Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Niece, Revisited

The first few months of the year are packed with in-law birthdays. Usually my niece shares her birthday with my nephew, but he didn't come (thankfully, because we would have had to ask if he'd known the underwear bomber at school). So instead she shared her birthday with Ken, my father-in-law.

The day of the party we went to the mall to pick up a few more treats for Ken. I snuck away from Gary on a mission to Claires to get my right ear re-pierced. (Family loyalty led me there; my niece works for Claires. And there's Claires in Russia!)

I recall my first ear-pierce at 15, at Claires, 32 years ago. It was loud and alarming and violent, but not really painful, like having a air-driven hole-punch taken to your ear.  This time was a non-event. (And no, I don't know why my ear closed. I've neglected both ears; they only get earrings about once a month.)

I followed my second ear-piercing with my first eyebrow threading, and I say: don't do it. It brought tears to my eyes. Like mechanized insects crawling on your brows yanking out each downy proto-hair ONE BY ONE. Imagine they apply eyebrow wax and the cotton to each hair so it's a thousand wax/cotton/rips that never stop crawling across your brow. Like a tiny Epilady. Not the modern one. The one from 20 years ago. Used slowly.

After the piercing and the threading I felt All Ready For Prom. I'm always glad to talk to my niece, and I knew she's just been through a heartbreak. In years past she's called during heartbreaks, but not this one. That's fine, because I know she's growing up, she can manage on her own. And since I'm clearly growing down, that Benjamin Button intersection was great for a while but inherently limited.

Gary got a chance to talk with her and hear of the heartbreak, and I overheard him say, "Well, this is your twentieth birthday, right? I met Ellen when she was twenty."

"Nineteen, just a few weeks shy," I corrected him, but I could hardly speak because MY GOD SHE IS TWENTY. In my head she is thirteen. No, to be fair, in the seven years since she's been thirteen she's grown into a very mature thirteen year old. That's how I see it, or saw it, until last night. I've entertained myself recently thinking "Mom was three years older than I am now when she retired" or "When I introduced Gary to Mom she was as old as I am now."

So, no wonder my niece has been coping on her own. WAH. TWENTY. She doesn't need me.

Do You Think I Meant Contra Matters?

UMSL. 1982. Shakespeare's Tragedies. Our class was discussing this exchange:

Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? (Lying down at OPHELIA's feet)
Ophelia: No, my lord.
Hamlet: I mean, my head upon your lap?
Ophelia: Ay, my lord.
Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters?

Our lady-like professor let us in on the joke. "You know, the first syllable of 'country' meant the same thing then as it does now."

(Entire class, puzzled, repeatedly mutters the first syllable of "country" until an older student yells it out.)

Entire class says, "No way."

Professor suggests our generation did not make up That Word. And frankly, back then that word was That Word, the Word So Bad no one ever spoke it.

So today, as I was tooling home today, listening to the new Vampire Weekend CD, and gustily singing along:

"I THINK UR A CONTRA
AND I THINK THAT YOU'VE LIED"

And I thought, "WAIT a minute! That sounds like . . . Hey!
They aren't singing about Iran-Contra! 
He isn't saying that she's a contrarian! He's saying ..." 

BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT I WAS THINKING. I feel like some old lady in the fifties thinking Chuck Berry was singing about telephone service in My Ding-a-Ling.

Of course, I could be wrong. And I could be corrupting your enjoyment of this intelligent song about Oliver North and the Iran-Contra Affair. I could be doing to you what Gilligan's Island did to Carmen and that Bob Fosse movie did to eyedrops. You'll never be able to listen from a pure point of view again.

Sick in Bed All Day

I. Smell. Bad. I smell like chemicals are leaching through my body fluids. The dog won't even sleep with me. The chemicals are out of balance in every fluid system. Food is digested directly into a sugar slurry and then urped right back up. The brain fluid swishes and makes me dizzy.

I slept from noon till 6, after that I just lay in bed and percolated. And stank. And looked at five-star hotels on-line.

Also, I downloaded the first season of Mad Men. I'll watch it on my own since Gary hates it. (It has no heroes. No one is good. So, no one for Gary to relate to. Speaking of relating to characters, I've only watched four episodes but they better drop that business with Mrs. Draper's hands going numb in Episode 2.)

Eventually it did cross my mind that I've been meaning to pick up the Celexa at the pharmacy for ... Sunday, Monday ... five days now. Better get there. Perhaps that what's wrong, this is the smell of seratonin withdrawal.

Habits of Successfully Sick People

I was getting a lung test for the clinical trial, and the technician lady said, "It looks like you're doing pretty well on this medication. You haven't had any relapses."

"I think I've only had two relapses in fifteen years."

"What's your secret?"

I thought a moment. "I think I'm just not very in touch with my body."

Before I got MS I tried to pay better attention to body signals: the ones that said "You've eaten enough! Stop!" and "You have five minutes to get to the bathroom." After I was diagnosed I woke up each morning and took a full body inventory of every limb. When a hand began to tingle, I'd note the time it began so if it continued for 24 hours I could alert the doctor. That didn't last long, and soon if my right hand tingled, I'd check my left, found it felt fine and I'd spend a good minute flexing and admiring my left hand. For every body part that feels bad there's another that feels okay. (And not to put to fine a point on it, there are always two sets of lips that can be made to feel not bad, not okay, but quite distractlngly good.)

I'm lucky with my MS, of course, I've been in the "tingling / weakness" phase for a long leisurely while, and it can just take its time progressing. But another nice thing about my particular MS is that the nerve damage works in my favor for some things. For example, the nerves that run my lower GI tract will often go on vacation a week at a time, and occasionally for two weeks. I have been told this would cause pain in a normal person, but the nerves that signal pain must be the same nerves that are on vacation. At times people ask me if I hurt my foot, and if it weren't for that I would have no idea I'm limping. The bad nerve that makes me limp must be the same nerve that lets me know I'm limping.

So now after fifteen years, I dismiss my MS symptoms the moment they surface in my consciousness (Most recently: "That's odd, my arms feel numb. It must be from when I turned blue when I couldn't breathe a few days ago. Huh. Weird. What's in the fridge?")

What I want to be able to do is to apply that approach to all symptoms of every illness. For example, right now I'm not dizzy like I was earlier today and yesterday, and my ears don't itch like they did a few hours ago, but still my body says I'm going to puke some time in the next two hours. So, if I take my MS approach, I should:

Lavish positive attention on the body parts that don't feel bad. My feet feel good, for example, I say as I wiggle my feet. Legs to scalp: relaxed and happy, plus I'm in the very soft guest bed.

Make a reliable body part feel good: the Upper Mouth is happy now after the application of a stale homemade croissant. And, bonus? I'll puke that back up in less than two hours.

We'll just have to see how this approach works the next time I have a bad head cold. "Well, the left nostril is stuffy but wow, my right nostril is awesome. What's in the fridge?"

Bears Are Everywhere

 
Bears fled the shelf. One hunkered down in the egg compartment of the fridge. Gary said, "Where would Ellen put the other bears? She's lazy. I bet they're in the freezer. And they were. They're polar bears."

When I noticed only three bears made it back to the shelf, I nabbed those bears and hid them. Just three bears. The other four, I looked for. For two days. Every time I went in the living room I glanced around for the bears. Never saw them.

Until tonight, when he said, "Huh. Wonder where the bears are," and glanced oh so slightly upward. There they were at the tops of every picture frame in the living room.

There are no rules now. One of us may end up dead.

Godka

Remember last year: my quest to bake a perfect a decent an edible babka? Eventually I gave up. But then, CatherineG gave out delicious chocolate babkas as Christmas gifts. Impudent!

I met with the other goddesses hanging out on Mt. Olympus and explained the situation.

"Make her into a spider!" Athena screamed, before I even finished. (Annoying girl; she gives everyone a headache.)

"I can't just make her a spider, that wouldn't fit. It worked when you did it to Arachne, because she was a weaver like you. I'd have to make her into some insect that bakes."

"Make her into the Candida albicans bacteria," Artemis suggested, "That's the bug that causes yeast infections." 

An awkward silence. Finally Demeter said, "Artemis, you are such a bitch."

Athena agreed. "You need to get laid, girl. Thats what you should have done with Adonis when he mocked your skill, instead of turning him into a deer."

Artemis snapped, "You must humble these mortals when they challenge you!"

I don't want to be like Artemis, so I will not turn CatherineG into CandidaA. Instead, I decided to hone my babka skills. And to steal her recipe.

Here are the words in this recipe that are the key to the babka puzzle: "Roll out 1 piece of dough on a WELL-FLOURED surface." At that point, what you are trying to roll out is essentially egg pudding. You have to incorporate flour in there somehow.  My surface was extraordinarily well-floured, and what I came up with was this:

Granted, the second rise was not what I would have hoped for, but I have swirls!

Where else could I find a man like this

Look. He threw away the toilet paper rolls in an attractive design.

Of course this is because used up all that toilet paper in one weekend.

The Phone Call

Gary was just crawling into the guest bed where I was for a little cuddle when his Blackberry rang in the other room. It took so long to extract himself, crawl over me, avoid the picture frames and the dog steps that he missed the actual initial call.

"It was Saint Luke's Hospital." he said grimly, after the call-back.

"That is Not Good."

"Just a recording that said it was the hospital, leave a message. I'm calling my parents." He was standing at the foot of the bed. I got up and stood close.

"Mom? Dad?" (The in-laws screen their calls.) "Is anyone there?" He looked grim. "No one's - Ah! There you are! Are you okay? We just got a call from Saint Luke's."

I hugged him and sat down.

"You're right. I'll call Karen."

I stood up. I didn't even think about Karen or her husband, who just had surgery last week. More hugging. More dialing.

"Karen? Are you and Gary okay?"

They were fine.

"Wrong number," Gary finally decided. There should be something that makes it so you CAN'T CALL A WRONG NUMBER FROM A HOSPITAL. Like, you have to enter the number twice or something. We went to the other bed to cuddle. We were there for five minutes, actually cuddling, I'm not being euphemistic or coy. It was Shades of Mom, when you get a phone call that turns life utterly upside down.

Suddenly Gary sat up. "It could have been a Saint Luke's in Kansas City," where his other sister and her family lives. Happily, no, it was a 314 number.

I suggested his boss might be calling him to alert him their office, which is in West County, might have exploded and he was in the hospital and would need Gary to man the Disaster Aftermath, which seriously? Gary would be so good at that. He dismissed my fears, but when we're out today I'm going to make him swing by work. Just to see.

In Which Today I Am Indirectly in the Wall Street Journal and Fortune Magazine

WSJ:Here's my shout out in the Wall Street Journal: The maker of the clinical trial drug I've been testing (FTY720) is going to file for FDA approval. I think it takes 6 months to a year for the FDA to do the final evaluation and interviews and make the decision. And supposedly during that time the maker stocks up on drugs that are soon the be approved. I'm supposed to be on the Extension Phase for the rest of 2010, and then I go off it when/if the drug gets approved. FDA, hear me now, even Satan's Yeast Infection is worth it for this drug. An extra 30% chance of winning on my lottery ticket? Yes. Here's hoping that I have to pay for this stuff with everyone else before the end of the year.

Fortune Magazine:Teddy J was again listed as being a damn good place to work by Fortune magazine. They did not mention the Starbucks in the cafeteria or the frequent free food or the way they get the old group of friends back together. I got a visit from Friend #2 today, she and #4 will be moving in to the same building with #3 and I next month.

Damn, gotta go to bed, gotta be downtown at 8 so I can get two more tests to help progress the drug toward FDA Approval.

Hours Later: I was wondering why I couldn't get to sleep, and I realized: someone might look at the juxtaposition of my two journalistic shoutouts and think I was making a stock suggestion. I am so NOT doing that. I write training. I don't give stock market advice. I am sure if I looked it up there's some fancy disclaimer I could use.

All These Things Are Wrong, and I Am Sorry

• That's a big stuffed teddy bear, there on the right.

 I am ashamed to say that was mine. Poo humor. I am not proud.

• So, I was talking with a friend at work who seems to share my dark sense of humor. I said I was thankful I am not a Haitian News Anchor, because if I had to wake up this morning and report, "There was ANOTHER earthquake in Haiti this morning," I would start to laugh uncontrollably. That's what I do when the going gets rough. When it gets SO bad you think hey, maybe Pat Robertson IS right, that's when there's nothing you can do but laugh. And cry simultaneously. I mean, if I were a Haitian News Anchor I would go off the deep end, because that's how unstable I am. Unstable. Get it? Earthquake? Unstable? Hah! Sob.

• And speaking of Haiti, I just this moment heard Anderson say "The surgeons had no surgical gloves. They couldn't do life-saving surgery because they didn't even have gloves."

So, wait. If I were on the table, ABOUT TO DIE, and a doctor explained to me they could not save my life because I might get an infection and die, there ... I'm afraid there might be words. I might have to use The Tone. Because even given a 90 percent chance I would die, I would say, "So, there's a 10 percent chance I'd live? Sign me up." Were there a 10 percent chance I'd win the lottery, I'd take that too. So I say, do it wrong: drop a pallet or two of water on a crowd, there's some rioting, some die, the rest can live.

And Now On a Very Special Mystery Diagnosis

I love Mystery Diagnosis. When they had a woman on with MS, I did not guess it at all. The teratoma episode: I could watch that over and over. If you've never seen it, this is the formula:

Setup: You meet the patient. Patient experiences symptoms.
Commercial

Recap of everything before the commercial. You can be really sloppy with the TiVO with this show.
New developments. New Symptoms. Patient is mis-diagnosed.
Commercial

Recap of everything before the commercial.
Patient goes to a big city hospital OR a geneticist and is diagnosed correctly.
Patient whines, how it it he or she was not diagnosed correctly?
I yell at the screen either:
    A: "Because NO ONE has Analyze E-Factor Homolymne Syndrome!" or
    B: "Because you presented with freak symptoms. Who gets MS by stepping on a crochet needle?"
Doctor explains that no one has Analyze E-Factor Homolymne Syndrome or that crochets needles are not a typical MS trigger.

So, I bring to you A Very Inappropriate Mystery Diagnosis.

My Madeline

Or, Past Things of Remembrance

Great-aunt Merle was really the sister of my step-grandmother. One summer I was nine and spent a good of time with her in Prairie Hill, Mo. (One hill, one street, one church = Prairie Hill. Seriously. It was a hill.) At the beginning I thought a week with my step-grandma would equal the total of all the one-on-one time I'd spent with my step-father of three years. And I still don't know how I started out with step-grandma and ended up for a week at great-aunt Merle's.

The bait and switch turned out to be interesting for me, since Merle lived in an old family house full of daguerreotypes of dead people and old McGuffey readers. Merle seemed to encourage these solitary pursuits. She did explain that death was the only thing that made people be still enough for a daguerreotype, and if I saw any daguerreotypes of people sitting in chairs? Dead. I had a lot of fun sifting through the daguerreotypes into piles of "Dead" and "Not Dead."

The McGuffey readers were boring, because there are only so many one syllable words. There were more hens and rats and fewer cats and dogs. "See Ben. See Ann. See the rat in the box."

I thought of great-aunt Merle and McGuffey readers when Gary and I were trying to find the Penney's driving around the mall.

Gary: "Where is it! You said it was on this side!"

Me: "No. It's on the other side."

Gary: "You SAID it was past the Dicks! There's the Dicks!"

(God has graced our mall with a Dick's Sporting Goods store. You can imagine.)

Me: Juvenile giggle.

(Gary drove a little more.)

Gary: "Oh! There's the Dicks. This mall has two Dicks! One's a big Dicks and one's a little Dicks." (I don't know if this is true. They might have two signs for Dicks. We have to bellow "DICKS" whenever we see the sign.)

Gary: "I know my uncle Dick is my uncle 'Rick' now. I wonder why this isn't Rick's? And I wonder if they still use 'Dick' and 'Jane' in reading books."

Me: "They don't in McGuffey readers. Too many letters."

Afterward, we went to First Watch for breakfast. I think the 'Dick' conversation with the McGuffey readers combined with my first bite of toast and coffee led me right to the remembrance of what I ate every morning at Merle's. Coffee. Coffee (oh it won't hurt you, just put a lot of cream and sugar in it) and fried toast (I didn't argue about the toast). I've never seen fried toast on the menu at any restaurant, but perhaps I'm too citified.

I was in heaven. (THIS woman never had children AND she GETS me. She knows how I eat! It's like a grilled cheese only with no cheese.)

1) Take thick slice of homemade bread.

2) Fry in butter on one side.

3) Fry in more butter on other side.

4) Serve with coffee.

Merle died at 100, if I recall.

An Unfortunate Post on Martin Luther King Day

How I originally began this post: I couldn't post yesterday because yesterday was Cooking Day, and I cooked so long and so hard my fingers turned to butter.

"What's that from?" I wondered. Then I realized it was from Little Black Sambo.

"Well, can't use that."  Then I did a little research and found that in childhood I had read a proper version, in which the characters were illustrated as Indian instead of plantation slave caricatures.

At some point Mom wanted to donate the box of books marked "For Precious Grandchild" and I saw Little Black Sambo.

"You can't donate that," I said. "It's racist." (I had forgotten that my copy was racist about Indians instead of American slaves. (Pretty sure it's still racist, given that everyone's first name seems to be "Black."))

"Oh, that's stupid," she said, "It's a darling story about a boy and tigers and they run around a tree and turn in to butter."

Had I read my book more closely, I could have responded "Or, ghi, as it is called in India," but Mom was up on her haunches and blazing her Godzilla eyes at me, so I backed down.

(Frankly, the book is very slanted against tigers, if you want to know. Tigers are vain and will wear your shoes on their ears.)

Anne Carries on the Cake Pie Dream

Anne at work sent me this link, where I learned about the CherPumpple.

Three layer cake filled with pie - not pie filled with cake! Revolutionary!

It appears to be three frozen pies cooked while submerged in three box cake mixes.

Another Piekenstein:

 

Oh, Great, Now I Need to Top This

Okay, Gary dialed the bear game up to 11 now. Here's the current bear configuration:

Oh yes, that is the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog with its sharp, nasty, pointy teeth that gnash and gnash. One of the bears IS in its mouth. Short of sewing up little Rocky Horror bustiers and fishnets for the bears I don't know what I can do to top this.

I'd line them up in the fridge but I think it's against the rules to remove them from the ledge. Oh! They could all be nose down in a plate of powdered sugar. Maybe little highballs and syringes. I can see a little tourniquet stretched from a bear smile to a bear arm.

In Which We Also Pile On to Pat Robertson

So, I know evangelist Pat Robertson doesn't deal with catastrophe well. He wants to blame every disaster on humanity's "sins." He said Katrina happened because of the sin, sex and drinking in New Orleans, and 9/11 occurred because America allows abortion.  Today he claimed Haiti was being punished for a centuries old deal with the Devil.

Either he is drunk, which would be fun, or he really believes in circuitous cause and effect. I want the people of Haiti, New York, and New Orleans to blame their woes on Pat. I want Bill Clinton to go down there and tell the Haitians that the earthquake was God's condemnation of this asshole American evangelist. No! I want Pat to know his black heart is to blame for any random thing that has ever happened to anyone, including him.

Effects and How Pat Robertson is the Cause

Pat Robertson has campaigned against Global Warming. Global Warming continues because Pat angers God with his gluttony. Every time Pat has a Snickers God cranks up the thermostat programmed to kick in next summer.

Pat himself lost the 88 Presidential Nomination because he masturbated one too many times in high school.

He went to Yale Law School but failed the bar because he yelled "You NEVER let me do ANYTHING" at his parents once when he was ten. God had to wait a while to take that revenge, but not the 200 years he had to wait to get back at the Haitians.

The Bank of Scotland backed down on a deal Pat was counting on because Pat said Scotland was "a dark land" overrun by homosexuals. Oh. wait. That makes sense. That really happened.

Sometimes his penis fails to become erect when he wants it to. This can also be blamed on the excessive masturbation, and because Mrs. Robertson isn't a hairless young boy, and because sometimes Pat falls asleep without praying. Pat blames the lack of prayer, of course.

It's been unseasonably cold in the U.S. this year, because Pat Robertson has been lazy on the weekends. Mom's pipes are still frozen. I blame Pat.

In 2003 he got prostrate cancer. This actually is because of Islamic terrorists. It was in retribution for Pat  blaming abortion laws for 9/11. Terrorists felt Pat wasn't giving them enough credit. Fittingly, rigid 1950s abortion laws are to blame for Pat Robertson.

Updates

Music Update

The Incestuous Pandas are getting the band back together, baby!

For the first time in months I picked up my acoustic guitar. I sounded beautiful. Slow. But so pretty. And I wondered why I don't play my acoustic every day. It's just like sex, you're so much better if you haven't practiced for a while.

I've noticed the same thing with Gary. If he lays off his drums for a while he is so on fire when he gets back to it.

Sock Off Update

I can't give you the results of the wear and tear tests, but on a pure comfort level the Smartwools are winning hands down. They are compensating for that layer of fat age has worn off my soles.

Bear Update

Phrases

My Favorite Old Phrase
"It'll never show on a galloping pony."
Said by: A friend's mother while we were sewing said friend's wedding gown.
Only, to be fair, we weren't really sewing on the lace appliques as much as smearing them with fabric glue and pounding them on with our little fists.

My Favorite New Phrase
"The juice ain't worth the squeeze."
Said by: The pulmonary technician during my last lung exam.
She was debating if we should run one extra test to reconcile a minuscule aberration. And she decided not to, because as she said so nicely, the effort wasn't commensurate with the result. I've been waiting for weeks to use this sometime. Sadly, the juice has always been worth the squeeze, somehow.

An Old Phrase I Never thought Much About Before
"Lifetime guarantee"
The LeafGuard gutters on Mom's house have clogged, filled with ice and pulled off on the house front. (Bad. It shows on a galloping pony.) But, it was okay, because LeafGuard has a lifetime guarantee. So, I cheerily gave them Mom's address. They said they'd be out soon.

And then I thought, you know, she's not alive. Isn't "alive" a prerequisite for the Lifetime Guarantee?

Happily, the web site says, "The Englert LeafGuard® gutter system is guaranteed not to clog with leaves, pine needles, or  other organic debris as long as you own your home or we'll clean them for free." Luckily, every home I own I has the LeafGuards: my house and Mom's. I can't imagine they'd get particular about who the "you" is connected with each house.

If they are, I'll just pay it, because ... why? Because the juice ain't worth the squeeze.

I am never putting these bears away.

The Only Christmas Decorations I Didn't Clean Up

One Christmas, Mom bought a set of these bears.

I didn't clean them off the ledge when I put away Christmas. So last night I came back and found the Bear Kama Sutra. There's Cubbie Style. The Hanging Vulva. The Smiling Bear.

I'm just glad I didn't put out the Nativity this year.

 

Eddie Izzard and the Sin of Envy

Saturday night I braved the cold and went out to see Eddie Izzard at the Fox. (And by "the cold," I mean the Mini's thermometer read -2 degrees, and by "braved" I mean I'm actually noticing my MS is affected by extreme cold. With the heat, I have to be out in the heat for hours before I get stupid and clumsy. With the cold, I have to be out for ten minutes and I am wiped out for the rest of the day. Gary insists,  "Everyone gets tired when it's cold!" Really? Melded with the bed tired? I ignored the remark because he makes me dinner when I'm that fatigued.)

I went with Friend #1 and Tammi, she of the enviously great hair. We sat in the second-to-last row, and immediately began joking with the very back row. That's why I was tuned in to their frequency and heard one say to her friends "Blah mumble Barenaked Ladies - "

My torso whipped around. "Barenaked Ladies? WE ARE FRIENDS FOR LIFE. Talk to me!"

(Some bands just have friendly fans. Ask Friend #0.75 about Cowboy Mouth fans. They pet her and paw at her and protect her. I had to put my arm around her at once because I thought they were going to absorb her into their collective. MY Friend!)

So, of course talk turned to last year and Steven and the breakup and the Hookup and I said I was too envious of the twenty seven year old banging Steven Page to give an opinion. I've recently noticed that every time I feel like someone intruding in my business it's alway because they are jealous. Jealous of the rocks that I got. It's odd, I've never had anything people can envy before, I don't know how to really deal with it. I even found myself saying pointedly to my husband and friends, "Well, it's none of YOUR business," when I believe that everything is everyone's business. It's just envious people want you to know they would deal with your business so much better than you.

After Eddie makes you wait twenty minutes while you read his Twitter feed (Spunky sent a message that was displayed on the big screen), Eddie Izzard strides on stage like a hot runway model. He has a beard, so he wasn't in full transvestite gear, he just had on jeans and a tshirt and red silk lined glammy opera tails. He strides out, then bounces a bit, then he's good to go.

All very funny, even from the second to last row, and at one point he started in one the ten commandments and pointed out that "Thou shalt not covet they neighbors ass" (or wife, conveniently left out) just wasn't in the same league as the one before, "Thou shalt not kill." And I thought, no, if we didn't covet then people would feel free to talk about their business.

And of course I'm not talking about standard "Your hair looks great, I hate you" or the "You're seeing Eddie Izzard?  I am SO ENVIOUS!" (Big Dot. 1/9/10) It's the combo of envy and judgement that gets me.

I know, I know, Tiger Woods. I think I'm all judgement there, no envy.

At the fox waiting for Eddie izzard

I love the Fox. This is the stained glass on the bathroom ceiling.

Snow. (Unh.) What Is It Good For?

What has it done for me lately?

Snow Day at home. A lot of TeddyJ stayed home today, because Saint Louis had our official first significant snow accumulation. I stayed home too, with my laptop and my Scooba and my lunch of lime tortilla chips.

Dog-Pee Free floor. After the dog asked me the fourth time to let him out, I began to wonder, what is the big appeal of peeing in the snow? Perhaps he doesn't recognize the yard. Maybe he thinks we've moved to a new house with a white yard he must mark.

Leaf Cover. No one knows Mom has the least kempt yard on the street.

Refreshing. The snow reminded me that I live anywhere but Emen-Yay. Did I hear the name of that country enough times today? It was like the tell-tale heart. Ye-MEN! Ye-MEN!

Birthday Reprieve. The KC Contingent of the in-laws will be staying in KC this weekend and not driving through the snowy scenery to celebrate their birthdays. Oh, you say, maybe they could fly instead? Ha. I'm thinking not. See above.

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

Moments later: Because I saw this right after I hit send ... this is what I SHOULD have written.

http://www.blogher.com/what-color-your-labia

The End Times!

Gary had an interesting thing happen at work. Of course, since it happened to Gary it was OUTRAGEOUS! and UNBELIEVABLE! and CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? But I felt it was pretty interesting, even without the extra glaze of Gary on top.

Gary had a Y2K +10 problem. Remember Y2K? When I had to spend New Year's alone because my husband had to gently shepherd his Hewlett-Packard robot girlfriend into the new millennium? Well! Come to find out SOME programmers were slackers and did not test for all the other potential Y2K-like date issues, including the ones that might pop up in 2010. (Not Gary, of course, he's probably tested everything out to 12/31/9999 and even to the rollover on 01/01/10000.)  

So, if your computer began acting wonky on 01/01/2010, you might be in the same situation as Gary and these German ATM users.

If your PC did not wonk, you can go to this fine site to find every other significant date, why it's significant in computer math, and what to fear.

For example, I remember learning (and using) the algorithm that states that if a year is divisible by 4, it's a leap year. Well, that handy rule works great from 1900 to 2100, when it seems there's supposed to be a leap day, a February 29, and I can tell you I know of one Excel spreadsheet that's going to crap out on that day. (And if you've ever played with the Julian dates in Excel, know that Dec 21, 27374357 is 10,000,000,000, or Julian date ten billion.)

The list doesn't mention 2525 (if man is still alive), but it mentions that the Jewish Y6K happens on September 29, 2239, at sunset. If we make it past the Mayan end times on Dec 21, 2012, then set your TiVos for Oct 13, 3173, when there is "Another Mayan Long Count end; world re-created."

If you've got geek, go geek out on that link.

New Year Bullets

• So, the plumber says nothing is broken yet. He couldn't get it unfrozen, though, so I need to set up a space heater and wait on it a few days, then see if it has healed itself.

• I need to call shenanigans on Gloria Borger's hair. I remember her on Washington Week in Review. This is her hair:

I was hypnotized by that hair. I have thin hair, and her hair was structural. This is her hair now:

Gloria has flattened her hair. Her best feature, gone. Plus, her last two interviews have been like this:

Interviewee: Blah Blah Blah.
GB: ARE you SERIOUS? Because what I'm hearing you say is 'Blah blah blah!'
Interviewee: Blah Blah Blah.
GB sits back, speechless.

• I bought a 12 pound pork loin roast (Schnucks, 2 bucks a pound). The best part was slapping it down on the belt in front of the cashier. He scanned it and whomped it down in front of the bag boy. We all shared a moment. Now I'm hunting for pork roast recipes, unless I truly can just rub it with oil and roast it.

Mysteries of the House

Look! It's foreshadowing!

"Make sure you set the thermostat in an unoccupied house high enough so the pipes don't freeze. because if they DO then they BURST and there will be a FLOOD."

So when I checked out Mom's house last night and found I had neglected this fall to turn on the heat, I turned on all the faucets. Nothing came out the kitchen faucet or the master bath. White sediment and water belched out of the hall bath. The washing machine in the center of the house was fine. So some of the pipes must be frozen.

Mom's house is on a slab foundation, so I am very vague on where these pipes actually are. In my mind there is a big pipe directly under the center of the house buried in the cement to which all other pipes connect. I know that's not how it is, it can't be, but the house wears its sidewalk like a tight collar, so the pipes can't be on the outside at all. They have to be in the wall, but I know mom had pipes replaced yet the paneling was never touched. It's magic. It's a mystery. (It's like the "middle rack" in my oven. I have four racks. "Place casserole on middle oven rack."  I don't have five racks. If I had five I'd have a middle rack. Hate that.)

Here's another mystery for you homeowners. Right now tell me where the water shutoff is in your house. "Somewhere in the basement" does not count. You must picture it in your mind's eye. Hah! You don't know, do you? I don't know where mine is, either. Worse, I realized tonight I don't know where Mom's is. I realized that right after I realized I'd left the heat on at Mom's last night, and in between those two realizations I realized frozen water is solid, while warm water is liquid and pouring out of my Mom's no doubt burst plumbing.

Gary offered to come along and help out with the flood. (This was brave, given that last night we found a fat tiny mouse. He died in his sleep on his belly with all his legs splayed out like the DaVinci guy. I saw him first, and gaped in horror until Gary came by and screamed like a woman.)

We came in through the garage and found the "turny-thing" (valve?) and were filled with hope. There was no sound of rushing water, and this valve even had 4-inch letters indicating which direction was ON and OFF. (Lefty-loosey righty-tighty, I say.)

This was a red herring. Inside the house, where there was no flood and even one sink that had healed itself, Gary poked around looking for the main water line.

Was it in my old bedroom?

Nope. It was in the laundry room. How did we know?

 

There's a label! "SHUTDOWN VALVE MAIN" Seriously, I am going to spend next weekend tagging every valve in my house. The plumber's coming to Mom's tomorrow and if he says he put that tag there I'll kiss him.

Spunky Got all Diva and Demanded to Do a Year-End Wrapup Meme

Spunky took the quiz this year.

1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before?

Tweeted. Follow me: SpunkyLabia. I'm pretty quiet, though. I value my privacy.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I resolve to remain youthful.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

A friend of The Appendage had a baby named Andrew, and Kate from the Cruise had a baby on New Years Eve.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

I am surrounded by death. Dead skin cells.

5. What countries did you visit?

I went to Grand Stirrup Cay in the Bahamas. I got the best pedicure of my life before that cruise. Lasted two months.

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?

My own damn way. I'm Spunky, damnit.

7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

The Appendage didn't wear shoes, and then she put lobsters on the floor on April 10 - LobsterSlaughter!

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

I bested Jammies in her weak attempt at usurping my International Toe Porn Superstar title.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Spunky does not fail, but The Appendage is beating herself up over forgetting to turn the heat on at her Mom's. There's no flood, but the water doesn't work on one wall.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

The Appendage caught Wild Boar Flu, but that just meant more rest for me.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Possibly the Smartwool socks. They seem to be winning the Sock-off.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

The Big Toe. The pinky keeps trying the measure up, but really, it's not even half the toe the Big Toe is.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

The Appendage is back to not washing her pajamas again.

14. Where did most of your money go?

Cashmere socks, baby.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

The Sock-off. It's just like a clinical trial. but for the feet!

16. What song will always remind you of 2009?

"Call and Answer."

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: (a) happier or sadder? (b) thinner or fatter? (c) richer or poorer?

Fat, happy and rich. Not as fat as The Appendage. Luckily she doesn't carry any of her weight in her toes.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Exfoliation and moisturization.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Walking through a parking garage.

20. How did you spend Christmas?

In bed.

21. Did you fall in love in 2009?

Nope, just held steady.

22. What was your favorite TV program?

Mystery Diagnosis. The Best Mystery Diagnosis EVER was just on - "The Woman Who Went Crazy." It had everything. Well, except toes.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Spunky does not hate. Spunky pities.

24. What was the best book you read?

I am an International Toe Porn Superstar. I cannot read.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

The BASS is 33% easier to play than the guitar.

26. What did you want and get?

Lots of new socks.

27. What did you want and not get?

I am Spunky. I get everything I want. Except for World Peace. World Peace and a new stove. World Peace and a new stove and new glasses.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?

I don't go to the cinema. If I could see from my vantage point, I would have tried to see "La Danse: The Paris Opera Ballet"

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

Twenty-three and a half in toe years.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

A professional footrub.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?

Daring - some greens, some florals.

32. What kept you sane?

Toezac.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Angelina Jolie. She wears her superstardom well.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?

I'm a toebagger.

35. Who did you miss?

Sadly, on the 31st, Bill Powell, American golf course designer, died of a stroke. (Stifles giggle.)

36. Who was the best new person you met?

I met Erin G and Freddie and palmed off some used Crocs on them.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009.

The older you are, the less protective fat you have on the soles of your feet. Painful, but true.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

"I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand
Not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand
Life is good today. Life is good today. "

I Which I Expose My Booze

My liquor is stored in a wine rack on the top shelf of my pantry. At times the number of bottles exceeds the slots and the Baileys must sit next to the cereal, which bothers me. (Mom said Technical Father would breakfast on popcorn with beer poured on it like cereal. Or (it occurs to me) perhaps I misunderstood "He had popcorn and beer for breakfast." Is the popcorn-cereal combo common?)

So when the booze invades the food I must do something, and that means purging. I wish to GOD alcohol would expire. (If you are telling me to dump anything older than a year, I will tell you Mom kept an open bottle of scotch for about at least 20 years.) Instead I dumped what was in these bottles:

From right to left: Curvy bottle was some nasty blueberry stuff, which I bought when people were coming over for martinis. The Ciroc was almost empty, as was the tequila. I bought the Pimms for a tea years ago and never touched it, and it was just taking up too much real estate. The Yellowtail bottle was completely empty, which means the muslim children drank it or else it dripped onto the rest of the pantry. The Ansiette is the last of the Inheritance Liquor, but it tastes like licorice, and short of alcohol that tastes like Ipecac I can't think of anything more nauseous. And, the reason I went left to right, the Bacardi was a full bottle duplicate of another full bottle.

I felt a little bad pouring the full bottle of Bacardi (it's rum, right?) down the sink, but then I realized how much alcohol would be going down the sink in other homes on 01/01/10, and I felt better.

This is what I'm left with. This is too much liquor, isn't it? It's mostly visitor liquor. That's why Mom kept the Usher scotch in the top left corner for years: in case someone came by "in a state" and needed "a nip."

Some of it is cooking liquor (Sake and Mirin and Port) but most of it is just because there's been some crazy cocktail I wanted to make. I'm really just supposed to have gin, bourbon, scotch, vodka, whiskey, right?