Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

The Rule of Threes

Some time this afternoon, the normal department silence was broken by repeated wails of:

"Oh no!"

"I KNOW!"

"I loooved him!"

"Who died?"

"Davy Jones."

"Who is Davy -"

"AHH AHH! Look at her! She doesn't even know who Davy Jones is! So young! You're a child! DAVY JONES. The MONKEES."

Then old women would try to sing Daydream Believer without knowing the words, and young women would indulge them.

Then, from someone else, 'What about Davy from the Monkees?"

"Davy Jones died!"

"Oh no! I loooved him!"

 Later, Marcia came by my cube. "There's two," she said significantly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Two. First, Whitney ..."

"Oh! You're right, Whitney, then Davy. So we need look at who's old and has a name ending in 'Y'."

Her eyes widened. "Oh! Is that how it works?"

"No. I just made that up."

But that would give so much order to the universe. Unfortunately, you know what that would mean ....

 
RIP, Betty

Goodie

Heads up, fans of morbid tv. I have a new favorite show: Curious and Unusual Deaths.

Every episode: three real-life deaths. Curiously! For example, in the one episode I saw:

• Man dies in a few inches of water because he went outside in the cold to feed his cat.  (I would do this.)
• Man dies because the put his lava lamp on the stove to heat it up. (I would do this.)
• Man dies from laughing at The Goodies television show  (I have already almost done this.)

The Goodies seem to be the three guys Monty Python didn't think were cool enough to be in Monty Python, so they made their own surreal humor group. I watched their show on PBS in the 70s.

It is DATED. Look at that groovy logo.

I loved the two episodes of the Goodies I still remember seeing:

Kitten Kong- Tiny energetic kitten becomes over-sized and destroys London.

And Kung Fu Kapers, which is the one that gave the English gentleman a Curious and Unusual Death.

I can't for the life of me find a transcript or a video of the beginning, so I'm going on memory. It opened with two guys trying to learn Kung Fu. Another comes in and unleashes upon them Time-Delay Kung Fu. The new man goes up to another, slowly pokes and taps various body parts, and then counts to five. The victim convulses from the time-delay Kung Fu. Hilarious physical comedy. It killed me. KILLED me. Evidently it killed the Englishman as well, twenty minutes in, when they were having the battle of Ecky-Thump. A heroic figure goes up against various nationalities ...

Did I mention it was dated?

(This is why you are not going to be seeing this on PBS ever ever again.)

The Ecky-thump master in the big hat thwaks each nationality with a black pudding sausage and then holds out his fist in victory.

No ... really, it was funny. I would link to the YouTube clip but ... it was funny ... when I was ten. And, you know, I don't want to approve of the men in blackface.

The Englishman was not affronted by the blackface and died after laughing for twenty minutes, the narrator of Curious and Unusual Deaths explained, and one of the last things that happened to him before he died was he lost control of his body fluids. He cried and urinated on himself.

This is the LAST symptom before death. Piss yourself, can't breathe, die.

So, just watch it next time that happens to you. You are on the edge.

Gary's word choice ("laden") improves when he has a migraine

A GUEST POST FROM GARY RECEIVED VIA EMAIL

By the way, I just read your blog and my grandparents on my Dad's side slept 4 hours, woke up, had a prepared meal that they ate together around the table and then went back to sleep for another 4 hours. It freaked me out the summer that I stayed with them. They were from Germany.

It was a light breakfast: baked rolls and bread, pickled meats, pickled vegetables, potatoes and relishes. The heavy breakfast was four hours later. I thought that they were crazy. My parents thought that maybe it was because my grandmother was a diabetic. However, it was because they were from the old country. They made most of their clothes, grew most of their food and my grandfather built his own house. However, you wouldn’t know from looking at them. They didn’t look shabby and the house looked just like the rest of the houses on the street although it was a little cooler looking.

I am not really sure how it worked out for my Grandmother though. She must have had to get up earlier to make the food. I just got up, pulled on my jeans and wandered out to a table laden with food. Ah-oh, sounds like I am migrainy again.

Oscars

I remember the transition from:

"And the winner is ..." to

"the Oscar goes to ..."

I am old school.

And the winner for best activity while watching the Oscars is: baking cookies and reading Twitter. I've been asked to bake two types of cookies, chocolate chip and "something the dog could eat."

And the winner for best host of the Oscars is: Billy Crystal. God bless Eddie Murphy for stepping down. Runner-up: the drunken ego-fest of Frank Sinatra, somebody else, and some other guy years ago. There was shrieking in my family's living room.

And the winner for best picture will be: The Help, because it is has the most social significance.

The Artist will win everything else. I haven't seen The Artist, but I think of it fondly. That's because at trivia this month, the crowd was to listen to recorded quotes and answer what movie they were from. While the staff was fiddling with the recordings and everyone was silently waiting, I called out "The Artist!" Scattered laughter. A call-back to Billy Crystal right there, when that one producer's mic wasn't working and he quipped, "it's appropriate because he got his start in silent movies."

I think the number of nominations this year was excessive. War Horse, really? I liked Midnight in Paris, like Moneyball, but I also watched Bad Teacher this afternoon and enjoyed that.

Scraps

All that happened this week has been dwarfed by the happy news below from Thursday. I only have dregs here.

1. The other morning I joined the drive-through line at Starbucks and found I was behind an identical Mini-Cooper. Red with white top, same year, same trim. I kept wondering if I should honk so she could turn around and be amazed. As she drove away she took the time to turn and wave enthusiastically, and we shared the demographic bond of two people who bought the same mass-produced car.

2. I learned three things recently:

    2.a. Until the seventies, "million" and "billion" in the U.K were not the amounts as in the U.S..

    2.b. In centuries past, no one slept eight hours straight. They slept four hours, woke up a few hours, then slept another four.

    2.c. Steve sat down at my desk this past week and said, did you hear? Hitler had a kid. Now that I see the photo, Hitler's son looks a little like Hitler and a lot like Steve. (In a similar adoption tale, Friend #3 has discovered she is fifth cousins once removed from Rush Limbaugh. Hilarious.)

2. I am going to start making cheese. I bought all the gear, it seems there are classes, and I tire of pining over raw milk one-month-old cheeses. I am making my own. Not raw at first, but young anyway. Baby cheeses!

Nice notes from call with drug company

I was so happy to hear the $679, and then she said "and then zero dollars a month after that."

These results are not typical. Or perhaps they are. I don't know. I don't care. Evidently there are all kinds of plans and funds available.

So! I was excited enough to use three exclamation points. That's saying something.

Gary: Dance Mom

So soooo sick of Dance Moms.

Gary is not. He'll watch the same episode two nights in a row.

When the show focuses on the girls, he always says one of two things, either, "Look at how those girls just ignore their Moms fighting" or "It's amazing how they can learn those routines so fast."

Tonight he confessed he finds the girls fascinating because, "This show is the only time I get to observe little kids. It's like they're aliens. They're so focused! And you have no idea what's going on in their minds."

When the show focuses on the fighting Moms, he says, "Those women are SO bitchy."

Tonight I asked: if he were a Dance Mom, which Dance Mom would he be? He thought hard.

"I'm afraid I'd be Christi."

"The HORRIBLE one?"

"That would be me. I'd be in everyone's face, causing trouble."

We decided he isn't really that spiteful and mean, he just can't keep his mouth shut. Especially if there's underlying tension.

I again thank the Lord for the Pill.

Rights

While I tend to lean hard to liberal, I always try to judge how far I can lean before I capsize. The current political debate is all about a woman's right to birth control, and if Catholic employers should have to pay to insure birth control.

Some events in my life influence my opinion (which as usual, lean liberal, but not enough to drown me).

Doctors

In the 70's, Mom's OB-GYN refused to prescribe birth control for her because of his religious beliefs. I'm sure she waved goodbye on the way out. Poor thing was physically unable to flip someone off due to the polio. 

In contrast, my Mormon doctor casually suggested I research the mechanics of how my birth control (Zovia) works. Come to find out, it is abortive. Many fertilized eggs have slid down my teflon-coated uterine wall, and I hope those cells had a fun ride. I may be wrong, but I don't think life begins at conception.

The non-Mormon gynecologist prescribes it to me, but if the Mormon doctor refused to, I'd either use another method or find another doctor. Mormons! (Shakes fist toward Utah.) This leads me to my next story.

Rights

In the late '80s, I went to a conference at the WordPerfect Corporation in Provo, Utah, and I tried to find a coffee machine. No coffee machines, no soda in the cafeteria. (Mormons! Everywhere with their caffeine-hating ways.) They weren't going to be flexible, so I was. I drank milk.

But even if the Constitution had Article11, The Right to Drink Diet Coke and Caffeinated Beverages, I still couldn't invoke my right to caffeine. Rights only apply to the government. Congress shall make no law withholding caffeine. WordPerfect may do what it wants.

And my god, my boat is tipping over to the right, but the government shouldn't be telling a religious organization to pay for my birth control. That's a huge conflict of church and state.

!!!

Okay then, I think all drugs are to be provided by the government (woo, boat leans left again.)

Sure, we should be a civilized society and provide free education and free health care supported by taxes. But will that be top of the line education and health care? No. (Will we end up with health care districts like school districts? Hm.) Take my pricey drug. Even if we had universal health care, that drug won't be covered, no matter what. Gilenya isn't going to be available to, say, the prison population. Too expensive, life-saving or not.

On the other end of the life-saving drug spectrum is the cheap drug the government should cover, the contraception. It protects me from a disease called having children. (Latin: habens infantes). And if the government covers it, I can insist on my rights, and I bet I could pick it up at the library and the post office.

Or, maybe we could have a cheap birth-control specific government insurance. Rest of your insurance pays for non-controversial stuff, then there's a lifestyle rider for pure baby-killing contraception like mine.

 Men

If the contraception debate was in the news just because the only people in the Senate debating contraception were men, well, duh, that was just moronic.

A Recipe for Excellent Cheese Eggs

Gary has been rhapsodic about the new stove. "This is the best [chicken / pot roast / cake / fried rice] you've ever made." Yeah, I got cocky.

Cheese souffle.

(Wait, you don't care. Because I just said I made fried rice. I did, and it was almost restaurant quality. The secret is to risk your life. Hot wok, add oil, throw in frozen fried rice. Don't do this at home. I'm still working out the kinks. I have to buy a new wok. And get arm surgery.)

Step 1: Get out the recipe for cheese souffle because you have a new stove and your husband complimented you and now you can barely drag your huge cooking balls around the kitchen.

2. Make the cheese base and whip up the eggs.

3. Fold and ease into dishes.

4.Put on Bake, not Convection Bake, because Julia Child didn't have a convection oven. Leave the room and come back to ....

... really fluffy cheese eggs!

It went in two dishes because I don't have a 4 quart souffle dish. The souffle on the right came out fair, the one on the left came out and was immediately Raptured. It disappeared and all that was left was a pile of rags.

It tasted, as Gary said, like really fluffy eggs. It did not look impressive or taste impressive. Meh, I say to souffle. Souffle responds, huffily, "Well, you didn't put a parchment collar around me like Julia said, and you used the How to Cook Everything recipe instead of Julia's. And I taste like cheese eggs because I'm made of cheese and eggs."

Souffles. So puffed up and full of hot air.

Next up is Mac and Cheese and Bread from scratch. And more fried rice.

In Which I Have Money Worries

I am going to disappoint you. I know why you're here. Escapism. I am the 21st century screwball comedy, the inept and ridiculous well-to-do. 

As I say, I am about to disappoint.

You know how I've been getting that great deal on my MS medication? My MS medication which costs - and again I must say, this is not a typo - $4,000 (four thousand dollars) a month? For which I pay $0 (zero dollars) a month?

When I renewed my prescription, the insurance company rejected my submission for financial aid.

YOU MAKE TOO MUCH MONEY FOR FINANCIAL AID

All caps, bold letters.

No, wait, let me see what they actually said.

OVER INCOME GUIDELINES

I say, good for you, massive drug corporation, you have FOUND ME OUT. I have been scamming you like a welfare queen. I should not be getting financial aid.

That does make total sense to me, and I'm even a Democrat.

But somehow I think a little of this is on the drug company for charging four thousand dollars a month. The questionnaire asked our monthly gross income, and since it was, yes, envy me, over four thousand dollars, I was denied aid.

I do pay for insurance, but my insurance company evidently just keeps laughing at that 4K total. "Per year? What? Per month? Ha! Ahahhaa."  So, the 4K will all be on us. (I say us, because I don't bring home 4K a month. Damn husband, kicking me up into the upper middle classes.)

So, here are plans B C and D. (And E and F.) Update: and G!

Plan B: Call the company, which is in Germany, and see if they know the difference between Gross and Net. They asked about our Gross Income per Month. Perhaps they meant net. Net is sick, since Gary is socking it away for retirement.

Plan C: Negotiate a lower price. Like, say $1K a month. I suppose I should counter their 4K with 20 bucks, and then work up to 1K.

Plan D: Take drugs every other day. I keep having tests that show that I have zero lymphocytes, but the neutrophils have stepped up.

Plan E: Go without drugs. Like a schizophrenic, I feel so well from the drugs that I think, "I don't need drugs!" Then the voices tell me to feed Gary to the groundhog in small tasty bits. I do feel awfully well, though. I know I'm not.

Plan F: The last time I was at the neurologist, he mentioned there might be an official long term clinical trial pending, which I can hope would again pay for the drugs in exchange for my time. Spartacus rises again!

UPDATE: Plan G: I just looked it up and found there are documents with the words "United Healthcare" and "Gilenya " and "Formulary" in the same document. This must be new as of the new year.

Damn! Been so long since I've had a money worry. Why didn't I sock away $48K for a rainy day?

Three Day Weekend!

One nice thing about working in the financial industry is you get every holiday the stock market does. There's a debate at work: since the stock market closes when a former or current president dies, do we get that day off too? I've heard varying responses to this.

I guess it's up to Jimmy Carter to answer this question. Take your time, JimmyC.

I will be celebrating Presidents Day ... by .... taking my dog in to the vet. I'm pretty sure I'll be taking him in to get The Bad News. I will put Mac down on the ground, and often he just doesn't recognize his legs and they splay out in all directions until he is on his belly.

I KNOW. That's a bad sign for dogs

Of course, Gary puts him down on the ground and the dog leaps and prances.  I think Mac knows who makes the final decision on really putting the dogs "down."

 

I Need to Think with My Mouth Closed

At work today, a co-worker completely frustrated me. You wouldn't have guessed. I was pleasant, and polite, and when I left I turned the corner, closed my eyes a moment and silently mouthed, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Anyone could have walked into that aisle while my eyes were closed and seen me.  As soon as I realized that I opened my eyes, and no one was there, but it was a close call. 

That one might have gotten me in trouble. Usually, my muted chats with myself are just embarrassing. I worry lip-readers might see me mouthing, "But, Mr. Clooney, I never imagined!" or whatever stupid conversation is going on in my mind.

I will be that old lady in the nursing home having silent, animated conversations with herself. And laughing.

Sweet little surprise cheesecake

Gary Update / Valentines Day / More Freaking Good Weather

Gary reports his migraine / fatigue / light sensitivty has improved by ...

"50 percent?" I just asked.

"Oh, easily. 75 percent - no - 70 percent."

Now I'm concerned he knocked it down 5 percent. But, this round of drugs / passage of time seem to be working.

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

It is Valentine's Day. We so do not care. I have asked to go to the local Big-Hunks-of-Meat-on-Skewers restaraunt, but I certainly don't want to go when I have a pork roast congealing in the fridge.

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

Awful road conditions last night: freezing slush and snow. Also, freezing fog, which is a new meterological condition we never had when I was a young'n .Next: freezing dew. Freezing smog. The Mini's dynamic stability control failed me at least twice last night, and someone spun out right in front of Gary. Luckily, we were both driving like the old people we are, and there was a wide berth.

I'm a little peeved that it hit last night. Today was going to be an epic snow day at work, but now, no excuse to stay home.

GNO

The Best of Girl's Night Out.

Amazing concept. Tell people they can come over and "play with" your new range. "Let" them bake all the food. If I had just recently bought a new dishwasher I could have given them the privilege of washing the dishes.

Somehow by the end of her life Mom had convinced all her friends to come to her house and make her breakfast every month. A few more of there GNOs and my friends will not have to ask where the spatula is.

It would seem that I don't have an appropriate cake-decorating spatula. Marcia called early to ask if I had doilies (no) and a mixer (really?) but she didn't ask about the spatula. She needed it to decorate Whitney's Deathday / Libby's Birthday cake.

The Worst of Girl's Night Out.

The dog, good God, the dog. He barked incessantly. I locked him in the bedroom for the last hour, where he barked, and then let him out, then he quieted down.

Before that, though, he peed twice, once stealthily. The second time was an in-your-face type of pee, not literally, but might as well have been.

The dog began his pre-pee pacing over by the back door. I opened the back door. He walked away from the back door to where Marcia and Libby were encouraging him to go out. In their words, he looked at them and said, "Nah, I'm good here," and lifted his leg and peed (while no doubt holding his gaze right at Marcia.) Libby cleaned it up. See what I mean about Mom-style parties?

Later, someone said in alarm, "what is that dog eating?" I snapped my neck to see if it was Libby's tater tots, Marcia's cake, Caroline's ramen, Susan's pasta, or Anne's cookies.

"Vomit!" I cheered.

 Robin took this photo:

I annotated so it was clear which furry gray blob was which. Robin's photo of Libby above was very clear.

Other photos are very blurry because I tried to use the dog spy camera. Mac took dozens of blurry photos of closed cabinet doors. Sometimes, people stood next to the cabinets:

Here's a picture of someone mixing a shot, but I don't know who:

and of course a perfectly still photo of the open oven door.

Marcia made cake AND Whitney Houston is dead

Tiniest Crown Roast Ever

I've Washed all Four Pajamas Twice in Twenty Four Hours

I've been trying to pinpoint what made my intestines liquefy Wednesday at 2 p.m.. 

Thesis One: Typical 24-hour flu

No fever. No nausea. I just had to sleep on a towel, shall we say. And then when I finally got a few hours of sleep uninterrupted by trips to the toilet I woke up AND I HAD TO WASH THE TOWEL SHALL WE SAY.

It just seems too epic to be a mere 24 hour bug.

Thesis Two: Fundamental Physiological Cause 

Okay, you may think there's too long between the catalyst and the problem, but last Friday I had a corn dog. I didn't do it blindly. I know what hot dogs do to me, and I thought, "Corn dog? can I schedule this into my day?" As it turned out I had a free half hour, so I ate the corn dog.

But here's what happened: after half an hour I stood up and then gasped as my transverse colon literally moved. It was right below my navel and then suddenly, hello, my bowel's off center now. Like JFK, down and to the left.

I wasn't even going to tell the blog about it, but then it occurred to me that I could call it The Great Bowel Shift, and thenI had no choice.

Still, there's that delay between the corn dog and 2 p.m. Wednesday.

Thesis Three: Food Poisoning

I had the fish.

 

I have been pining for the Beer Battered Fish at the TeddyJ cafe. It looks so good, but I usually make a better choice. Wednesday, I had woken up with a gnawing painful stomach, and I decided it needed to be filled with deep-fried fish.

I ate two bites of crust and two bites of fish and it was wonky. I bowed to peer pressure ("Take it back!" howled three women who have probably never taken anything back at the TeddyJ cafe) and I returned it. A cafe worker said someone else had brought some back too.

That was at noon. The pain in my stomach got much worse after, and I began randomly gasping in pain and then gurrgling loudly ten minutes later. I took off for home and settled into a 23 hour routine of gasp, then gurgle, then gastric distress, abut twice an hour. Then wash the pajamas.

However, everything has stayed put since 1 p.m. I'm washing everything in hot water and starting over as if it never happened.

The Remote War at Home

The TV remote was busy tonight. I wanted to watch the CNN Primary Coverage. Gary wanted to watch Dance Moms.

I don't watch Dance Moms. I tried to watch it when it first came out. There was a dark-haried woman who convinced me if I gained some weight I could be a dance instructor. She was harsh to some little girl and I stopped watching after fifteen minutes.

Turns out Gary has been following it. ("I like it for the dancing. The kids learn the routines so fast!") He claims to ignore the Moms just like the kids do.

The evening was spent flipping between low-drama political election results and shrieking harpy mothers. "This process has been very exciting tonight, Rick Santorum made a push right at the end" (Boo-BOOP! TiVo noise) "Ah will do ALL I CAN  for my FAMILY AND MAH DAUGHTER. Ah will do whatever it TAKES!"

He has also taken to watching Teen Mom and Toddlers and Tiaras. God save us.

My Two Friends Get in a Spat

I have these two friends, Susan G and Pippi. I love them both. Susan G has HUGE boobs, is very athletic, always wears pink. Everyone loves her. Well, everyone loved her, until the big flap with Pippi began.

Everyone loves Pippi too, because she always takes care of everyone, no matter who. That's why I love her. Actually, there are some people out there who don't like Pippi because she's so liberal with her affections. Pippi has an allowance of 1 billion a year, so she can afford to do what she wants. She's like the honey badger: Pippi don't care.

Susan cares, though, and she wants to be friends with everyone. She has a big heart under the big boobs and figures the more friends the better. That includes the people who hate Pippi, and they were all like, "If you're friends with her, we can't be friends with you."

So Susan cut Pippi off, and that includes not paying her the $600K she owed her. Pippi doesn't care. Pippi gets a billion dollars a year.

Then it turned into a big flap and everyone had to take sides. "I STAND WITH PIPPI" people proclaimed on Faceback. "LET SUSAN KNOW!" 

I feebly said, "But I like them both! Can't I like them both?"

"Nope," Twitterers said, "#susanisawhore! #IstandwithPP!"

I answered, "I am sure both Pippi and Susan are not this upset. All they want is to get money and to help people." As it turned out, Susan had to publically apologize to Pippi.

I imagine a scene in which Susan and Pippi clutch their bellies and laugh.

"Dude!" Susan said to Pippi. "I am SOOO sorry. I am SO SORRY all those donations are pouring in."

"BWAH!" Pippi said to Susan."Did you hear? Mayor Bloomberg gave me $250,000 the first day."

"He's Team Pippi!" Susan said.

"How are those religious people you were hanging out with?" Pippi asked. "You know, the ones who think I do nothing but abortions all day long?"

"All on Team Susan now. I'm rolling in cash. I expect to see them at the race."

 "Awesome!" Pippi said, and they high-fived each other.

"Well, see you later," Susan said as she left. "Do a breast exam today, okay?"

"Get a pap smear!" Pippi answered and waved some money as she went out the door.

So ... I hope this all vlows over soon and I can care about my uterus and boobs at the same time. I hate it when friends fight.

The In-Laws Appear to be Cowed by Gary and The Delicacy of His Feelings

Yesterday, during my father-in-law's birthday party, Wilma called me in to the kitchen.

She wanted to tell me the fresh cantaloupe Gary had picked up for them the last two weeks was spoiled. These are the prepared cantaloupe cubes, in the plastic container, specifically marketed to Gary, or anyone who wouldn't spend two seconds getting the rind off a melon.

She pulled the top off the cantaloupe container. "We've been trying to eat it the last two weeks he brought it, but it's bad."

"Let's see," I smugly said and popped a piece in my mouth. I projectile-spat the piece across the room. "Gah! That's spoiled! You tried to eat that? For two weeks? Why didn't you tell him?"

"Oh, no," Wilma explained, "That's why I'm trying to tell you. I want you to tell him."

"What? Why wouldn't you just tell him?"

"We don't want to hurt his feelings," she explained.

"He didn't GROW the cantaloupe!"

"No, but you should let him know, before he buys any more -"

"GARY," I bellowed, "Why are you poisoning yor parents with this rotted cantaloupe?"

Gary came in and I explained the situation. Wilma was aghast I was publicly broaching the delicate subject of the spoiled cantaloupe, and Gary wanted to know why they hadn't said anything.

"We thought maybe it was expired," Wilma said, dodging the question, "But what you brought today says to sell by tomorrow, so it should be good."

Gary tried a bite. "Huh. It's fine."

I doubted my own mind as I so often do at the in-laws and I tried a bite again. This time I had a napkin in hand and I spat the peppery sour slime into it.

Gary said mildly, "It kind of tastes a little like insecticide, but other than that it's fine." I attributed this to the Topamax dulling his senses.

Now, regarding men, I have hears the S______ women say more than once, "Don't tell him about it, it will just upset him." And the S______ men do get easily upset, but I find that entertaining.

This is the first time i have heard them say they didn't want to hurt a man's feelings by saying the cantaloupe he brought home was bad.

It would make sense if they said they didn't want to seem ungrateful.

It would make sense if Gary was one of those men who has hurt feelings or holds a grudge. But I assume he isn't since we are still married.

All I can guess is that Wilma's family was run by her father's volatile temper, and perhaps she assumes all men are like that, including the one she made.

The Year in Paella

Almost exactly one year ago I was eating this paella:

Today, I ate this paella:

The paella above? The TeddyJ cafe is selling Paella for five bucks or something. It tasted okay. On the plus side, it didn't cost over ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS like last years. (Still not over that.)

Almost exactly one year ago I was on a cruise, getting naked with the band, chatting up senators, chasing down stray dogs in the snow. Doing stuff. I need to get out of the house more. (The senators don't visit your home. You have to stalk them.)

Gary and I don't want to travel until his migraine clears up, and I still have to pay off the range. But when we do, I'm hoping it's an inside passage Alaskan trip. As I understand it there are hot meals and paneling and bears (oh my).

 That's in the future. This month a few events are pencilled in:

Trivia night, 2/3
Father-in-law party, 2/4
Superbowl tete-a-tete, 2/5
Home on the Range GNO Attempt Number Two, 2/11
Valentine's Day, 2/14
President's Day, 2/20

... and ... that's it. Nothing till a trip to Michigan in May for the Nephew's second wedding.

 =================

An hour later: I'm back. The trip to Michigan may turn into a two-day road trip. Till then, though, I need to get some face time with senators and rock bands somehow.

Why I Don't Trust Callista Gingrich

Because she looks like a Secret Agent for International Rescue, that's why -- specifically Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. I'm sure that's why I've been making Thunderbirds references lately.

(Yes, I have also read that she looks like the woman in Mars Attacks, but I wasted that comparison on Mrs McCain four years ago.)

If only the marionette Lady Penelope could get her hair styled as perfectly as Callista.

Here she is in fur...

... supporting her man ...

... and looking visionary.

I think that's why Callista has never gotten her nose fixed, because then she'd look just like a puppet.

Speaking of puppets, when is Colbert going to bring Guy Smiley back? He does still look just like Mitt.