Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

VALENTINE'S DAY ARRIVES AT LAST!

The Stereo System, as told in a Series of Quotes by Gary. 

Friday

"Everything's cabled up. Some of it even works. I want credit for the cabling."

He takes two dark chocolates from the darker chocolate twin of the box he got me for Valentine's.

"Bleh! These cremes are awful!"

Saturday

"Listen to this, Ellen! You know how I haven't touched the speaker system for two days because the tiVO wasn't working? Look at this! If I jiggle the cable it makes sound now!"

"Come on, tivO, wake up baby ... wake up .. fuck. (Yells) TIVO'S DEAD. Let's see if the Xbox is working."

Roaring sound.

"Holy crap! Xbox is working fine. Well, the old XBox is. Let see what the new one is like."

"What? Fuck! I can't get the XBox to work. Well, let me look at the manual."

Comes in to my little room to talk to me about the XBox 360.

"Well, the manual says [droning Gary white noise] and then I should what? What? That makes no sense. Ellen? Ellen? This makes no sense."

"Oh! I picked up the old XBox manual! Well, that won't do me any good."

"Why would I do that?"

"Ellen?"

"I've got the old manual here, that's why it isn't working."

Sunday

"Ta-Da! TIVO WORKS! The back cable was just hanging out."

"Fuck! The back right speaker doesn't work. There's no point in having surround sound if the back right speaker doesn't work."

"It's not the speaker hon, it's the cable in the attic. But that makes no sense. Why would a cable go bad just from being in the attic?"

"No, really, we have to have a back right speaker. I'll need to research wireless speakers."

"Well, the internet says that to put in wireless speakers I'll need to have an electrical source in the attic."

"Well, I don't want to either." (Heavy crushed sigh.) "But it looks like we haven't had that speaker for a long time anyway. " (Sound of dreams dying.) "I guess I'll just push everything back now that it's all working."

Which he did, and he swept up a little! It looks so lovely again. I can see the floor again!  I love my present!

Plus the new high-def everything is phenomenal.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Remember when I decided to change jobs because I'd been in the same job for 20 years and felt it was time for a change?

Well the new job requires I pass a certification test in the first two years. I began studying, and I took the practice test for the first of 20 lessons. I got a 68. I. Failed. I failed the test. After I studied!  I thought I understood all that material. Granted I didn't have it memorized, and I tried to do it from memory.

So I tried again. This time I really studied hard. I wrote out all my notes and studied them and then referred to my notes during the test.

I failed. Worse. A 66 this time.

I m concerned because these are great study materials. If I get a 90% on the practice tests then I'm pretty set to at least pass the real test. I just didn't realize I wouldn't be able to get a 70%, much less a 90%.

And I know, this is adversity, this is a challenge, I can do this. You know how I'm going to do this? I'm taking this practice test again, open book this time, and if I fail I'm going to take 3 hours tomorrow just to listen to all the on-line materials again. I just need a success at this point.

That reminds me, I'm making babka again tomorrow.

I told my brother I flunked my first two practice tests and he said, "Welcome to failure!" So, hello Land of Failure. Here we study all day and eat babka.

Bad Show

Sullen. Sullen pouty babies. Did you SEE the US Women's hockey team at the medal ceremony?

I reminded me of when Nancy Kerrigan won the silver medal, or rather lost the gold medal to Oksana Baiul. Suddenly she was broadcast live and uncut and a little snarky. So snarky I bought it when I heard that the camera team was just sick of her. 

Perhaps the NBC camera team is just sick of every one of the women on the US Hockey team, because they showed each impassively getting a silver medal, then either: scowling, or glaring into space, or throwing a face tantrum. A face tantrum that said "MY GOLD MEDAL MINE MINE." It made me think that I might wake up tomorrow to news that someone had tried to break their knees before the game.

If you didn't see it, you may miss it forever, because I don't think Our US Pride Machine is going to let the photos circulate. But here is one on Getty of them before they get their medals. And then after the medal. And then after they get their broccoli while the crowd is shouting "U!S!A!U!S!A!"  just to get someone on Team Bershon to smile.

And don't even mention the hulking USA player who shoved that Canadian player right down on to the ice. Just tacky. Nancy Kerrigan tacky.

Nature Gone Wild

Do you know why the whales at Seaworld are eating their trainers? I'll tell you. It's all this talk about the Snowicane.

Think of the birds and dogs escaping to high land before the Christmas tsunami. The birds and dogs could run. How would a killer whale feel, trapped at Seaworld, sensing there was a Snowicane about to hit the continent? You'd get edgy too. Then you might eat someone. Just to relieve your stress. Like chocolate.

I have great sympathy for the killer whale, because I have been jacked around by my trainer today. Remember how I've been wanting to go to Toronto? Gary was at a stereo system impasse today, and suggested "Hey, didn't you want to go to Toronto this weekend? We could fly to Buffalo and then drive to Toronto and it would be cheaper. Look into that."

"Milk it!" I thought, "This is to make up for the still-unfinished Valentines project." And I made plans, but luckily no money changed hands routers, because he soon said:

"Wait. Isn't it supposed to snow up there this weekend?" 

And damn, I checked, and there was the Snowicane (or, alternatively, Tsnownami), which shut down our travel plans. Bah. I'm even more stir-crazy now. I could eat someone.

P.S. Cysnowclone. Snowister. Snowphoon.

P.P.S. Tornadsnow.

P.P.P.S. Snowpernova / Supersnowva.

Crockpot

The Whomp-there-it-is Pork Loin was parceled out in thirds: one third was the ambitious rolled Emmenthal loin. That was a disaster, followed by the less ambitious garlic and rosemary loin, which then was remixed as the reliable Cream of Mushroom simmered pork, which was Fed to the Dog. So, this last third will be slumming it as Crockpot Pulled Pork with Bottled BBQ Sauce.

My crockpot has never been used to cook something while I'm out of the house, because, Mom asks, do you want the house to burn down when you're at work?  (Sorry, Shania.) No, I don't. So I do my crockpot cooking rarely and on the weekend.

But the thick hunk of loin was still rock hard on Sunday morning that's what she said, and after you cook one even partially-frozen turkey you don't make that mistake twice. But waiting for a full refrigerator thaw would put me out to the beginning of the week.

"Other people use their crock pots during the day," I thought. Then I noticed the Ghost of Mom by my elbow. "Buuuut - I would NEVER leave the house when any appliance was on."

"Good girl," Mom said. "Now get your hair out of your eyes."

"Wait -  I bet I could turn the crock pot on at ten p.m., then have it cook while I sleep!"

"Sure," she said. "Do that. It'll be nice to see you again. Of course, you'll have burned to death in your sleep, at least. Don't think I didn't see you leave the room when you made that PieCake earlier tonight."

"I think I'll be okay cooking it at night. I've leaving this in the fridge until it thaws, then I'll cook it tomorrow night."

"Well, that's just crazy. By the way, you haven't sold my house yet? How hard is that? It's not like I made you skate in the Olympics the week after I died."

I Speak Truth to Canada

One. What Have You Done to Tom Brokaw?

Look! I found a photo of Tom's ensemble. Brown and light blue and Blue! And yellow and a matching pocket scrap.

 

Now tonight he's in a black jacket and grey turtleneck. I think Air Canada lost his luggage.

Two. I Don't Care if Woman Convicts Tied them Together With Woven Goose Down.

It's broccoli.

My One Interaction With Other Humans Today

I woke up when the phone rang.

"This is the Vietnam Veterans Association. We wanted you to know we'll have a truck on your street -"

"Oh, no, we have no stuff for you. We haven't cleaned. In months. We've been hoarding."

Then he laughed and I went back to sleep.

At the End of This One Gary Winds Up Off the Hook for Valentines Day

This all started sometime last week, when I thought I might like to visit Toronto and watch the Art of Time Ensemble / Steven Page concert. "Naaaaaahhhhhh," I sighed, I'm good. Sure. Fine. Content.

Two days ago I reached for my new CD (Art of Time Ensemble with Steven Page) and by the third song I was ready to walk to Toronto on my knees. What's $500 to see one concert? And as Gary pointed out, to see BNL-1? (Gary's new name for Steven, since BNL is now BNL-4.)

But when we multiplied $500 times two, it just didn't work out any more, and with the two new speakers he had set up it was "just like being there!" And no, not, but still, we weren't going. We are boring.

That's why he agreed to at least leave the house today and go to the City Museum instead of finishing the stereo system, which "would have taken [him] half an hour" and "just needs a few more cables run." And here, the one day of the last six months he was motivated to work on it and I was dragging him off to have a life.

So it was about three o'clock today as I was climbing to the fourth floor that I remembered that last Friday, I slid on the snow and all 250 pounds crashed down on my left knee. At three thirty I remembered I have balance issues as I stumbled up steps in the dark in the cave area.Then at four o'clock I remembered last month I was starting to develop plantar fasciitis. But, generally, I was in good shape. Perhaps it was the adrenaline from being at the terrifyingly dangerous City Museum.

Slice of Irony.Staff yelling at children running. "Don't run!"

AS OPPOSED to "Don't jump in the pit with the alligator," or "Don't go down the 110 degree slide" or "Don't hurl yourself into the open pit of flame by the front door."

So, when we got back Gary was too tired to work on the stereo and I said, "It's okay. Here. Have one of my chocolates."

Max Money Meme

(A preface. NOTHING was accomplished on the stereo system tonight. I even ate candy in front of him.)

BNL announced part of their summer tour today, and there are about four planned stops I can comfortably drive to in a day: Tulsa, Davenport, Nashville, Louisville. And it struck me, I'll spend $300 on a hotel when I get there - but spending $300 on a flight and going cheap on the hotel is UNthinkable.

So there must be a meme for that somewhere. What is the maximum you would spend if you had unlimited money? Like $100M. What are your limits for these items? What discrepancies do you have, like Clarice's' expensive purse and cheap shoes?

Hotel room:$500. I've never done it, but I can't imagine hitting $500 USD.

Couch: I saw a couch for $2000 once, and I thought it was madness. But if money were not an object, yes, I'd spend $2K.

Socks: $65. I'm not saying it was right, I'm saying I'd pay it. But even if I had $100M, cashmere socks should really max out at $20.

Scarf: $118.

Shoes: No more than $100, unless they were some type of medicinal shoes. Or magic dancing shoes.

Purse: $250. I've paid more than that before, but never again.

Car: $25,000. I know people with as much money invested in the cars in their garage as the asking price for their house. And you can get a car with seat warmers for that 25K.

House: $3.5 million. Or, I could spend 11 years in a hotel at $500 a night.

Stove: $5,000. I don't even know if they sell $5,000 stoves.

Stereo system: working stereo system? Priceless.

Refrigerator: $500. No ice-maker, water spigot, dual doors, or wood finish. Reach in. Is it cold? Sold!

Flight to anywhere in the US: $300.

Flight to Europe: $1000

Concert: Okay, $250, if it is a legendary act, AND the act is playing St. Louis, AND I can make it through the swarms of flying pigs. (Not much legend love, except for the time the Beatles played at Busch Stadium). Yes, I think $250. Sorry, Paul McCartney.

BNL Concert: Fifth row center? $250.

This list reminds me of the motto I learned early: "Spend your money on things that last, like a vacation, instead of things that don't, like a refrigerator."
 

It's Valentine's Day EVERY Day!

Nope. Speakers still not done. He's still working on it. I'm still eating the chocolate.

Though I'm eating the chocolate sparingly, soon I'll be composed of only fat and sweetness. It matches my fat sweet face. When I started blogging 5 years ago, I weighed 190. I'm 5'8." Now I'm almost 250.

Most of it has come on in the last year, AND, mind you, it has caused international concern. The German pharma company that makes my experimental drug called my clinical trial nurse so she could ask me, "Why are you gaining all this weight?"

Why? Because I've been fat and I've been thin, and fat is waaaaay better.

• Stately matron matches my personality better than Jessica Rabbit.
• I don't like my body, but I never liked my body. I was 110 at one time. Hated my ass. Hated my thighs. Now I'm quite content with my thighs. They are quite in proportion with my round belly and thick calves. My broad face widens my natural pinhead.
• I no longer think I'm being "bad" when I eat. Gotta eat. Sometimes, gotta eat chocolate.

The only time I am disgusted with myself is when I'm getting ready for bed Sunday night, when my hair's flat and greasy and I'm spotty and bloated and covered in crumbs. But, if I were 110? I bet I'd hate myself just the same.

Plus, I had dinner with the Heartless Cows and one of them is delighted I weigh more than she does.

No, It Isn't Set Up Yet, Day 3

An open letter to my husband.

Dear Gary,

Hi. How are things there in the bathroom? Good to hear.

You know, sometimes when a man can't meet a woman's needs, the woman needs to take matters into her own hands and just take care of herself. Let's say a man has lived with a woman for 25 years and still doesn't know that she hates cream-filled chocolate. And then offers it to her and says, "I know I should have picked out a selection just for you but this was already made up." AND then refrigerates the bonus chocolate-covered strawberries because HE likes them cold.

But that's okay, because I know how to take care of myself.

Oh, yes, that is a double ribbon the Bissinger's ladies gave me because they were so moved by my story of the husband who still hasn't set up the stereo system. One (with a boyfriend who didn't clean yard waste off the driveway for 18 months) said I should follow my plan and eat it all by myself, yet still parse out one raspberry - flavored dark chocolate "bear claw" for you, for when you finish the stereo system.

See it down there in the bottom left? Doesn't it look good? You know I won't eat yours, but I'll eat at least one a day of the rest until the stereo is set up. You know you will never find this hidden box. (No, I didn't hide it in the stereo system.)

Skating with Gary

No, it isn't hooked up yet.

However, there's a tv in my room and we've been watching figure skating, live, interspersed with promos for "The Marriage Ref," which sounds like a network slap in the face of the fly-over states. I'd like to jump ahead to the SNL parody, in which smirking midwesterners sit on a panel and judge the marriages of Jerry Seinfeld and Alec Baldwin.

Gary has invented a new ice dancing move: the Vaginal Presentation, and he comments every time he sees it.

There is the Backward Vaginal Presentation:

 

The Side Vaginal Presentation:

.. and the most common, the Forward Vaginal Presentation, which I cannot find a photo of from this year, but here's Sascha Cohen demonstrating:

 

It's like a frat over here. I have completely lost control.

Valentine's Day

Well, let's face it, if he'd put together the speakers he'd have proved himself whipped. (Just so it's clear, not "Toby," but "Kunta Kinte.")  He did make a lot of progress, but not so much progress I can use President's Day to clean house and put everything right again. He completed the entire demolition phase.  So, now the TiVo records - we think, we see the red light. 

Instead, I got two boxes of chocolates and this lovely card:

 

Sigh, I feel special. You know, it is signed, I could call it in and get a sports vacation in Vegas...
   

Tantric Wanderlust and Other Bullets

• Well, I'm better now. There will evidently be another Barenaked Ladies cruise next February. BNL and Guster will be there, obvious band tension will not.
Twitter is good at putting the fine point on the Sword of Damocles overhead:

"EEEE!!!!" "SQUEEEEEE" "CRUISE!" (Random people shot at) "EEEEE!"

• Similarly, I'm about to top tragedy with a dollop of frivolity. Did you see the beginning of the Olympic coverage? I have been searching in vain all day for an image of Hot Mess Tom Brokaw. I can find you all kinds of images and horrific video of the luger's death, but none of Tom in that unspeakable matchy-matchy tie and kerchief and blue shirt and vivid jacket. Heads up to Gofugyourself, leave Fashion Week and get out to Vancouver.

• How's the speaker system coming? Gary just came in and gave me an unsolicited footrub, that's how it's coming.

• I woke up Friday and thought, "I don't have time to run off to Toronto, I've got stuff to do." I have to do the taxes and tidy up Mom's estate and make plans to venture north to see the Northern Lights some time this year.  Mainly, I have to help Mac the Dog plan his parents' 25th wedding anniversary party, and he only has four months. Ideas?

Wanderinabilitytomaintainerection

For a few hours tonight my wanderlust built until it almost overcame me and I left Gary for a weekend (Feb 27) to run off to Toronto. This is how close I came.

 

Yeah, I know, but that's USD with flight and 3 days 2 nights hotel and tax. And the hotel has "Le" right in the name. (The negative reviews? "Bed was too soft," and several others that suggested the reviewers didn't appreciate age and patina.)  

Oh, and I did this too:

 

See, there's Michele and Samantha and Jody and Willow and all the cruisers. Fun people. Fun. And there I am on the right under "Maybe Attending."

And then I went and cuddled with Gary on the couch and lost my wanderwood. I don't know why, but having it within my grasp made my interest fade.

Wanderlust

When you are a child and bored, you pick a fight with a family member.

Bored teenagers daydream about car crashes and school massacres.

Bored adults go on vacation, and this takes care of both the family conflict and physical danger needs of the bored.

(I can't say I'm bored as much as I am content. Things are in a nice routine at home: one half hour of cuddling and catching up, ninety minutes of dinner and tv, one hour of alone Mad Men /Stargate time, one hour of alone PC time. I won't go on.)

Since I'm not one of you Yankees who got the God-given change of scenery this week, I need to get a new outlook some other way.  And that means travel. And that means checking the Barenaked Ladies tour schedule.

Out of perversity they will be touring Canada when it is cold, then touring the US when it is hot, and I suppose plush seats and air conditioning do not rock.

I've never been south of the equator, and I understand it's warm down there right now. I want to look out the window and see either flowers or five feet of snow. And it's President's Day on Monday, and I imagine they'll open the Washington airports Friday.

This is sad. WanderLUUUUUUUUST.

I Am So Loved.

Last September, Gary pulled apart the stereo system and bought all kinds of new cables and components. And then we came down with the Wild Boar Flu.

He never put it back together, because he preferred to fantasize about how good it was going to sound.

I never followed your advice and started plugging things in randomly, because I thought of how I might feel if Gary started messing with one of my projects. That, plus there's an unwritten rule I don't clean anything up in that room until the stereo's set up.

Soooooo ... now it's been almost half a year, and here's the state of the stereo system:

Cabinets all cattywampus, cords hanging from the chair to the hearth to the corner, EXPOSED WIRES MRS. CRAWFORD, EXPOSED WIRES.

So he has promised that for Valentines Day he will Finish The Stereo System. Will it happen? Place your bets, folks, place your bets.

Breaking News: Queen Mum is Still Dead

Sigh. For those in mourning, the countdown to the two-year anniversary of a parent's death is when you step back and say, as I did at lunch, "Shit. That was hard. But it's ov - "

Over? No, it's not. But miserable though it was, I don't want it to be over. There are stacks.

Stack #1
A stack of Mom's letters has moved like a glacier from the top of my closet to the top of my sewing box. The letters on the very top are to us kids from my Technical Grandparents and refer to me as "Em."  Ellen Marie. Never caught on.

The next set down in the stack are letters from Mom to the Tech. Grandparents. The top one of those caught my eye this morning and I peeled off the others to peek at it. "This will be the last personal letter I write to you," and then she goes on to say, and I paraphrase, "I'm tired of you telling me I have to work on this marriage and an affair isn't really that meaningful and I tried and he didn't." I didn't read any more.

I hadn't read the stack up till now because the stack is finite, and when I've read it all there will be no more of Mom's letters to read. Now I don't want to read the stack because I'll go through her pain vicariously, which you all know is the real reason I didn't have children.

Stack #2
Dave's coming out Tuesday to truck the living room and office furniture back to New Mexico. (And I did say, "See you next Tuesday!" last time he called. He guffawed.) The files had to come out of the office file cabinet, and those all sitting on my kitchen table, waiting to be culled through. Mostly taxes, receipts, every warranty for every purchase, with some interesting treasures. Dizzy Dean's photo autographed for my Dad. Dozens of family photos. And an "Ellen-young" "Ellen-teen" and "Ellen-adult" file.

Stack #3
Mom cleared hundreds of books out of her house in the years before she died. So any book that's still there must have some great importance, right? I didn't realize that until we moved books out of the office bookcase and I almost tossed The Essential Earthman - THE ANNOTATED Essential Earthman. Mine Mine Mine, as are all other books all mine.

Sadly, I have to negotiate space for these stacks with Gary. I know, he's trying to keep me off the hoarding path. But when all the stacks are gone, done are all one-sided conversations with Mom. And you know how I love one-sided conversations.

Babka O'Reilly

Superbowl Babka. Less flour: lighter, but the swirls are almost gone.

And I still don't know which Who song IS Baba O' Reilly.

No one seems to share my love for the dog collar superbowl commercial.

See the lameitude? This is my brain, this is my brain on Tostitos and dip.

UPDATED: Live Blogging The International Incident

10:54 A.M. Saturday.

Earlier this week the post office left a pink slip on our door to alert us we have express mail we have to sign for. "Good!" Gary said, "It's those Leave it to Beaver DVDs I ordered for Mom and Dad." He signed the slip and put it back on the door.

Yesterday the Post Office ignored the signed slip, gave us another slip that added two clues: we had to come in and sign for the package, and the sender of the package was "China."

"No!" Gary said, "That DVD web site was American, and they had an FAQ where they explained the American laws that made it so they could reproduce these unreleased copies of Leave it to Beaver."

So we are dressing to go to the Post Office. Updates later.

Updates:====================

We had to sign this form, then leave it because the Post Office said, "Customs took our copy." Do we fear Customs? No!

Of course, we had to take them to the in-laws to see if they were actually in English, because the hand-numbering on the disks did not inspire confidence.

 

I worried June would say, "Ward, 我担心，比弗."

But nope, they were as Beavery as Beaver could be, all the way down to the TVLand icon in the lower right corner.

And though the web site and its FAQ tells us they're legit, it almost doesn't matter, because unless we go with every season of Beaver we'll have to return to more of the modern series. Like Frasier. Or, as Willma sputters, "PORN!" (Frasier gets it on a LOT in the later seasons.)

Of course, today's episode of Leave it to Beaver showed the kids promising to take a bath, then just running the water and dampening the towels. "Is that funny? That teaches kids to lie! Don't you think?" Gary assured his mother he never did that when he was a child. I'm really worried she's going to hate the later episodes ("PORN!") when Wally starts liking girls.

One brand down

Wigwam socks are first to produce a hole. On a related note $65 a pair cashmere socks were first to get lost. And that's $32.50 a sock.

Don't Do This to Your Vagina at Home

@Polyester_Angel re-tweeted* a fine article : The 6 Weirdest Things Women Do to Their Vaginas

I saw the headline and started making my own list. 1) Hammer tampons up there right after puberty 2) Put carrots up there right after puberty 3) Lose tampons up there (everyone's got a story) 4) Put Hershey's kisses up there and then they do NOT melt and do NOT come out easily (everyone's got a story) 5) Wash them with something too harsh, like Irish Spring 6) Spray them with perfume (ow) or FDS** (Marcia has a story).

But No! This is the list.

1. Problem: Your Vagina Smells Bad  /  Solution: Vaginal Deodorant 

2. Problem: Your Vagina is Dirty  /  Solution: Douching 

3. Problem: Your Vagina is Too Loose  / Solution: Vaginal Rejuvenation 

4. Problem: Your Vagina is Ugly   /  Solution: Labiaplasty  

5. Problem: Your Vagina Tastes Bad   /   Solution: Vagina Mints 

6. Problem: Your Vagina is the Wrong Color  /  Solution: Vaginal Bleaching and Dying 

I'm pretty mad after reading this article. However, I'm torn between loyalty to my sex and the realization there is a great untapped opportunity here:

7. Problem: Your Vagina Sounds Bad /  Solution: Vaginamonica

The Vaginamonica would be positioned at the cervix, like a diaphragm, where it would react to changes in vaginal air pressure by sounding different notes on essentially a harmonica. ***

Excellent article though. An excerpt: "[Use] ...any time your vagina isn't as dry as a British sitcom."

------------------------------------------------

*I don't know if this is the correct APA citation style for a re-tweet.

** Feminine Deodorant Spray

*** Of course, it would be easier to plant one of those microchips they use for the musical cards on the g-spot, then one poke there and you could play a cheery tune. Or, whatever tune you want. Well, except for Beatles tunes. So, no It Won't Be Long or Fixing a Hole or Why Don't We Do It in the Road or Come Together.

Talking to My Imaginary Enemies

Yesterday, Gary had one of his imaginary conversations wherein he adds words to an existing conversation.

I said, "I can return your Blackberry to you if we get together at lunch at that place you always go, next to the hairstylist," and Gary in his mind added, "... you know, the fusion tapas IceKitchen place that is NOWHERE NEAR my hairstylist and would be completely irrelevant and inconvenient?" So that's why I waited at Pastries of Denmark while he waited at IceKitchen. You ask why we didn't just call each other? Zero points for Reading Comprehension.

On the other hand, my most recent imaginary conversation happened at eight:something this morning. I was brushing my teeth. NPR was in the background referencing the Christmas tsunami. I imagined Gary and I on that deck from the famous video, along with a mother who was encouraging her children who were trapped in a nearby tree. ImaginGary said, "Well that tree's going to get swept away. Those kids are goners."

I snapped, "Thanks, All-knowing Voice of Doom. Why didn't you warn us there was a TSUNAMI coming?"

Yesssssss. Burnnnnn! If Gary and I are ever in a tsunami I am prepared for his negativity.

Now, a few days ago I was suppressing just as much anger on my way in to work, and I was thinking about a "team" project in which there is no "I" except for "I seem to be doing an unequal amount of the work." Not true at all, but it's how I imagined it that morning. I imagined a coworker coming up and asking if I could help him with his share. In my mind I answered helpfully, "You know, I have a technique for getting a lot of the work done relatively quickly. Perhaps it will help you. It's called - " my imaginary voice turned icy - "Shut Up and DO It."

My Work Husband (who is real, not Imaginary) is head of the project and snorted, purple, when I told him of my imaginary conversation. Let me be clear, I didn't actually use the withering imaginary comment ON anyone. 

Of course, Work Husband went down to lunch without me and shared my comment with everyone, only he couldn't do the withering delivery because he was again purple and snorting. So I think he just told my team, "So then she said, 'Just shut up and do it,' and it was so funny the way she said it." I don't know if they thought it was funny. I'm imagining not.

Imaginary conversations. Keep them in your head.

Six! How many is Siiiix...

One week until the full Ex-Elliot band gets back together at TeddyJ.

Two months till Chuck Berry at the Pageant, where he has no control over the bathrooms.

Three months until Spring.

Four times I have had to cook and tweak and augment this current pot of beef stew.

5G, my favorite episode of Mad Men so far.

Six Days until I get to see  "HOARDERS: BURIED ALIVE."  I was promised "HOARDERS: BURIED ALIVE" tonight. But I was given "Medical Incredible." The TivO is mistaken. No one is buried alive. Bastards. Granted, people have odd skin diseases and a girl had her leg severed by a plane, but my mouth was set for hoarding to the point of death. I assume it's about those brothers in New York who were eventually crushed by the hoard.

Damn.