Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Bring on the Shoestipation

Shopstipated again. This time I'm specifically Vacation shopstipated. I've got more saved for a vaction than ever and we can't figure out where to go. Perhaps because this vacation has to equal or surpass Paris. Perhaps because ... no, it's that last reason. It can never live up to Paris. Why even try?

However, my vacation shopstipation is countered by my shoe shopping regularity. Every pair of shoes I see on the internet is adorable and I must have them. I know the two brands of shoes that fit me, and so far I've bought these:

            

(Three of them are being returned as soon as they arrive because I found them for 40% off at www.6pm.com.)

Then I saw these on eBay and snatched them right up:

Never heard of the Think! brand before. Thirty bucks! I don't know if they came like these from the factory or if they were embellished.  Don't mind the wear on the insoles: I'm swapping them out for my orthotics anyway.

Then I started to look into this Think! brand. I kept thinking "Oh, those are cute, how much - THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS? ARE THEY NUTS?"

I'll need to wait a while until these end up used on eBay. Some rich old artsy ladies need to die first before I can get their shoes.

Peeptoe / peepheel shoes for the heel fetishist ...

Mayan shoes for 2012 ...

And I would even hide Spunky and my newly-eroticized heels for these shoes:

(I apologize for the Dooceiness of this post.)

Maybe I need to take my vacation fund and break it into multiple smaller vacation funds so I can spend it with less pressure. A "We'll Always Have Paris So Let's Lower Our Expectations" fund.

Or perhaps I'll get The Descendants out of my head and start thinking about Kauaii again. Such problems though, huh?

Cough and Effect

I am slowly determinig what makes me choke, what makes me cough, and what makes me stable. I still haven't gotten an official reflux diagnosis, but I don't think anyone will disagree. "Doctor, I choke when I drink that.":Then don't drink that."

Bad for me:
Coffee
Dark chocolate
Mozzarella
Alcohol (but I may keep testing this)
Baked cheetoes
Orange juice

Good for me:
Apples
Potatoes
Milk chocolate
Cheddar
Starches
Vegetables
Magnum mini ice cream bars
Pasta
Chicken
Steak
Tuna steak

Aside form the baked cheetoes, I can do withoout the rest.

Let Me Know if This is Not Normal

My brother calls me. That is normal.

He calls me once a day, which I think is excessive, especially since he has

_nothing

to say. He calls so I can entertain HIM, I think. Usually the calls decrease when he has a girlfriend, but he has had a girlfriend for a year, and he often calls now when she is there. I am ordered to say Hi to Diana, and I think, is Diana shifting the attention burden to me? Sack up Diana. It's your job.

Most days he complains if I try to get off the phone until it's been 30 minutes (damn whoever put those timers on the phones). This morning he complained that I left my house Saturday and Sunday and had not checked my call log upon returning to see that he had called and not left a message. (Why no message? Nothing to say. (For half an hour.))

I quite clearly stated this morning that I don't really need to hear from him more than once a week. I'm great at setting limits.

He called this evening to let me know Bridge on the River Kwai was on. On Memorial Day. I am shocked.

Gary Curses

Today, Gary slipped and described someone as an "asshole" in front of his parents. He slipped, but recovered so quickly it was one word: "assholesorry."

He is 58, so he was not grounded.

(He might claim to have Tourette's, so Tourette's Gary can join Migraine Man and Seizure Gary in his stable of neurological superheroes.)

When Gary slipped, I noticed no gasping or tutting from his Mom. She has reproved him before for saying "Jeez," since it is taking the first syllable of the Lord's Name in Vain.

We debated why "Jeez" provoked a lecture but "asshole" passes.

I argued, "You didn't say 'God's asshole.' Plus, it's an actual body part."

Gary said, "Asshole ... so it's like twat! That makes sense."

 

UPDATE: BALLS! Two Hints That You Have Gone Over The Top In Planning Your Vacation

See ABKCO Music v. Harrisongs Music regarding subconscious plagarism / cryptoamnesia. Dave from Blogography is right, he posted this before. I plead my extreme youth. I'm only 49. Here is his superior post.

Please note viscount was not on his list, however.

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

Graphic User Interface Hint  1:

This is the first dropdown you encounter:

  

Graphic User Interface Hint 2:

You don't know what this icon means.

That icon, ladies and gentlemen,  inidcates that a selected cruise provides Gentleman Hosts, or "dance partners or dinner companions for single female guests. These interesting, amiable and distinguished men will often participate in other shipboard activities as well as escort shore excursions."

 Where else can a viscountess get amiable booty? Where, I ask.

I Feel Good

Right this second, I feel really good. Let's analyze why.

The AC is blowing directly on me. Recently I've noticed I can tolerate the bitter cold just fine. I don't turn away from the ac, ever. Gary tries to freeze me out and I say, bring it, boy, make those nips fall off, it can't get too cold.

I just went shopping on-line for shoes. I'm going to purge the bad shoes and bring in some good shoes. Let me count ... oh. Uh-oh. Seven pairs of shoes? Well, some are Shoes of the Dead at deep deep discounts. Some ... being one ... checking the accounts ... well, that puts a dent into next week's paycheck. Don't care. Still feel good. Well, a little less good. I suppose then it isn't mania (you know you thought it).

But! My jeans and pants have been getting longer. Somehow eschewing caffeine has trimmed my thighs. My belly is still huge, but it's the only thing that doesn't fit well into my sparkly wedding ensemble.

And! I'm having a 3.5 day weekend because I took off early today. Next week at work will be short, and the week after that (because of the wedding).

 Now! This is interesting: the air conditioning just shut off and my mood is a little deflated.

Of course, I might be happy because Gary is snoring away in the bedroom. He had a short day too, and chose to come home. He would usually take advantage of the uninterrupted work time, and I would usually interpret that as a personal insult. So it makes sense I'd be flattered he came home.

You know, after all this analysis, I know what it is. It's the cold air. I feel like I'm a cold air connoisseur. Peculiar. However, nice to know I can just buy a can of compressed air and zap myself if I need a lift.

Murrrrderrr

This morning, where the sidewalk and the driveway meet ...

I saw this.

It's a dead vole. I'm being respectful of your feelings, especially you cube dwellers having lunch at your desks before tying in to work. You don't want to start your day with a rigor-mortized yellow-fanged blind vole next to a puddle of its own blood, festival of color and detail though it might be. (Click it. You know you want to. CLICK IT!)

The thing I found fascinating was the crime scene. First I noticed a blood stain, then stain by stain I saw a blood splattered trail leading to the body.

This program contains graphic violence so tiny it doesn't count.

There was a slight flesh wound on the cement side of the vole (yeah, I carefully kicked it over - sorry, "her" over).

Gary guessed it immediately. "She was a victim of a 9mm Luger bullet, wasn't she!" Well, more likely a cat got bored and "played" it to death in the middle of the driveway.

I have a little fondness for this vole, though. Look at the drama! All that emotion with no eyes!

Vacation, Got to Get Away.

This past weekend, I said the word "vacation" to Gary and his back went out within the hour.

Yesterday, I asked where he wanted to go on vacation, and he said, "Here?"

Rewind to a month ago, when he said, "If we ever go to Hawaii again, I want to stay on Kauai. It's the Forest Island."

No, it's the Garden Island, because it rains all the time. I did a little research. Rainy and overcast? No strength-sapping sun? I love it. Gary would love it too, since the migraine last year left him with photophobia. (In fact, the flash of the bird camera just got him full-face and it's left him nauseated and fatigued, poor guy.)

I went in for some heavy research and found a flight/car/hotel half price if we stay off-season (when it's probably less sunny). I could afford it. I can also afford it because no one will construct a heated driveway, so I have those savings to spare. (Seriously, cement construction companies say things like "I don't do that any more, it's too expensive." or "I don't have the equipment," or "No one gets those anymore." Turning down work. Proof the economy is improving. My brief career as a robber baron, over.)

Gary sensed I was looking forward to a trip and came back to say, "Don't get too excited about vacation, you never know what my job will be like -"

"Stop it."

"You know, there aren't any bears or alligators in Hawaii." He abruptly left the room.

So, Alaska? I thought back to the inside passage, where one can view moose and bears on the shore or go back inside to the air conditioning and gourmet food. Gary countered with the La Brea tar pits and Yosemite. I parried, "Galapogos? African Safari!" You would have thought I'd said "Thailand? Sex Clubs?" Evidently, among former biology majors, touristing at those shrines is like money-changing in the temple.

 Norway's Aurora season is over. What sounds good? Nature, mammals, overcast ... go!

Cottonwood

I work by a stand of cottonwood trees. I know this only because some days my visibility is limited by all this fluff flying at my car.

I assume that's the stuff. I never see it on the ground, only in the air. It links up like dust bunnies.

(Everybody sing, to the tune of Ghost Riders, "Dust Bunnies in the skkyyyy..." )

Never on the ground, and never in a tree. Evidently cottonwoods are a form of poplar, and I've seen poplars, but I have never seen a tree with fluff on it. I'm not looking for a giant spent dandelion, either. I'd take a tree with just a few fluffpods.

Three years ago I was struck by the cottonwood storms by my new job, now I find they've followed me home. This weekend there was an fluffy F1 tornado in my yard.

Perhaps what's happening is that the fluff never degrades, it just goes up to the stratosphere and floats down again every spring.

I just did a little research so I know what to look for. Has anyone ever seen this on a tree?

That looks pretty fake to me.

The Power of Denial

Honestly, I opened the warming drawer and thought, what's that bready stuff all over everything?

And lo, the days pass, and there was cheese

It looks like cheese and smells like cheese. I don't know how it tastes. Might have to feed it to Mac and see if he lives.

Or might have to make an omelet for Gary.

Call of Nature

The Little Insect Squirrels are growing on me now that I can see them up close on the bird camera. They are so tiny and move so fast when you see them across the yard, it's disgusting, but when you see them up close and watch them play and talk to each other, it's cute.

Look at this little baby.

Look at his widdie biddie cwosed eyes. So sweeet.

Look at this tiny baby on video.

And watch this video of a dad and a baby squirrel. Make sure the audio is turned up because they talk to each other.

And look at this photo of Mama - oh God!

Oh God no! What have they done to her? I can't show this photo, it's not safe for work or home. After I saw it I rolled my chair into the corner and sat there for a while.

But if you want to see, you can click here.

So, now I'm back to hating squirrels. I recommend two more because they make the babies look stupid: one gets stuck and one can't handle the feeder. 

All fifty are at the Flickr account.

Failure Faux Pas

Recently, Gary was complaining about how he will be laid off in a matter of days (he won't) and he'll never get another job (he needn't), and eventually he trudged off in moderate to high dudgeon.

I thought of supportive things to say, and my train of thought went: 1. He really gets a lot of self-esteem from his job, 2. If he didn't have his job he'd feel like a failure, 3. He needs me to be supportive.

So I came out and said, "Hon. even if you're a failure I'll always love you."

"I know what you're trying to do, but that extra little jab of 'FAILURE' there was not what I needed."

I told him some hours later that he was a very successful husband. But still, the damage had been done.

What is going to happen to this man when he retires? How do you keep a retired man's self-esteem stable when he doesn't have daily victories and acclaim?

Putting the Urban in Suburban

Something shiny caught my eye as I trudged up the driveway this afternoon.

Shiny Object! Brass and Shiny Object. I picked it up. Oh! Shiny Brass Shell Casing.

Now, I've found shell casings before, because this is America, and there are deer. But this wasn't like those. This was button-sized.

I turned it over and read the marking: G.F.I. 9mm Luger. I immediately suspected Nazis, but it turns out the Luger is a modern Wal-Mart handgun. A handgun, not a killin-varmints gun, but a killin-peoples-and-small-varmints gun.

So I poked around the internet a bit, and investigated shell casings, and I found a number of instances in which dogs had sniffed out shell casings that were then used as evidence in murder cases. No one in my neighborhood has been murdered as far as I know, but if they are rotting right now I would feel bad to frustrate the police dogs. ("Sniff sniff! It was right here on the driveway! I've lost the scent! Damnit to hell!")

So I called the police - not 911 but the nearest station.

"Hi. This by no means an emergency, but I found a shell casing outside my house."

"Can you describe it?"

"It's a 9mm G.F.I. Luger -"

"What is your name?"

So! I felt vindicated. I told him my name and said, "I'm surprised, I really thought you'd laugh this off."

He answered with a stony, "I wouldn't do that."

Then we went through "What is your address," "When did you find it?" and the one I was dreading, "Did you touch it?"

"Well, yes I did. I didn't even think about fingerprints."

Then, "[unintelligible] an officer will come out."

I thought he said, "If you need one, an officer will come out,"so I replied, "Oh, no, I don't need that, I was just worried your dogs would be sniffing for it and not find it."

I WAS JUST WORRIED YOUR DOGS WOULD BE SNIFFING FOR IT AND NOT FIND IT.

Then a long pause, and then he said, "So are you saying you do not want to talk to an officer.?"

"Well, I don't need to talk to anyone, it's not like I'm concerned."

"So you are refusing to see the officer?"

What? What had he said? "No! No, I'm not refusing at all!" And THEN I shut up.

So, then I had to get dressed for the officer that would be visiting soon, and tidy up the house, and call Gary to tell him to remain calm when he arrived home to find a police car. (I told him the story. "You didn't touch it, did you?" he immediately asked. Gary's been in police crossfire. I should probably tell you that story. Another day.)

The officer showed up, all starched and khaki and twenty. He turned the shell casing all about and said, "Oh, it's spent." He sounded a little disappointed.

I thought that was odd. If it wasn't a spent shell casing, wouldn't I remark there was a bullet on my driveway?

At any rate he asked if I'd heard gunshots (No). He surmised someone had picked them up (after target practice, I suppose) and just dropped one.

When he left, he went to his car which was parked across the street at the neighbor's, since the neighbor's daughter was parked in front of my house.

I noticed they were out in the front gardening. I hope they weren't there when the police showed up. That would be alarming, to look up from gardening and find a police officer. What must they think! Hah! I was going to go over and explain everything, but now I think I'll let it lie.

Patient, Heal Thyself

Last Friday, when I drank a cup of coffee and coughed it up a few hours later, I thought I should call my doctor and make an appointment so I could get some of this Prilosec stuff -  the Industrial strength version, not the OTC version.

I checked in on his blog first, in much the same way I can see my friends cramming through my blog before we have a GNO scheduled. I read his suggestions on how patients should probably try Plan A: Eating Right, before jumping right to Plan B: Handy Dandy Drugs. (I'm paraphrasing.)

So, instead of making an appointment I went grocery shopping. No fatty foods, coffee, alcohol, or (as it turns out) sugar. Friend #2 told me about sugar setting off reflux. My response was, "OH come ON." Seriously, what is left? Fruit. Vegetables. Tuna. Chicken. Bread, though, there is that. Pretzels. That's what I bought.

My healthy diet lasted one entire day, then the next day I began adding in sugar. Apple Jacks? No problem. Pot roast? Pot roast went down and stayed down. Milk and cream cheese! Decaf cafe lattte!

No coughing all weekend! But then  ....

Six hours ago I ate a chocolate cupcake. That cupcake has been lodged in my chest so firmly it makes my ears itch. Itchy ears, headache and nausea all evening.

Maybe there's some type of decaf chocolate cupcake? Maybe I could eat half a cupcake with no ill effects. How can I split this hair?

Respect Mah Food AuthoriTAY!

I don't understand a thing about Technorati.com. I don't know who makes the rankings. I don't know who looks at the rankings. I suspect it's like some early version of Klout which looks at the words you use and extrapolates from there. Here's my blog ranking:

Technorati Authority: 118  Rank 20802 

Living Authority: 134  Rank: 4618

Health Authority: 95  Rank: 3387

Food Authority: 133  Rank 2001

Perhaps with all the numbers above I will soon be a Math Authority. I see no Health subcategory for Labial Disorders.

What amused me most was "Food Authority": It particularly amused me tonight as I scraped raw bread dough off the underside of my oven. Not the bottom of my oven. Under my oven.

The oven has a cunning "Proof Bread" feature. You take all the baking sheets and muffin tins out of the oven's warming drawer, because that's where they are stored, and you put your dough in a small wide bowl and let it rise.

And you think, because you are evidently a Food Authority, what if this bread rises really high? And then you say, oh, it can't rise that high, what would be the use of putting the Bread Proofer in the warming tray if it rises too high. People would make that mistake all the time.

And then 45 minutes later you have difficulty opening the Bread Proofing  / Warming / Storage Drawer because it is filled with smooth elastic bread dough. The dough rose up and melded with the bottom of the oven, then when I pulled the drawer out it  gummed up everything down there. I had to open the drawer halfway and reach up and peel dough off the oven undersides.

I have decided on two strategies for the remaining dough that is still there. (And yes it is still there - I could not see what I was doing and I was in an awkward posture.) Plan A: it is eaten by mice and bugs. Plan B: The next time I use the self-cleaning oven it ignites and drops blazing clots of bread into the Storage Drawer.

Interesting that I also have Technorati Health Authority, as my oven has an invasive yeast infection.

Mother's Day

This is the fourth year I haven't had Mother's Day with my Mom. It seems it took me four years to realize that I've could have been a candidate for Mother's Day. And then I look at my pills and hold them tightly to my bosom.

(Actually these aren't my pills. I've never had the pills in the round case. I'd like to think it's because my OB-GYNs have always though I was smart enough to take 28 pills in a row without a Playskool dispenser.)

I started taking the Pill after my second semester of college. I wondered why Mom finally felt my bad periods were suddenly worthy of medical attention - years later I found it was because I was dating a thirty-one year old.

Beforehand, once a month I'd wake up with cramps, I'd start vomiting, As You Do, and Mom would make me tea and give me Midol. I still think that's normal, that vomiting resolves menstrual cramps.

Midol never reduced cramps. Come to find out, it's snake oil, made in 1911 for toothaches and, later, hiccups. Here's an ad offering a hundred clams for a Catchy Advertising Phrase.

Here's my catchy phrase: Midol, A Useless Placebo for Girls Horrified Their Bodies Have Turned on Them.

In the fifties it seems they found that catchy phrase.

Back then being gay was indeed a choice. So those are my choices? Go gay with the Midol Hiccough  cure or take those wonderful pain-relieving birth control pills every day for the rest of my life? The Pills, please, and thank you.

I sometimes wonder if those years from 11-19 turned me against my uterus and anything that might come out of it, but then I think of my childhood playthings, and it was never ever baby dolls. There was a life-size bride doll, and Barbies, of course, but what am I supposed to do with a baby?

And to think if I'[d been born just one generation earlier I'd have had two choices: condoms or Midol-induced lesbianism.

Where Was the Whooping?

A President of These United States went on the news this afternoon and said same sex marriage was okay by him.

And when did I hear about this? GARY told me when he got home at 8. I had turned on CNN for a few minutes at 7, MSNBC was on momentarily as well, plus I had Twitter on all day. But I had not heard.

Davy Jones dies and I hear keening across the office. This was big news too. No one wanted to do a little dance for the gays? No little visit to the cubicles of similarly minded people?

I need an app that will CALL me when presidents jump up on the bully pulpit and preach, even to the choir. Next thing I know he'll be saying "Yeah, pot should be legal," and I'll have no idea.

The Year In Coughing

Thanks to Rachel from the cruise, I get to go talk about my health on a panel on my birthday. I will not monopolize the panel, I will not monopolize the panel. I do like talking about my health.

Old people talk about health all the time. I'd like to think it's because we  they  we  theywe want to educate our peers (and the young'uns) so they know what to do when it happens to them, and it will. Stock up on Poise pads now,children.

So, now I'd like to tell you how to cure your cough.

My cough began last summer - only it wasn't a cough so much as a choke followed by a violent eruption of all body fluids. I'd be sitting there, usually drinking but sometimes just sitting, and then I felt like fluid bubbled up from my lungs and I choked on it.

This led to the urine tests and hiatal hernia and the vaginal massages starting in September, and while I have (*kegels*) improved control down there (*kegels*), at odd times I'd still choke. Not every month, like I did last summer, but perhaps once ever three months. I wrote that off as the hiatal hernia, and I imagined I could feel my hernia sliding past my diaphragm and that's what caused it.

Time for a Mystery Diagnosis expressive eye close!

Over the winter, I developed a cough. In the spring it turned into a cough that would turn into vomiting. Last month it turned into a daily cough that would show up between four and four-thirty, and all I had to do was go in to the bathroom and cough till I puked. Then I was fine untll the next day at four.

A few weeks of that and I was back on Google, and I found that people with acid reflux will cough until they vomit. Of course, that makes sense, all that acid bubbling up .. from your stomach? Not your lungs? I suppose that could be. One would think I'd have heartburn, though, which I do not. Still, I made a mental note to avoid caffeine, acidic foods, and alcohol.

The next day, people on Facebook raved about Sweet Tea vodka with lemonade. By then I'd wadded up my mental note. What harm could there be in Sweet Tea (caffiene) with vodka (alcohol) and lemonade (acid)?

So I bought a bottle and I poured a small glass of Sweet tea. I didn't realize it was actually large glass of vodka. I threw in some ice cubes made of lemon juice (ala ~~Silk) and took a gulp. A gulp of sweet tea VODKA. When I could breathe again I diluted it, and I let it sit on the counter to think about what it had done.

Half an hour later I choked into a spontanous gyser of pee and vomit. Well! That diagnosis was confirmed. I must have acid reflux minus the vital heartburn symptom.

I went right out and bought a two-week Prilosec OTC pack. That was two weeks ago. After about a week the four p.m. puking was over, I can sleep without sitting up, and my cough, when it happens, is back to the piteous kitten hack I had two years ago.

Of course, now that I know what to look for, there are resources all over the internet spelling out just what my problem has been. The pamphlet that came with the 14 day pack recommended I not rely on it more than three or four times a year. If it comes back I'll pay a visit to the doctor.

And yes, I am ignoring the suggestion that chocolate can be a trigger. Life can not be that cruel.

Don't Mention the War!

Somehow in the last fifteen years several sights have arrived in Saint Louis, and I have missed them. CityGarden, for example, and the Modern Art museum, and a new and improved Transport museum, and the one I visited this past weekend, the Kemp Auto Museum. It's on the flood plain in Chesterfield Valley that was underwater in '93. Of course, the new levee is sturdy and will not burst. If it does, there will be a helicopter shot of antique cars gently floating out of a warehouse. 

First off, we got a discount because a fair number of the cars were in storage to make room for a reception. I'd like to imagine these were spectacular cars, unusual cars, cars with rumble seats and such. Because frankly, though the sign outside did indicate this was a shrine to the Mercedes Benz, I was not prepared for the subliminal tweaking the Benz does to my subconscious.

Don't know what an antique Mercedes Benz looks like? Guess who's riding in this one!

Friend #4 later reported her husband said it best: he thought any minute he'd see someone give a Heil Hitler.

I didn't quite know why I felt uncomfortable, until I was admiring a car and Gary said brightly, "Yes, the Jewish slave labor did an excellent job on that car!"

It really beings to bring you down. Hitler car, Hitler car, vintage Volkswagen, Hitler car. It wasn't all Hitler all the time, for example, I can't see Hitler getting in to this ...

... but there were more than enough Hitlermobiles to make you feel a little threatened.

I think I could have put it out of my mind if any of the museum placards had dealt with the war connection, but they didn't seem to. At least not the ones I read - I stopped reading closely after one car was described as being in "dyer" need of repair.

So,"Nein!" on the Kemp Auto Museum.

Hobby Wrap-up

Mom always said she could judge her health by the mental redecorating she did. I've been feeling quite well lately, but I rarely redecorate. Instead, I feel my interest in hobbies re-surfacing.

Cooking: Today I am making a pot roast. It smells delectable. DELECTABLE damn you. I had to turn on the air guard feature that traps smells IN to the oven. This smell is making me insane. Nothing I did: I just stirred some packeted powdered pot roast mix in to a cup of water.

This smell has gone on for six hours now. It keeps inspiring me to mix up more things: I've made raw macaroon dough and stored it in the fridge; and soon I'll be making raw pasta dough and storing that in the fridge while the oven keeps working on the Pot Roast that I want to snort up my nose when it is done in four hours.

(Sixhours later: Pot roast is heavenly, and the macaroons. The fettuccine alfredo from scratch may have needed more salt.)

Guitar: I have to email the people who will be teaching me intro guitar, but only after I spend another few hours restoring my muscle memory. I need to get the callouses back on my fingertiips, too. I'm not back to square one, but I'd say I'm back to square ... four.

Cheese: Man, I spent part of the day looking at other people's cheese disasters. My cheese might come out gray, or slimy, or probably grainy and dry. I am not going to serve up the cheese at work, and I'm not going to serve it early. Chances are I'm going to hide it from Gary too. I'll show you pictures, of course.

Stained glass: This would require me to go in the basement. It's good to know if I ever need to make a lampshade I can. I could also make a hat if called upon.

I need to get to sleep right now, though, if I mean to maintain this good health. Night all.

Silent Auction

So, when I arrived an hour early for trivia at the College School, I tooled about the grounds and found a number of sculptures for the kids to climb on along with huge musical instruments to play with. (I took some photos and sent them to this blog, and it seems they have vanished in to the ether.)

I also killed some time by entering bids for the silent auction. The trivia was sponsored by the folk music club, so there were three musicians donating an hour of guitar lessons each. I signed up for all of those.

The values were estimated between 40 and 50 dollars, and the bidding for each started at 15-20 dollars.I don't know, I felt it would be insulting to bid 15 dollars right off. For some reason ... and I really can't explain the logic here, only that I had been roaming the grounds in the heat ... I put in $30 for my starting bid for all three of them.

And you just laughed, because you can guess what happened. I swear, that silent auction was swamped all night, but somehow people saw my bid and thought "Wow, she must really want those guitar lessons."

So every other item had a list of names bidding on it, but I was the only bidder for any of the guitar lessons. Or, perhaps everyone else there knows how to play the guitar.

Oh, and I bid $30 on two tickets to Twangfest, which is on a night I will be out of town.

I am almost certain my cognitive dysfunction is the reason we came in fourth.

Outside, Where The Action Is

I am sure that someday I'll have run through all the fauna, but right now this is the most interesting thing I've got going. Well, except for my Magical Cure. And I can't talk about the cure until I've been cured another week.

So for now, I give you what appears to be a woodpecker dismayed by an empty feeder.

... and a Purple Martin Grackle freaking the hell out at the camera being a male, probably trying to court with the camera, pervert.

I KNOW. Exploding bird.

Ugly is As Ugly Does

Greedy night critter.

There's a tree off-camera the racoon is gripping with his other paws. I think he uses the free paw to grab the feeder and pull it to his mouth. I don't think he can scoop out pawfuls of sunflower seeds.

So, in the yard we have

Gluttony - Raccoon
Sloth - Opossum
Lust - Painted Lady Butterflies. It's disgusting. They fly in pairs, hook up, then go off to lay eggs or whatever.
Greed - Crows. They fight off the squirrels.
Wrath - Squirrels
Pride - Purple Martins and Blue Jays
Envy -  Common Starling

(I'm not kidding about the butterflies. I promise, stand by your back door and look out for five minutes. You will see ten butterfly hook-ups.)