Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Gaiety

As you know, Gary and l get caught up in games. For quite a while it was a game of Position the Stuffed Coca Cola Bears Inappropriately, which morphed into Hide the Bears, which slowed down after it worked too well.

Lately, we've been playing Hide the Rubber Rat in honor of our mouse visitor. I don't know if it's actually a rat. It might be a small rat or a large mouse. It's a rodent of unusual size.*

It's been in my pillow case, my makeup drawer, and the microwave, but yesterday morning I crept out of the house and buried him up to the whiskers in the seed bin. The reveal was so delightful that Gary had to call me at work to tell me that not only was he surprised, but he has been worried for weeks he'd accidentally buried a mouse corpse he imagined he saw slide out of the gnawed seed bag.

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*Speaking of Rodents of Unusual Size (R.O.U.S.), for a while plans were afoot to have a Princess Bride Viewing Party, after it was revealed that Debbie M_____ had never seen the movie. At first, it was just "oh, you have to see that," then it was "come to my house and see that," then "come to my house where we'll have a theme party!"

A theme party with iocane powder ...

... hors d'oeuvres ...

 ... and name tags ...

I, of course, would be the six-fingered man. Tell me, how often can I capitalize on the extra thumb? Not often. Perfect opportunity. Additionally, if there's a wives of Henry VIII party, I get dibs on Anne Boleyn. No debate.

It was about that time that Debbie M_____ remembered the MenoParty, got scared, and refused to attend. It might have been after I suggested she might be propped up in a twin bed in the middle of the great room for the duration of the movie.

So, without our guest of honor, the party was scrapped.

Happily, I won a wine tasting party at my home, so that filled my party organizing needs. That's set for twenty days from now, and I'm sure by the time the sommelier arrives it will be a "Dress As Your Favorite Wine" party with a grape-stomping activity.

At Long Last: The Balloon Glow

You remember there have been times I have tried to get to the balloon glow.

I heard about it Friday at 4:45, I gave up at 5:30, Gary insisted we push on, and we left at 6:00. I even pouted and threw my hands up in despair several times, but Gary kept the faith.

They didn't block any other park entrances, and we parked one mile away. We didn't even try to drive into the park this time. And, astonishing: we actually got to see the balloon glow this year.

Most people came in, saw the special roped-off VIP area, and decided this was as close as they could get. But if you didn't mind snaking through the mob scene, you could get right in the midst.

 

Magical!

 

I blame the giant Energizer bunny for what happened next.

Here, we have the Energizer Bunny balloon: essentially a giant illuminated fertility symbol that keeps "going and going."

Evidently my uterus looked at that and thought, "I could glow bright pink and keep going and going." This brought on the resurrection of my Aunt Flo, whom I thought was dead, but it seems she was just biding her time and collecting ammunition. Today, when the doctor's office tried to draw blood and it just trickled out, I proposed that I do have a pretty significant leak that's probably lowering my overall blood volume.

I know, I should go to the doctor. First, though, I'm going to give it a week to run out of juice.

 

Wildlife Ballet

Mice

Sometime in July I noticed a mouse outside, I didn't notice the length of the tail, so it may have been a vole instead.

Sometime in August I noticed mouse droppings in the basement. I cleaned them up and made a note to check later to see if this was an actual mouse or a tourist mouse. I still remember the Great Mouse Infestation of '87, during which we trapped and drowned thirty-one mice, until we found a dead mouse made up of 30% testicles, obviously Big Daddy Mouse, and we haven't had mice since then.

I told Gary about my concerns. He checked the birdseed we were storing in the basement. It was free of gnaw holes.

The next week there was a trail of birdseed from the basement to the back door from where Gary had brought up a bag. Gary had to acknowledge that bag had been chewed some time that week. "I'll get some traps."

The NEXT week there was a very noisy manic mouse running around in the walls.

Gary did indeed get the traps the next day. He kept referring to "our mouse."

"Mice," I would correct him.

"No it's just one mouse." I reminded him of the thirty-one mice we had last time he said that.

Last week we found one mouse affixed to a trap. We did not preform a mercy drowning and let him pass on naturally in the garbage bin.

Hawk

The mice have come inside to avoid the Hawk Killing Machine. Earlier this summer a hawk stared Gary down as it killed one of the "sweet little birds" he fattens up.

This weekend, as we enjoyed our breakfast, a hawk swooped onto our patio. All I could think to do was yell, "Hawk," as it flapped its majestic wings and eyed our barbeque.

Gary cursed the hawk and chased it into a tree with the broom. Then he beat on the tree with the broom for about five minutes, yelling all the while at the "motherfuckeringbastard hawk." I usually like that type of language to be reserved for just the two of us, but the neighbors got to enjoy it this time.

Later, he was taking a shower while I was staring out the kitchen window, when I saw the hawk swoop past the patio and on to some rocks.

"HAWK" I screamed, but Gary couldn't hear.

The hawk then hopped into a garden bed, flattened itself out, and waggled like a gator under the dwarf Mugo pine. I spotted the wren that was hiding there. The wren flapped out the other side just as another hawk swooped past and reached for it.

"HAWKS" I screamed. What I should have screamed was, "HAWK DOUBLE TEAM MURDER MACHINE"  because that's what it was, a beautiful ballet designed to flush out and kill this teeny wren.

The wren escaped, somehow. The second (murderer) hawk roosted in the tree, while the first (flusher) hawk vacated to the arbor and looked disgusted. "I did a great job getting that wren into the open. How did you not catch that?" Then he flapped away.

So, Gary has purchased a top-of-the-line goose decoy for our house. I don't know why, but hawks fear geese.

The Circle of Life! Hawk eats wrens, hawk eats mouse, mouse eats seed, and if goose scares hawk this means we'll be overrun with mice by the end of the year.

Three Things

Ferguson

I know we haven't seen any smoke bombs lobbed at citizens for a few weeks, but you should know Ferguson remains in the local spotlight, if not the national. There was a city council meeting with a peaceful yet angry crowd that lasted hours while their voices were heard.  It concluded with a young white girl telling the all-white city council, "I have 3 minutes to tell you how ashamed I am of every one of you. This is me shaming you." Then this pigtailed girl said, "I am Mike Brown." (That is, if Twitter is to be believed. @AntonioFrench retweeted non-stop for hours.)

Wednesday afternoon at 4:30 (or, by other reports, "sometime after 3") there will be an unusual form of protest: protesters in cars are going to slow down, then stop, on Highway 70. I don't know how useful that will be. I suppose if we're back in the news that will keep the issue in the public consciousness.

Gary

Gary made me the best dinner of my life tonight: rib-eye with a pan sauce with wine and cream. Don't ask for the recipe; he made it up.

No Comment

Ms Magazine would end each issue with a photo they titled "No Comment." I present to you a photo I found of my parents on an Alaskan cruise.

Pie Fight

Gary and I have been trying to master the art of making pies.

Our first pie was the Strawberry Cheesecake pie. Relatively easy.

Then  we moved on to fruit pies. In order, Blueberry:

Apple

Not pictured: Cherry. I think we were too intent on cooing and eating it.

Peach:

Bumbleberry (Peach, blueberry and raspberry):

and Pecan:

See how Gary is smiling in those last two photos? That's because the pies are finished. Believe me, there were no smiles while these pies were being made. Each pie provoked an epic fight. The tears are baked right in. You can taste the hatred!

It seems we've been fighting every weekend, and it started when we embarked on the pie project. However, the last two weekends there have been no pies, but still, we find something to fight over.

The pie fights were straightforward. Any creative endeavor in this house just can't be split between two people without one person being the boss and the other being belittled. Then after we split the duties between Pastry Cutting Boss (Gary) and Rolling Boss (me), there were fewer fights.

This past two weeks we have fought about a) NOT making pie and b) NOT doing anything at all. Gary wants to continue relaxing on the weekends and I am so bored, people, I think that's why we've been fighting, just out of sheer boredom.

When I consider retirement it looms before me like a long, long weekend. I need to get this resolved in the next few months.