocent bystander, I might change how I look or what people call me, but never have I lost who I was while dreaming.

So. Has anyone else had a dream of losing ones identity resulting in suicide? It really shook me.