Friday, February 29, 2008
Peak of Perfection
For the February Wordsmiths challenge:

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Mother says “Moidrak has called you, and you’re about to go on a wonderful journey. You’re going to take the Cup of Consecration, and then we can begin.”

I have heard this before, many times, yet because it is now my name being spoken in the invocation, the words have a resonance I’d never heard before. The call to ultimate service is a warm whisper of eternal life, eternal love, eternal adoration, real and beautiful as the rosettes on the ceiling of the convent’s vast kitchens, and I am glad to answer.

Getting to the Table of Covenant had not been easy for a girl like me, born in the gutter, raised as a maid, culled from the herd of orphans by the Mother Immaculate herself to service. Mother had told me that the light in my eyes spoke of great things, and so it seems she was right. It’s not every day a nobody like me gets to be Grafted. Graftees are normally rich women, old and venerated, ready to give the rest of their lives to the service of Moidrak, not some milk-pale firm-hipped kitchen whelp like me.

And yet. Here I am, on the Table of Supplication, getting Grafted. The needles sting as they dip into my arms. My tears are joyful.

“Nia, sleep.”

So I do.

“Nia, it is over. You must now concentrate on being very very still or the Graft will not take. All your years of service will be for nothing. You don’t want that, do you”? the Mother’s voice beseeches me, calming as a stream.

No, I do not want that. The pain in my eyes is immense, but the Drugs of Obedience and Veneration keep me quiet and my limbs immovable, even though there is rebellion and fear in me. Moidrak has promised I will surmount this if I am a true Graftee. This is what I want more than life itself, and so I heal myself through sleep.

And awaken. My eyes still cannot open.

The world feels strange. Its seems like up is down. There is weight on my cheeks, my belly sags, the Graft line tugs a million prickles in my skin. I cannot see. I sleep.

“Nia, it is time.” Mother’s voice echoes. I awaken, longing to stretch my arms and legs, but suffering against the body in service to Moidrak is the fondest of wish of all Graftees, so I am lucky.

Nurses open my eyes with tiny snip of scissors to the Sacred Threads. That is all. There will be no more release. I open my eyes, afraid and excited. I am a Graftee now. Success.

Mother is so small from up here. I can hear voices of venerated old women whispering welcome. I am pressed to the ceiling, the starflung centerpiece of the glittering temple peak, my eyes the center of the Four Arcs of Solchar, my body the invitation to heaven.

Not bad for a girl from the gutter. Not bad at all.

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with major LURVE from tiff 6:50 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Cats throwing up amuse me
Heh - Albert just puked, and it was funny.

Stupid cat doesn't know enough to not eat houseplants (which, tho not officially poisonous, cannot be all that great for him). Two seconds after the crunching of the plant stopped, the hunching of the back began. He developed a glassy-eyed 100-yard stare, the tongue stuck out a little and was perfectly cherry-gumdrop red against his smart white fur, then the slickety-click of his epiglottis could be heard from across the house as whatever it was that was bothering him came lurching back up his gullet.

Yes, I watched the whole daggone thing. Twice.

Laughed both times, until it dawned on me that he is not the one that will clean it up.

Ingrate.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 3:35 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
To steal from Tracy Lynn
FEAR ME!


21


Stolen from Renn, (who can take on 15), who stole it from Stew (who can take on 29!), who prolly stole it from someplace else.

How many can YOU take on???
 
with major LURVE from tiff 8:18 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Oopsie!
Said I was gonna write a wordsmiths story for today.

No can do, peepies. No.Can.Do. Teh krazy has broken out here at work so there's not much time here, and I'm still in the midst of trying to move all my crap back INTO the bedroom after the paint job so there's not much time there, which leaves only mornings to write stories, and while I like the idea of rising early to hunch over a glowing computer screen as the words flow from my fingertips into posterity, I just can't seem to get out of bed in enough time to do much more than the triple S plus coffee. I don't even dry my HAIR before I leave the house, for Pete's sake; how am I supposed to write a story too?

Perhaps tomorrow. Maybe.

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I was talking with a friend this morning who said that his stomach had just made a noise "like a surf guitar solo."

That is some funny shit, right there.

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I totally love the new colors in mah bedroom, and the new re-arrangement of furniture that now makes it looks like a retreat rather than a dumping ground. Who new that puttin' a little feng shui mojo on the domicile could make such a gigantic difference?

There are houses all over my neighborhood that have been stripped down to the barest of bones and rebuilt to their original style. Many of these houses are lived in by artists, and therefore are painted all KINDS of bright, festive, Caribbean colors, both inside and out. I am a fan of that kind of color scheme, but when it came to choosing colors for my OWN room, things went far more dietary. The color on the fireplace wall (that also serves as my headboard) and below the chair rail is "Mocha." The trim is "Swiss Almond." The color above the chair rail and on the THREE doors in the room is a breakout from the edible colors; it's "Sand." The combination of dark below, light above, and pale yellow on the trim is like wrapping myself up in a Big Blankie of Chocolate/Nougatty goodness. Mmmmmmmm, nougat.

Obviously, my inner rastafarian can't compete with my love of sweets.

Plus which, the new color scheme in the bedroom now plays all matchy-match with most of the rest of my house, which is done in something like Guilden's Spicy Brown in the living room, and a brick n' guilden's checkered wallpaper in the kitchen. In those rooms, white trim abounds. Things got a little wild in the bedroom though with the Swiss Almond trim color. I know. It's shocking. What would the neighbors think?

Oh yeah - they're artists. They live in purple houses with cranberry-colored living rooms and cobalt kitchens. With shiny-hard dangly fixtures over their large kitchen islands. With stencilled floors and lilac walls. With rooms the colors of a bag of Jolly Ranchers, bright and primary and zingy enough to keep a fair shock of nerves jangled. Their houses simply vibrate energy.

The Tiny House, on the other hand, exudes warmth (here I was going to say "like a dairy barn," but then didn't say that because dairy barns nowadays are antiseptic and harsh, not at all like the old wooden barn I was thinking of, in which Farmer Brown milks the cows by hand and maybe shoots a jet of warm milk into an eager kitten's mouth from time to time while bits of hay chaff float through sunbeams and the smell of everything organic is a gentle assault...though maybe I interior-decorated that a touch more than is strictly necessary in my Kincaidian rhapsody, for which I should be taken out back and forced to turn in my highlighting brushes and fancy imagination. So, not like a dairy barn.), like a small English pub on a damp night, like a vast velvet cape, like a long hug from someone you love, like sunset at the beach on a hot August Thursday.

Yep - just like that.

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Now what color shall I paint the bathroom? It's the last bastion of "whee!" color in the house, and the mint-green of it has never been a favorite of mine. Nor, quite frankly, is the harvest gold tub with the cracks in it, but I'm not all about the affording of a new tub right now, so it stays.

So too, unfortunately, does the god-awful fake marble vanity top in shades of greens that remind me of egg drop soup swirled into weak lime jello....with a chipped faucet on top as the ultimate in white trashliness. It's a terrible bathroom, with a GREAT new floor done up in lovely stone-lookin' brown tile, and I now NEED something on the walls the de-emphasizes the awful bits while pumping up the floor's glamour. Yes, with a "U."

Got any idears? Help a sister out, won't you?
 
with major LURVE from tiff 1:16 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Can I just say something here?
I'm freaking addicted to this game. Heaven help me. I'm up to level 20 and can't stop playing. I can't let the Blockies beat me. They shall NOT beat me.

I have no idea when I'm going to get my WORK done, but that hardly seems to matter, does it? The Blockies, they wait for me. I must go to them.

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The leg is fine, y'all. I do believe I am now healed.

My bedroom is done. It is gorgeous. Thank goodness I had help getting it done, or I never would have finished it - I do have the best friends! Except now? I think I need drapes. And better furniture. And maybe some new lamps. And thus the downward spiral is embarked upon, in which I begin to CARE about such things, now that I have a nice space to put them in.

Warning - the rest of this post is "thinky," so if you came here for the next chapter in the fart wars at work, I'm afraid you'll have to wait. Sorry. I got in a mood. Whyn't you just go play Blockies and come back tomorrow?

Oh wait, not tomorrow. My Wordsmiths story is being posted tomorrow. It's not funny. So, Friday then. I promise, I'll be much more entertaining on Friday.

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OK - so the New York Philharmonic Orchestra played a concert yesterday in Pyongyang, North Korea. At first blush you might wonder why this is newsworthy, but take a moment and blush a second time while thinking about it.

Yeah, it took me a while too. I'm not the most savvy person when it comes to global politics and the implications of "Violin Diplomacy."

See, the United States and North Korea have kind of a frosty relationship right no, being as how North Korea may or may not be developing nuclear weapons, which we're not all that happy about. Go figure. The concert was billed as a "relationship builder" for both countries, and while I'm not convinced that playing a concert for 2000 of a nation's elite is going to change anything all that much, I'm all for enhanced relations.

They played classics of the orchestral repertoire, including a selection from Wagner's Lohengrin, Dvorak's " New World Symphony" and Gershwin's "An American in Paris." The concert closed with the Korean folk song "Arirang."

Here's where the thinky bit comes in.....I have been a playing member of several symphonies (and have actually played all but one of these pieces) and that is perhaps why I started to tear up a little bit when I heard the sound bites of the group playing. It was surprising, this reaction. I did not expect to be dripping tears while driving home. Who WOULD, really? But my musical heritage, if you can call it that, got stirred up, and the thrill of being part of a body of people that can work together to create that kind of beauty came back full force.

I have experienced many things while playing my instrument. Joy, frustration, exhilaration, even pain, but the absolute best feeling is that rush of euphoria when you realize that everything is going just right, and you're helping to create an artistic experience, to translate someone's genius into reality, to provide entertainment and escape. It can be spine-tingling, distracting, absorbing, and transporting.

And now, because of that wee headrush, I want to start playing my horn again.

It has sat in my closet for three years now, waiting for me to be ready to pick it up again. While I'll very likely never be as good as I once was, that's of little import right now, as long as I can find the outlet to express that strong desire to not just enjoy music, but make it too.

At the very least, I expect it will stop the sudden-onset weeping when I hear the opening bars of a familiar symphony...and I think we can all agree that this is probably a very good thing indeed.

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Along the same lines, I think I'll start drawing again. I doodle, a LOT, but haven't sat down and DRAWN something for serious in a very long time. I used to really enjoy it, though I can't shade worth a damn. No matter. It's not as though I'm working up a show or anything. It would be just for me. If I like something, I'll keep it. If not, I've got a lovely brick firepit in the back yard that's just calling out for more fuel.

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So, I ask you - Did you used to play an instrument, or sing, or act, or draw, or do something totally creative when you were younger that you would love to do again? What is it, and what's stopping you from doing it now?

I say we capture back that which once played a part in how we defined ourselves. I say we start to express ourselves rather than being mere lumps of flesh that do nothing but consume what other people have created for us.

Whaddaya think? You with me?
 
with major LURVE from tiff 12:24 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
We're at a stalemate
My thanks to all who commented on yesterday's "windy" post - you had me laughing right out loud. Seems retribution/revenge/retaliation is a strong fu among you. I'd love to have y'all on MY side when the bomb drops, is what I'm saying.

The fart wars with my borbyrigmafied cube neighbor have not yet commenced today. That's too bad, because I gots me a gut full of lentils and beef, which are stewing and ready for action. But if HE doesn't fire off first, I can't, and it's furrowing my brow. If Farty O'Blappydrawers doesn't sound off soon, I can't launch any offensive defensives, and that would be sad, seeing as how I'm so prepared.

To clarify one thing about the "Living situation" around these parts: Tooty McRazzypnats next "door" moved in AFTER me. He is the latecomer, and thus I believe I have certain rights to my quiet corner. It's a big room people, and yet he was put cheek (heh) by jowl (ew!) with me, which puzzles me to no end, because it completely goes against the "one empty seat" rule that we all follow in libraries, buses, and bathrooms. I wonder who was the one to have made the decision to put Gassy O'Pufferbutt next to me? Who was the one to have sentenced me to a life of secondhand gastrointestinal experiences?

It's not like I don't enjoy a good toot, people, for I do. There's certainly something extremely pleasurable about letting a good one rip, isn't there? BUT NOT IN SOMEONE ELSE'S AIR SPACE! It's like farting on an airplane - it's Just.Not.Done.

Which all makes me wonder - Does Razzy De'Analhorn not KNOW that I'm here? Can he not remember that there's someone just over the 6 foot-tall partition who might LIKE clean air to breathe? Can Braphomed Al-Honkerbriefs truly believe that farting in a cubicle, and what's more, farting LOUDLY in a cubicle, not come with some kind of repercussion?

Well, I'm going to GIVE him repercussion. And re- and re-, and re-, until he realizes that turning loose his gaseous effluvia into MY space is not acceptable.

It's just that I have to now wait for him to do it again. And the lentils, they won't wait.

Crap.

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Thunder in February. It's happening right outside my winder, y'all.

The oddest meterological phenomenon I've ever experienced included thunder in winter, but not the Southern thunder that comes with early spring rains as we're having today. Oh no. This was something completely different.

I was on my commute home from the pharmaceutical leviathan for which I then worked. It was a blowsy New England winter early evening, with fast-moving clouds slung low on overhead and a fine wind whipping the dry branches. There was a hint of snow in the air, a damp smell that told of much precipitation held aloft.

The wind kicked up, blowing snow across the roads and pushing cars around in their lanes. The tree limbs bent to and fro, being whipped about by the gathering storm. Fat drops of snow started plopping down, splattering against the windshield with authority.

And then, lightning. ZAP! The sky split in electric fury, sizzling blue-hot against the manatee-gray clouds. A deafening peal of thunder ripped out, concussive in volume. My fingers couldn't help but turn white as they gripped the steering wheel, hard. A second blast of lighting, then more, as branches began falling from trees, as wind and snow slowed the line of commuters to a crawl, and as blast after blast of thunder bellowed from the blackening sky. My goosebumps got goosebumps as I struggled to hold the car on the road and my nose filled with the scents of ozone, wet earth, and hot panic.

The Thundersnow was awesome, truly and literally, and it was over in less than ten minutes. I don't think I breathed more than twice that whole time. Simply and utterly amazing; a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Thank God.

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Anyone ever almost been struck by lighting, or experienced a tornado, or been caught in an undertow, or otherwise been subject of the powerful tug of nature?

I have, all three, and let me tell you, I'm not a big fan. Maybe I'll tell you about them sometime, but for now I'm off to do work, think about my wordsmiths story, and try to not listen to whatever's going to happen in the cube next door as lunchtime draws ever more near.

Wish me luck, and have a great day.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 10:31 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Monday, February 25, 2008
Stop me from killing him
My cube neighbor FARTED right the hell out loud today.

That's right...he FAR-TED.

Not even the "oops!" kind of fart either. It was purposeful. I HEARD HIS CHAIR CREAK just prior to the fart. He leaned over in his chair and outgassed. He launched an air biscuit! He stepped on a the proverbial duck! At work! Right next to ME! Into my BREATHING AIR!!

He KNEW he had to fart, he KNEW I was over here, and let it rip anyhow!

I just about leapt over the partition and ripped HIM something...

Gods! As if the sighing, the chewing, the bag rustling, the slurping, the burping, or the LOUD PERSONAL PHONE CALLS weren't bad enough, we now have the farting. It cannot be abided (abode?).

See below for a helpful schematic of my "office," which might explain why I am getting rather frustrated by this person's personal functions. He is in my space, people.


I think I'd prefer to be told to move to the basement, if you must know.

I miss my office. So.Very.Much.


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with major LURVE from tiff 4:52 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Quick - grab the carrots!
Dudes - another busy day, but I thought I'd take the time to offer up this recipe for yummy nummy deeeeligh carrot salad, that even I, a hater of all things cooked carrot, enjoyed.

Srsly, it's that good.

You'll need:

1 Tbsp oil
1.5 cups carrots (I julienned mine, just for fun)
1/4 cup each chopped onion and green pepper
1/4 cup rasins
1/2 ounce chopped nuts (I used walnuts)
1.5 tsp sugar
1.5 tsp apple cider vinegar

Cook the carrots, onions, and green pepper in the oil until crisp-tender, cover the pot, reduce heat to low, and cook until fork tender.

Add the other ingredients, toss, and chill for an hour or so.

Eat.

This goes really well with roasted orange chicken (take one chicken, jam orange slices under the skin, stuff a half an orange in the body cavity along with a cupla bay leaves, sprinkle chicken with salt, roast at 375 for an hour or until done) and buttered rice.

I am just saying, is all.

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Hey - you know how to totally use up a Sunday?

Step 1) Decide to paint your bedroom. Step 2) Decide to use three different colors. Step 3) Decide to replace some window trim while you're at it, Step 4) go ahead and move everything in the room OUT while painting, just so that once done you can rearrange the furniture into something resembling an adult's room and not something done in "early dormitory" style, Step 5) go to the store, purchase paint and other supplies, and Step 5) commence to painting.

That should take about 10 hours, at the end of which time you'll be really tired, and once you've had your dinner and some cocktails you will sleep like a baby, only without the 2 a.m. feeding and diaper change (unless, of course, you're into that sort of thing, then by all means have at it).

Really! It works like a charm!

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Bye for now. Y'all enjoy your Monday as much as you can, y'hear?
 
with major LURVE from tiff 10:36 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Friday, February 22, 2008
Weatherr report, Tiffleg update, and Headlines
Hey y'all! Happy Friday!

It's a glorious rainy day here in NC, and I can't help but be excited by that. You'd think that a middle-aged lady of dubious past would not get so excited about RAIN, but by golly it's worth getting excited about when you're staring down the barrel of Stage 2 water restrictions and dire predictions for little precipitation in the near future. Any drop of rain is good, a box of rain is better, and a whole BARREL full (or resevoir, take your pick) is better yet.

So, yay for rain!

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Also, yay for healing! Take a gander, folks, at the Tiffleg, Day 10-ish.

Is it not a thing of beauty? I mean, compared with what it looked like on Day 5 or so, it's really a whole lot better. I'm never going to win any KIND of 'best legs' contest with knees like these, but dayum it's nice to have the ugly lumps gone.

There's only a tiny bit of residual bruising (sigh, I miss it, don't you?), and as far as discomfort goes, it peaked on Tuesday and is resolving tremendously well.

Once I'm all healed up I think I'll generate a little stage-by-stage comparison picture so that anyone who wants to come on by and get the full spectrum of gorgeousness that is the tiffleg before n' after, becuase I'm all about the public service.

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Hey y'all! It's HEADLINE TIME! Get you ready for some ham-fisted humour, served up by the mistress of demi-wit herself, Meestriss Teef!

First, political news:

Clinton: Obama 'change you can Xerox'

Obama: Clinton, 'Yoda you speak like'

Obama, Clinton big spenders

Clinton: Heap big talk, Kimobama.

International news is next:

Turkey launches ground operation in Iraq

Because hambruger is scarce there, you know.

Now for human interest:

Dog saved by Marine coming to Calif.

Original headline used the word "butterface," but the editors thought it was too long.

SHOCKING CRIME!

Jury: Man poisoned wife with antifreeze

His defense that she was frigid and he thought a little Prestone would help her didn't go over very well, obviously.

From the world of entertainment:

Northern Rock under government control

Southern Rock still under Skynrd control

Science news is next:

Wolves to be removed from species list

Sorry dudes, you're just a buncha big dogs (but not the butterface kind).

Japan Internet mogul appeal trial begins

The appeal of internet moguls is obvious: they're much easiser on your knees than the real ones!

Indonesia sends bird flu samples to WHO

I don't know, who? That's right, WHO. No, who? Exactly.

And now, for Sports:

Indiana mum on fate of embattled Sampson

Beverly Orbison, of Indianapolis, told the US News and Global Report that Sampson ought to be ashamed of himself, and cautions him to "play nice or get out of the sandbox."

And to round this out, a headline that needs to rejoinder. Just click on the link...

Pig song: download it from styTunes?

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Have a great Friday folks, and a lovely weekend. SMOOTCHES to all who want 'em!
 
with major LURVE from tiff 10:19 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Can't Stop.Looking.
Someone call for an intervention. This has me hooked.

My God, am I really THAT shallow?
 
with major LURVE from tiff 4:42 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Quick hits
First, go read the comments from yesterday's post. The phrase "cube tooter" was used, and there's a story about an unapologetic farter in there too. Amazing. I laughed right on out loud, and that's not something that happens that often, because I laugh very loudly and sometimes frighten myself.

Anyhow, go read.

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The following is a total dash of nostalgia.

Burning Down the House. (a clickable link, yo, for I know not how to do the embeddening)

Man, I feel good now.

I've been re-listening to "More Songs About Buildings and Food" lately, and I must say that the band got better with time, with "Stop Making Sense" one of the best albums I've ever heard. The concert video is pretty spectacular too, if you like that kind of thing, which I do, which is why I said something about it here.

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I was shoppin' at the local Food Lion (rawr!) yesterday evening while the Things were at tae kwon do, and in the midst of a very focused cereal-buying moment I thought I heard the voice of God. It was deep, clear and booming, and it was telling me that I couldn't have that box of cereal because I was too sneaky at home...

Before putting the box of "Oats and More" back on the shelf (because, seriously, it's HEALTHY, God!), I looked around me, and espied a wiry redneck (I say that with love, y'all) gentleman and his three children in the same aisle. I hesitated putting back the cereal, because I didn't want to appear to be a waffler on cereals in front of a crowd...it's not like it's a life and death decision, the cereal.

And then God spoke again, only this time it came out of the mouth of the man: "Ya'll shuh-nt be able to git that there snack, because mama tells me y'all've bin nawty tuhday tuh her."

I admit I might have gawped a tiny bit.

It was an improbable voice. His body wasn't big enough to hold that voice. He wasn't really big enough to hold much more than a mellow tenor, and yet here he was carrying around the heavy burden of a voice of power, richly resonant, with layers of timbre padding a deep rumbling bass note. The voice was beautiful...and it belonged to this hard-worn man with three little kids who was just trying to buy some supper.

This, for some reason, made me happy. Little surprises almost always do.

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"Pirates of the Carribean" 3 totally rocks. It's way too long, but it still freaking rocks. That movie was the previous two evening's entertanments; I have no idea how people wer able to sit through the whole thing at the theater.

There were moments of real beauty, of extreme excitment, of heroism and humor, and an ending I did NOT expect. Completely worth the 4 dollar rental fee.

I know that y'all have already seen it, but I just had to throw in my two bits of review.

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Leg update! It's fine. No longer feels like the insides are going to come sproinging up to the outside, and I can walk reasonably well, there is minimal bruising, and I'm thinking of playing tennis this weekend.

Not bad for an old broad, I should think.

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And that's it folks. Duty calls, and I must go clean it up. Heh.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 9:51 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
This one's all over the map.
A Proud Moment in Parenting!

For the second day in a row I got a phone call from Thing 2 not long after I dropped him off at school.

“Mom, I forgot my science binder and novel at home, and I need them for school.”

Today, unlike yesterday, I did not go back home to get them. Today I stood firm, and told Thing 1 that he’d just have to struggle, because I was halfway to work and wasn’t turning back.

I think he hung up on me. That’s a first.

Y’all think I was too hard on the boy? I turned that thought over and over in the 20 minutes it took me to get to work after he called, and I’m leaning toward thinking it was for his own good, because he IS 12 years old and in 7th grade and I shouldn’t have to tell him to pack his backpack with his HOMEWORK, should I? When do you reach the point where you can stop narrating your children’s lives for them, and expect that they’ll be able to anticipate necessities like having their schoolwork packed up and ready to go?

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The Things did their homework by the light of a bonfire last night. Just like Abe Lincoln, if Abe had done his homework near the roaring blaze created by the immolation of a dozen cardboard boxes, some dead weeds, and a bunch of old wood scraps. Oh, and various magazines that were just lying around the house begging to be set on fire. And some old homework. And a few dead branches from the yard.

Yep – just like that.

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My intestines are making noises like a bubbling mud pit. I fear that what may eventually come OUT of them might smell like a bubbling mud pit, all sulfurous and mustard-gassy.

My cubicle neighbor might be in big trubs. (not as big as THIS guy, but big nonetheless)

Being flatulent at work didn’t USED to be a big issue – I’d just close my office door and have at whatever it was that needed having at. But now my natural functions are being held to a much more polite standard, and it irks me. Man, there’s almost nothing more satisfying than letting a good one rip when you really need to, but now I can’t because it might be noisy or stinky and the noise and stink couldn’t HELP but be noticed by the person sitting a mere three feet from me.

Back in the old days (precube), if I had “issues” I could just put up the “in a telecon” sign on my door and close myself in, relishing the freedom that office provided. Now I have to reign in the greatness that the alimentary canal produces, training myself to emit only when the "all clear" is in effect, or when I’m alone in the ladies room. It’s TORTURE, people, especially since before cube life I had no idea I farted as often as I seem to need to now.

Man, I miss the good old days.

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Ron was nice enough to e-mail me asking about my leg, and how my recovery is going. (Nice, yes, but I suspect he just wants more pictures and the niceness was a cover. If so, well done sir!)

Well Ron, the recovery is going great, if by great one means that one can FEEL the proximal bit of one’s greater saphenous vein practically ripping itself to smithereens inside one’s leg, which is accompanied by a sore stiffness that can be likened to what an old rubber band must feel like just prior to snapping apart. Shut up, rubber bands can TOO feel things.

It’s a terrifically odd sensation, and I’d love to get a peek inside the gam to see what’s happening in there. SOMETHING is going on, that much is for sure. Yesterday the pain from the healing/stretching/tugging was intense enough to break through a 4-hour-old dose of 800 mg of ibuprofen, which doesn’t usually happen. Today, however, things are much better, and so I have a feeling that the body is doing the right thing, and is breaking down that nasty ol’ vein into bits that can be dealt with by the tiny garbagemen that live in my bloodstream. Why, I can hear the back-up beeps of numerous infinitesimal trucks now, piling up the detritus of what used to be a very large blood vessel, carting it off to the liver or wherever bits of corporeal dross go to be cleared from the system.

There’s hardly even any more bruising. The great purple thigh stain of Saturday is no more. A shame, really, for it was a thing of great hue and beauty, wasn’t it? Ah well, all beauty must fade, and indeed the purple is now a light celery colored blotch that is also rapidly fading. Perhaps I’ll grab one last picture tonight just for old time’s sake, because even though the great bloom of bruise has dissipated, there’s still some rather disgusting scabbing going on which I’m sure should be captured for posterity.

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

Jeez, this is getting long. I’d better cut off here, so as not to go into much more blathering. Best to save that for tomorrow, when the price of blathering might have risen and therefore the resulting post will be that much more valuable to all concerned.

And hey! Look! I didn’t cuss ONCE in this post.

Have a great day y'all. See you tomorrow.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 9:29 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
A tsunami of posts!
Two yesterday, and one to start off today. Something's happening here, and while I'm not sure it's all that terrific, it's happening. We'll see what comes of it.

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

DebR has gifted me with the "Roar for Powerful Words" award, and I am thankful. If you've read here before you'll know that I've gotten this award before (Thanks Beth!), but you know what? I'm not against getting it again. It would be like turning down an Oscar. The last time the lion was pink...this time the lion is blue, so I'm building a little award nursery here. How adorable.

It's terrific to be honored like this, really. I'm pleased that people enjoy their time spent here, and that they take away a samll part of my world in the reading. I know that what's contained in this blog is not great literature, it's not high art, it's not anything more than the blurting out of the thoughts and feelings and experiences of one middle-aged woman who from time to time has delusions of grandeur and a tendency to clumsily wield the humor shilaleigh.

So, thanks Deb - you totally made my day.

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

Yesterday's schedule went something like this: get kids up for school, drive them there, drive back home, take a nap. Wake up, rush to doctor's appointment, go to Home Depot for fertilizer and flowers, go back home, eat lunch, hang out, do dishes, do laundry, go get Thing 2, go back home to drop him off, go get Thing 1 from school, go back home. Hang out for an hour, supervise homework, take kids to tae kwon do, go back home, plant flowers, get kids from tae kwon do, finish planting flowers, fold laundry, eat dinner, wash dishes, watch the end of Star Wars III, tuck the kids in to bed, and fall asleep on the couch.

Y'all? This being a SAHM is hard freaking WORK.

This morning it was back to normal. I was up at 6 to help Thing 2 finish his homework, fold more laundry, make lunches, get ready for work, take them to school. I thought it went rather well, until 5 minutes after dropping off Thing 1 at school I get a phone call from him: "Mom, I left my green homework binder at home, Could you please get it for me?"

Grumble, grrr.

I thought briefly about making him take the hit for being forgetful, but decided to show mercy and go back home (a 15-minute ride), FIND the binder, go BACK to school, and only then get on the road to work. From the time I got into the car to start the normal morning "thing" until the time I actually GOT to work, 2 hours had elapsed and I'd missed the first half an hour of a telecon. 2 hours of my life I'll never get back, just sitting in the car being responsible.

Sometimes it doesn't pay to get out of bed, you know?

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

Hey - y'all checked out the Wordsmiths pic yet? It's pretty neat. See what you think of it, and maybe get yourself inspired to write something.

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

That's it for now. The telecon is ending and it's time to get back to work. But first, of course, a cup of coffeee, maybe a blog read or two, maybe a chat with someone who looks chatworthy, becuase there's no sense plunging HEADLONG into the maelstrom if it's at all avoidable, is there?
 
with major LURVE from tiff 9:56 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Monday, February 18, 2008
I'm chocolate on chocolate
I didn't make this up - but wish I did. Enjoy!!

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

If all of the deserts listed below were sitting in front of you, which would you choose?

Here are your choices:

1. Angel Food Cake

2. Brownies

 3. Lemon Meringue

 4. Vanilla cake with Chocolate Icing

 5. Strawberry Short Cake

 6. Chocolate on Chocolate

7. Ice Cream

 8. Carrot Cake

No, you can't change your mind, so think carefully what your choice will be, and then scroll down to find out what your choice says about you!

*****

*****

*****

*****

*****


1. ANGEL FOOD CAKE -- Sweet, loving, cuddly. You love all warm and fuzzy items. A little nutty at times. Sometimes you need an ice cream cone at the end of the day. Others perceive you as being childlike and immature at times.

2. BROWNIES -- You are adventurous, love new ideas, are a
champion of underdogs and a slayer of dragons. When tempers flare up you whip out your sabre. You are always the oddball with a unique sense of humour and direction. You tend to be very loyal.

3. LEMON MERINGUE -- Smooth, sexy, & articulate with your hands, you are an excellent after-dinner speaker and a good teacher. But don't try to walk and chew gum at the same time. A bit of a diva at times, but you have many friends.

4. VANILLA CAKE WITH CHOCOLATE ICING -- Fun-loving, sassy, humorous, not very grounded in life; very indecisive and lack motivation. Everyone enjoys being around you, but you are a practical joker. Others should be cautious in making you mad. However, you are a friend for life.

5. STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE -- Romantic, warm, loving. You care about other people, can be counted on in a pinch and expect the same in return. Intuitively keen. Can be very emotional.

6. CHOCOLATE ON CHOCOLATE -- Sexy; always ready to give and receive. Very creative, adventurous, ambitious and passionate. You can appear to have a cold exterior but are warm on the inside. Not afraid to take chances. Will not settle for anything average in life. Love to laugh.

7. ICE CREAM -- You like sports, whether it be baseball, football, basketball, or soccer. If you could, you would like to participate, but you enjoy watching sports. You don't like to give up the remote control. You tend to be self-centred and high maintenance.

8. CARROT CAKE -- You are a very fun loving person, who likes to laugh. You are fun to be with. People like to hang out with you. You are a very warm hearted person and a little quirky at times. You have many loyal friends.

 
with major LURVE from tiff 7:10 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
All's well, y'all
I have the day off today, and so was going to stay away from the intertubez, but because someone is worried about me I decided to update a little.

I'm fine, kenju, really.

Had the 1-week visit with the vein surgeon today, and was told that I'm making good progress. Hooray! I was feeling good enough to take a hike in my backyard, see??


(not to scale)

All the tape strips are gone - I'd had enough of them by yesterday evening, and so after the second bourbon I plucked up the courage to pluck them OFF mah laig, thus freeing me from the infernal itch and burn of those steri-strip. Sweet relief! Other than a residual amount of pain from the bruising, and the feeling that if I stretch the leg out too far the thigh bit of laser-blasted vein is going to rend itself in two, I'm feeling much better, thanks. Seriously, that's an improvement!

So, let's keep it short and sweet today. It's too daggone NICE out today to be setting inside messing about with the worlewidewebz, so I'm outta here. See you tomorrow!
 
with major LURVE from tiff 1:18 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Friday, February 15, 2008
Muthaeffing OW - Updated Saturday!
There will be new pictures of my totally gross and bruised leg later on today, if all goes well. I just got back from the bafroom to have a peek at why it hurts so freaking MUCH, and for all y'all sickos out there who have been enjoying my trip through recovery from daggone stupid varicose vein surgery, this ought to be your shining moment.

My God, it's awful.

Have a nice afternoon.

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

OK y'all. It's Saturday morning, and so I'm a little late on the whole gross picture thing. My apologies for the nightmares you missed out on having. See if this next thing works for tonight's nocturnal equines.


(See Tiff's leg, PLUS extra bonus special man-hands shot! Daggone I need a mani)

See all the lovely lovely bruising up there on the thigh? That's where the laser (please say that like Dr. Evil, mmkay?) was threaded up the greater saphenous vein and then where it blasted the vein to smokereens.

Those are HOLES on the inside of my knee. That's where the bulgy bits of veins were yanked through and snipped off.

Those little tape strips on my shin are where more veins were yanked and ligated.

Overall, I'm pretty pleased with the results thus far. Spectacular bruising is kind of awesome.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 4:04 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Stellar Moments, and Not
Buzzardbilly had a contest yesterday.


I just HAD to get in on the action. Really now, how can you NOT participate in something with THAT noble an aim? The submissions were hilarious, and many ought to be turned into some kind of Valentine's greeting card, because heaven knows that there is a dearth of "Sorry I was such a Dick" cards out there. So go on over, read some inspiriing poetry, and enjoy.

This got me to thinking.....and I'll wait a moment while all of you go "why start thinking NOW, TIff? Why NOW?"......more ellipses.......and some more.......y'all done yet?

Good. To reiterate: This got me to thinking "why don't we have poetry/greeting cards for 'I'm sorry I was such a BITCH' "? Because really y'all, there's a need. Hey, I know from time to time (once a month, maybe?) I could have used such a card or sentiment myself, and as hard as you might find that to believe, it's true. Sometimes Tiff needs a mega-Midoal and a half-gallon of liquor to keep the even keel...

So, I ask you, my friends. What couplets, sonnets, odes, limericks, or haiku would YOU like to see on the subject? Write some, and leave 'em in the comments. If you do, feel free to download and use the attached graphic on your site to let the world know you're making it a safe place to live, one apology at a time.


Oh, here are a couple of examples for ya:


If I wasn't such a bitch,
How would you know that I loved you?

If I wasn't such a bitch,
Would you say that my love wasn't true?

If I wasn't such a bitch
What would you talk about with your friends

If I wasn't such a bitch
How could we make our amends?

If saying I'm sorry will make you feel better
Then I'm sorry, OK? That enough?

If saying I'm sorry will make you forgive me
Then I'm sorry, all right? Let's make love.

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

Your friends tell you that I'm a bitch
Do they know how good you've got it?
Their wives are harridans, shrews, and fishwives
Nags and witches and hotheads

So I'm sorry that people say I'm a bitch
I'd say that they're way of the mark
Their "little ladies" and lovers are way worse than me
I'm a bitch, yeah, but not in the dark.

So I'm kind of a terrible poet, but you get the idea, no?

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

Ah yes, the graphic - I made it myself. It sucks, but whatever. It fits the mood, right?
--------------------------------------

More dreams of spiders last night. Spiders in church. Church spiders....does this need any interpretation?

Started with one little inch-wormy thing hanging from the back of a pew, which I tried to wipe away before it got on Thing 1. Then the sticky threads started to multiply, and with each swipe grew in tangledness and adhesion until I was flailing around in a mass of websilk, all the while noticing that the little spots of what I thought were dust were really baby spiders, and that they were growing by the second and getting all over me. In my hair, down my neck, on my kids, on the preacher. Ther was no escape....none.

I hate those kind of dreams. Where's George Clooney when you need him?

George has let me down lately. He doesn't show up anymore. What's UP with that? Why can't a fantasy boyfriend at least show up from dreamtime? Where am I going wrong with this?Do I need a new, more attentive fantasy boyfriend, or is it that being happy in real life has chased away the need for a fantasy boyfriend once and for all?

Daggone it. All this happy is wrecking what used to be a very lively imagination.


Hrmph.


Now if the happy could do something about the spiders, I'd be ever so grateful.


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


No leg update today folks. Just let it be known that the bruising continues to spead, that some of the steri-strips have come off, and that I just found out that it takes longer than three days for me to be all the way healed up. Eee-yewwwww.


Oh, and I have a splinter. Or had one. I just dug it out. It was made of METAL. TF?


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


Headlines are once again taking a break; I used all my creativity on that black rose graphic.
Make it worth my while y'all, and write me something purty, please?


Then have a great weekend!

 
with major LURVE from tiff 9:53 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Thursday, February 14, 2008
It's 1:30 already?
WTH?

This day has gotten away from me. For the first time since last Friday I'm working at work, and it's totally thrown me for a loop.

I'm back in the land of the cubicle, listening to Mister Cube Neighbor chew gum, pop bubbles, curse under his breath at his computer, take personal phone calls, and burp. Oh, and I can hear his intestines grumbling. It doesn't sound good, folks.

What to do? Well, I grumble my intestines right back AT him, is what. Then maybe I belch discreetly and all ladylike, say "excuse me," and go about my business. But I swear, if any odd smells come wafting from his corner of the cube farm, I'm out of here. I'll have the perfect excuse - "my leg needs to be elevated and I can't do that in my current office setup!"

AAMOF - It does hurt, a little. Is it any wonder why? Just LOOK at this!


It's really starting to turn a nice shade of yellowy-green, ain't it? Mmmm, all up the course of the vein to my groinal area, and the inside of the knee is just lovely. That big ol' purple bruise is spreading a little too, so I think it's a fairly impressive growth of ick over the last day or so. MmmmMM! Day 3 of recovery/convalescence/whining is going very well, thanks for asking.

It would be going a little better if I'd remembered to take the ibuprofen this morning. Things are just a tad tender. Me dum, fo sho.

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

SNOW this morning in NC. SNOW! Wooo!

Schools were cancelled in some places, which was a bone-head move if you ask me, because by 8 a.m. the roads were clear and dry, and only the bits of land that hadn't seen a touch of sun had any evidence of the meteorological phenomenon left.

By noon it was 50 degrees here. Went out for lunch sans jacket.

There are trees in bloom. My hydrangeas are leafing out. I've seen DAFFODILS, people. Spring is coming to the south, and only NOW does it decide to snow? Gah!

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

I used to have a bike. I do not anymore. Apparently someone thought they needed it more than me and went into my backyard, shopped among the three bikes that were out there, decided mine was the nicest one, and horked it.

Boy, were THEY wrong. Mine wasn't the best, by a long shot. Stupid thieves.

Even though it's not the best bike in the world, I would like to have it back, and you can BET that if I see anyone riding a teal-blue 18-speed cheapo WalMart LADIES bike around town I'm going to be stopping them and aksing a few questions. Really, how many people could have bought one just like that one, and how many people are capable of pedalling that heavy-ass bike more than a couple of miles? Not many, I'm guessing.

The other two bikes are now locked together, and also locked to the deck posts.

Thanks, dear neighbor who stole my bike. You suck.

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

A free hot tub sounds like a good idea, right?

I thought so too.

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

If I haven't mentioned this before, my cube backs up to a wall, on the other side of which is the company gym. There's someone in the gym right now, I can tell, because the teevee, which is attached to the other side of the wall that backs up to my cube, is turned up to freaking ELEVEN and is blasting some daggone sopa opera into the back of my head. I've a mind to pound on the wall and scream "TURN IT DOWN!" just to scare the living piss out of whoever takes an hour of their time at work to watch their "show" while I'm trying to....uh....work.

I mean, I could be working if I wanted to, but their shows are distracting me and I can't think properly, so I have to post instead.My indignation is well-placed, yes? I'm on firm footing, no? Right.

That's that ticket, right there.

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

Over n' out for now y'all. It's meeting time again.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 1:27 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The saga continues
Well, if you're not ready to look at pictures of my leg at the great unveiling, then please don't read much farther or look at the graphical representation of what mah left leg looked like after I unswwaddled it from Monday's varicose vein surgery.

If you're late to the story, I had laser ablation of the greater saphenous vein from the knee up to the groin, and microphlebectomy from the knee down. Go back to Monday's entry to read all about it, or just click here to pop over there if you're curious. I'm pretty sure you don't want to miss the high-grade whining and bellyaching that happened...

Yesterday I was allowed to take off the Ace bandages and gauze that held my leg together, which was kind of exciting. I had visions of horrific things happening, spurts of dark venous blood bounding from still-open wounds and such, which amused my black little heart.

Sadly, nothing quite so entertaining as all that happened.

The real story is that 24 hours after being let out of surgery, I simply unwrapped the Ace bandages (forgetting to notice which end went on first, which is important now that they come with Velcro ends instead of the metal clippy things they USED to have), then grabbed a hold of the neareest end of gauze available and started unmummifying myself.

It went pretty well. I only had a couple of nervous moments when I thought "Oh shit - the steri-strips are coming loose!" and had to gently pry them from a little bit of dried-up blood, but otherwise it was fine. I took a shower, working gingerly around the dozen or so small wound sites, inspecting for bruising and such, and, naturally, pressing on the site that hurt the most just to see if they still hurt.

They did. Duh.

Now I present to you the results of my surgery, 24 hours later:



(This was taken in the Tiny House's kitchen, so not only can you get a gander at Franken-leg, but you can cast your eyes upon the loathesome kitchen floor... and it's a far better shot of my fat knee than the "before pic," don't you think?)

Up toward the crotchal area that you can't see so well here are a couple of bruises where the "tumescent anesthetic" was injected around the venous capsule. No, I don't know what I'm talking about, but I can parrot the surgeon just fine. Down on my foot there are several small injection sites where the foam stuff was shot into some small veins, but they aren't terribly impressive to look at just yet. I have high hopes that they'll turn yellow and green and gross before they collapse and DIE, but I'll just have to be patient and wait for that to happen, if indeed it ever does.

I took a look at my leg just now as I got out of the shower, and it doesn't really look a whole lot different than it did yesterday, so this shot will have to do for now. I'm not getting a whole lot of bruising, there is no spectacular oozing, no inflamed areas, no NOTHING that would garner anything but the most tangential of sympathy.

My surgeon might be TOO good.

The pain is laughably minimal - the 800 mg of ibuprofen every 6 hours is working great. There are only a couple of tender ares where the very biggest of the veins were excised (those where there was rather a LOT of tugging going on and some deeper excavating for purchase on the bloataciousness that were the veins).

In short, I'd say that everything is going rather well. I expect that I'll be back at work tomorrow as planned, and that by the weekend I'll resent having to wear the support stocking and Ace bandage thing. Of course I'll be a good girl and WEAR the daggone things, because I want to continue to be the poster child for varicose vein surgery, but I won't have to LIKE it.

OK. So. Now you know. I bet that tomorrow I'll be on to other things, because I'm beginning to bore myself, which means that y'all are highly likely to be even MORE bored, and I can't have that.

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

Hey! Trina posted!

And hey! A new Wordsmiths is up!

And hey hey! It's RAINING in NC! Wooooot!

And hey hey hey! Renn's Chocolate Covered Satan Balls are to die for. THREE ingredients, poeple! THREE, and they are teh total yum. Seriously, you can't afford NOT to make them, for sin never tasted so good.

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

Have a great afternoon y'all. See you tomorrow. I have some more recuperating/convalescing/fishing for sympathy to do.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 1:06 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
In which I occupy myself with convalescing
Convalescing is an odd-looking word. Something about the end not matching the beginning. I am putting a great deal of thought into convalescing, because it's what I'm doing right now.

Convalescing, and blogging, and working from home.

That "one thing at a time" trip I was working on a few weeks ago might be over already, but let's not rush over that particular cliff yet, for convalescing, while an action word (anything can be verbed!), isn't a particularly demanding activity, so I think I can manage that and one other thing at the same time. Like BREATHING and doing something else verb-y, it can be done.

The convalescing is accompanied by much much ibuprofen, which, as my good friend and pharmacist buddy RI Red tells me, helps not just with pain but inflammation and I should be taking it round the clock for a week even if I'm not in pain. So, I am. 800 mg every 6 hours. I want to be done with the convalescing in good style, you see, and in two day when I go back to the office I want to be able to say I feel OK.

I don't feel BAD now, at least not when I'm lying on the couch with my leg properly propped. Once I stand up though, the "WHOMP" of gravity hits and I get some reboundy owies, rather like a pressure headache. It's an interesting thing, it is. My body and all its activities and mysteries fascinate me. Why, yesterday when I asked to see a bit of the vein the doc was removing, she looked at me with a total "WTF?" face, then obligingly held up a little piece. It was disappointingly small, flabby, and pale. I was totally expecting something purple and bloated and gross, but no. All the gravy had been drained from that bit, and it resembled nothing more than a tired old deflated balloon. What a letdown.

Anyhow, that's what I'm up to today. But oh! Today's the day the bandages come off and I get to see what lies beneath! I am excited, and a little nervous. What if I take off the Ace bandages and gauze, only to have all those little incisions pop open, making a sieve of my leg through which I ooze brilliant blood? Could happen, you know. I might be a slow healer. The steri-strips might not have the proper glue on them, or I've been leaking fluid all night and it's dissolved the adhesive.

But prolly not. I'm just not that big a drama queen., and the body KNOWS it. The body is sensible and follows the rules and heals when it ought to and doesn't typically leak a whole lot of anything nor does it break down at random intervals or demand much more than regular infusions of fuel and bourbon, and for that I love it. Yay body!

More news as events progress - and pictures too, of that you can be sure.

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

Convalescing doesn't necessarily lead to stirring blogging, people. HOWEVER, something really exciting happened yesterday while I was busy getting better!

Yesterday the UPS man delivered unto me a small package. I was clueless as to what was inside. Was it a tiny bomb sent by a cowardly suicide bomber? Was it a wee package of dog poo sent by a practical jokester? Was it perhaps a box of roaches (the bugly kind, not the fun-ish kind) sent to me by some vindictive stalker?

(Note here that I was not thinking along the lines of "Was it a wad of hundred-dollar bills?" or "Was it a solid-gold bar?" or "Was it the key to a safe deposit box in a Swiss bank PLUS plane tickets to get there?", for when surprises show up at my doorstep they're hardly EVER the good kind of surprise.)

Understandably then, I was hesitant to open the box. I cautiously slit open one short side (by doing so I imagined that I could avoid the ignition wire on the bomb), and slid out the contents.

And guess WHAT, y'all? I got an iPod Nano in the mail. Woohoo!

See, the company I work for gives out prezzies every Christmas, and I chose to get a Nano. I'd since FORGOTTEN I'd chosen a nano. I was not expecting a nano, and yet, as surprises go, this was a relatively GREAT one, beating my several bad options all hollow.

A Nano,a Nano, a Nano! How exciting! So much better than dog poo or roaches, better than a bomb or incendiary device, better than a dismembered finger or a piece of an ear. So much better than a baby rattlesnake or prechewed gum or a love note from Charles Manson or a late notice from the credit card company or a bag of pee or a blackmail photo of me taken through my bedroom window while I was thinking about George Clooney! WAY better.

Now, what to put ON it? How much will it hold? How do I work this?

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

A tip for all my Blogger buddies - spell check only now seems to work if you don't change the font from your template fonts before checking. Weird.

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

Have a lovely Tuesday folks. I'm counting down to noon and the great unveiling of the new leg. I'm jittery with anticipation, I am.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 10:00 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Monday, February 11, 2008
This is how to have a Monday
What better way to follow up an almost-perfect weekend than with a little surgery?

Oh yes, friends, the weekend rocked, and in a very good way. The dryer was fixed, a storm door was put on the back of the house (so now there can be breezes and light! hooray!); there was tennis, albeit of the WORST possible ilk (I suck!); there were banana-nut muffins and chicken and rice made, there was a pleasant lunch out with new friends; and there was just plain old quality time in abundance.

It's as though I was trying to fit in all the good stuff before Monday. Which I was, for Monday brought with it the promise of something I've been looking forward to for a very long time, but which also would possibly cause some discomfort and a change in how life is lived, at least for a short time.

For today, Monday, brought with it the surgery for my gawdawful varicose veins, and yes, I'm going to tell you allll about it.

First though, my varicose veins, let me show you them:

I'll let y'all finish a) gagging, b) retching, c) staring open-mouthed at the horror that is my very fat knee before I go on. I'm amazed myself, and it's MY KNEE! Damn!

Ready to move on? Good.

These things are the gift from my pregnancies that kept on giving. Through many years they are the thing that has kept me out of shorts, kept me in a pareo at the pool, demanded I wear long skirts or pants, ached and burned on an almost-monthly basis, caused hot pain from time to time, and generally were just a total PITA.

After a decade of struggling with them, I decided several months ago get rid of them. Today, at last, was the big day.

For my particularly impressive kind of varicosities, I had a combination of laser ablation and "ambulatory phlebectomy," which means the following:

First a series of lidocaine injections were made from the inside of my knee up to the hip. Then a puncture was made inside my knee into the vein. A catheter was threaded in, then a bunch of numbing stuff was shot all along the length of the vein up to my hip so I wouldn't feel what was about to come next. Into the catheter went the laser, from my knee up to hip, with Nurse Sue getting a good look on the ultrasound to make sure the doc had the thing positioned correctly. Before the laser was activated, I was told that I might feel some heat, and taste smoke. Nice. On went the laser, and at the rate of a millimeter a second it was drawn down the vein, zapping it with light energy that was enough to cause the daggone thing to collapse in on itself, sealing off one return route for the blood in my leg.

Easy peasy! Sailed through THAT like a total pro. I was feeling confident!

Misplaced confidence, as it turned out, because I was nowhere near done. Oh no, for the good doctor had yet to get rid of those ugly bulgy things you see in the picture above, and that cannot be done with the laser of ease and pease.

For that, she'd need the scalpel, and a 10cc syringe full of lidocaine, and some betadine, and patience (both hers and mine). You know how they take out your ugly bulgy veins, people? They cut into your leg, get a grip on the vein, LIFT OUT A LOOP OF IT, tie the ends, and snip out the bit between the ligatures.

A dozen times or more.

Be aware that if you happen to have LARGE ugly bulgy veins like me, the "small punctures" that are mentioned in the advertising literature for this procedure actually turn out to be inch-long incisions. I know this because I looked. Those inch-long incisions might just be the ones that keep, uhhhh, "oozing" (to use their parlance), and on which they keep PRESSING to get rid of the ooze, which after about 30 minutes becomes rather painful indeed. Even after two repeat injections of anesthesiac, I still felt it.

No matter, there were all those OTHER ugly bulges to excise, and the doctor was not to be dissuaded, even after I asked if anyone ever told them to just stop....heheh and all. No, she said, they usually just put in more lidocaine and keep on working. Damn.

Being as how they'd spent so much time on the big ugly bulges around the knee area, by the time they got to the ones around calf and ankle level the anesthesia was starting to wear off, and so the tugging became rather more painful than is strictly desirable, and therefore more injections were warranted. By this time I was beginning to feel like I was putting them out for complaining that I could feel them cutting into me, but what the hell, I'd rather be semi-comfortable than to be able to feel every slice and dice, so I "notified" them on a regular basis.

Slice, yank, knot, snip. Lather, rinse, repeat. 90 minutes of this will make anyone's underarms perspire. I was certainly putting the Sure to the test. By the end, I was not raising my hands for anything, because I was no longer Sure of anything but that fact that I wanted off that table.

Apparently the doc wanted done too, because once the ankle-level veins were done she'd decided to ablate the last veins by using foam injections in the foot-level ugly bulgies. You guessed it - more needles. Needle sticks into the top of the foot, the ankle, and my personal favorite, the ARCH. That last one came as a surprise, and not the "happy birthday" kind of surprise either. Imagine bamboo slivers and fingernails...

I'm not usually a complainer, people, but by the time the betadine was broken out again, and that big ol fucking knee incision was pressed on for the last time (holy crap, that hurts!), I was glad to know the end was near. Just the steri-strips to apply, which for some reason felt like someone was looping hot metal into my skin, then a foot-to-knee wrap with gauze, then a foot-to-knee wrap with a couple of Ace bandages, and I was outta there.

Oh, except for the speech about what I was supposed to do for home care, and the admonition that "if I got out to my car and I was soaked with blood, come back in and we'll re-dress it for you." That bit gave me comfort and joy, I'll say. If at that point I was soaked in blood, I was going to drive around the the emergency room and have them take care of me there, to heck with THEM!

Despite all the minor discomforts and the stabbings and the injections and the oozings, here it is an hour later, and I'm not leaking anything, not blood, sweat, OR tears, and with my foot up on several pillows, the computer in my lap, and wifi internet, life is actually pretty good.

I go back in a week for a checkup, then a month after that. I can expect that by this time next week the pain will have peaked, I'll have hard knots in my leg where the remaining vein is being clot-busted to smithereens by my body's healing mechanisms, and I'll be well on the road to recovery.

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

If I ever have to have this done again, you can bet your BOOTS I'm going to fill that prescription for Valium. I guess I am kind of a wimp after all.

Also, I make the procedure sound awful ,but while it was no walk in the park it wasn't the worst pain I've ever been in, and the doctor and nurse took good care of me, tried to minimize the pain, communicated clearly, and worked (I'm sure) as fast as they could. It's simply not a pleasant thing to undergo, but in time I'm sure I'll be glad I had it done.

You can BET that there will be pictures of my progress. Oh yes, dear friends, there will be pictures.

And how was YOUR Monday??
 
with major LURVE from tiff 1:14 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Saturday, February 09, 2008
For Oldfriend
Be careful what you ask for, sweetie.

(With thanks to one of the legion of talented loyal adoring fans of NAY)
 
with major LURVE from tiff 8:39 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Friday, February 08, 2008
What to do, what to do...
So, it's Friday. Yay!

But the Yahoo headlines, which I would normally riff on, stink today. They're all full of doom and gloom and properly-worded snippets of almost-news, and I'm not the mistress of snark anyhow today, this being yet another hella busy day at work so I can't work (!) up the creativity it's going to take me to mangle what's on offer into something even the least bit remotely humorous or clever.

So let's talk about PMS instead.

Don'tcha wanna? Huh?
.
.
.
.
.

........Are you telling me that NOBODY wants to hear about the bloating, the gassiness, the smouldering rage, the zits, the exhaustion, the ennui, the urge to kill anyone who happens to behave even the least little bit outside the rules of common decency?

Eh - me either. Living it is enough.

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

There is a kit's worth of dryer parts on my kitchen table. In order to fix the dreaded shriekly squeak of the dryer-ma-bob, it was determined that a new rear bearing set needs to be installed. "What the hell," I thought, "It's worth a DIY shot." The kit was only 80 bucks, which is cheaper by FAR than a new dryer would be, and even though I quasi-covet those front-loader gargantuan-capacity hot RED laundry sets that tart up the front of the kitchen section of the Home Despo, I am not currently in a financial position to secure anything LIKE that for the Tiny House, and so to the repair books I go.

Seriously....how hard can it be? I have tools, some of which have batteries in them, and so between the hand-crankers and the zippy power whizzy things I should be able to knock out a bearing replacement in no time.

Right?

I'm still going to call in a friend or two to help, though, because nothing says "Happy Friday Night" like crouching over a hot dryer, right? It's party time! Come in, grab a wrench, let's get hoppin'! Woo!

I can sense your jealousy of my happenin' Friday nite plans now. Don't be jealous, my internetly pals, for you TOO can create a Friday night like mine simply by initiating a home repair or two just as soon as it gets dark out. That sounds like fun, right? Instead of cocktailing with friends or putting on your dancing shoes or settling in with a bottle of wine and a movie, you can break out the spanners and ratchets and go to TOWN, just like me. Just think of how much better you'll fele to know that my dryer won't squeak anymore!

And thanks for your support.

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

Lentil salad. Yum. Here's how:

Boil you up a mess of lentils until they're soft (don't ask ME for the proportions of water to lentils. It's on the BAG, man, do a little homework!). Drain.

To the piping-hot lentils add diced red and yellow peppers, red and white onions, salt and pepper, and a little oil and vinegar. Throw some chopped parsely in there, or maybe cilantro, cover the bowl, then set theworks into the fridge overnight to chill.

In the morning, pretend that it's lunchtime, and eat the lovely savory lentil salad, which has so much fiber and veg that you might just explode with virtue.

A few hours later, if you're anything like me, you'll discover the other virtue of the lentil salad. Bring matches.

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

That's all folks. It's time for a sitewide meeting on some skin disease or another (seriously!) and I must prepare by geting me a nice big cup of (FREE!) coffee. One can't have too much of that stuff before one goes into a meeting where dreaful dermal conditions are going to be shown in full color on a very large screen, now can one?

XO to you all - best wishes for a wonderful weekend. Tennis is in my future again, I think. Why, I'm hardly in ANY pain from the last round anymore, which means of course that it's time to do it all over again. Be well, and I'll see you Monday.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 10:31 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Thursday, February 07, 2008
No, YOU make my day
So, it seems as though the devil-girl background is rather a big hit. Therefore, I've decided to leave it up for a while longer. It's weird though, because IE plays that pic large, and FF plays it the size it's SUPPOSED to be, and it's making me nutz.


Whatever. I'm not losing any sleep over it. It's just a background, right? Those two hours I spent yesterday trying to get that f--ker to look JUST RIGHT weren't wasted, right? I learned that sometimes I just have to give up and let things be, right? I need to stop being such an uptight CONTROL FREAK, RIGHT???


YES?!?!?!?!?!?


God I hope so. It's killing me to have it two different ways. It upsets my inner balance a little, like having dishes that aren't stacked right.


Speaking of which, I did a double-sink's worth of dishes this morning, and was insanely proud of the way the drying rack looked when I was done. All the green bowls were lined up neatly, then the white bowls, then a pot lid, then the glass dinner plates, then the green plastic dinner plates. The red and green plastic cups alternated colors on the bottom of the rack, and overall it was a tidy festive little scene of domestic tranquility and happy HAPPY dishes.


Oh, the cutlery (does anyone USE that word anymore? If not, it's a pity) might have been better organized, because the silverware tends to get testy if they're sat upon by the spatulas, but there simply wasn't time or space to get them organized in such a way as to make them ALL content. I do hope they forgive me, and some random pissed-off fork doesn't try to stab me in the face while I'm having my dinner tonight. We shan't even speak of what the spoons can do, for we all know they are dangerous when in the right hands...


Where was I?


Oh yes, things that make my day. Like, um, happy dishes.



And this award!

Whee! An Award! I make someone's day, and by being told so they also made MY day, which is a Moebius loop of glee, a neverending trip around the twisted paths of yippee (note: I could have said 'whoopee,' but that might have struck the wrong note in this expression of gratefulness, and I can't have that when I'm in a Pollyanna moment (though mmm, 'twisted whoopee')) that is the interwebs. Yay!

Here's what my benefactress said about me:

Her blog, No Accent Yet, is a well-written, funny, and irreverant look at life through the eyes of a true Southern lady (who likes to laugh and make the best of things). She has a wonderful approach to both blogging and life.

(Heh - speaking of Moebius loops, I just linked my own blog. Will it cause the interwebs to implode? Stay tuned)

Look! I are a TRUE SOUTHERN LADY, y'all! It is cause for celebration when I'm deemed as such, for it's been a goal of mine for many many years. Seriously! I'm tickled as pink as I can be (some parts pinker, no doubt, but who's looking?) to be called out as such. Also? "Well-written" makes me giggle and blush, because that is high praise coming from BB. Also also? I'm glad to know that I'm regarded as someone who has a wonderful approach to blogging and life, though I wonder if that's still the case after the eeeeviiillll post of yesterTag.

Again I say whatever, because it's of no matter, forI HAVE the award. I have it. I.Have.It, and I'm not letting it out of my site. Sight. You know. Thanks Buzard Billy; for by saying I make your day, you made mine, and I've got the giddy on full speed ahead.

Except, I'm supposed to give it away too. To 10 people. TEN!!!! Why do they force me to give away that which makes me so very happy? Really, it's cruel, but I'm going to give it a shot and hand this out to 10 people who have not yet gotten it (as far as I know), as follows:

Ron - human interest doesn't begin to descibe him

Renn - so much anger wrapped up a nice warm soul. Any wonder I heart her?

WordNerd - do you even NEED to ask?

JC - simply brills, darling, and one of the best blogs you're not reading. Go fix that.

Kenju - like a glass of cool sweet tea on a hot afternoon.

Utenzi - if potpourri was a person, he's be the picture in the dictionary next to the word.

LL - Wirdflinger soopreme, with a side of awesome sauce.

Tracy - spoonflinger exptraordinaire, like a bitter ragining Twinkie (hey, SHE said it first!)

Brenda - queen of her own universe, and rightly so, I should say. You WANT to read her. Right now.

What they do with this major award, I do not know, but I sure hope they appreciate me breaking tiny pieces of whoop-dee-do offa MY award and chucking them out into the ether in their general direction!

Be well, my tiny bits of virtual honor, and find your place in this big world. I sure hope your new owners treat you as wonderfully as I did, for the few moments I could hold you close to me.

(Pause for a deep sigh, a dramatic wipe of tear from gleaming eye, a long moist look at their wee departing forms before turning away with slumped shoulders and heavy heart)

Hey, even chips off the non-literal wards deserve their moment of appreciation. Show some respect.

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

That's it for now y'all. Work beckons again, and I must go. After I take a walk. And go to the bank. And maybe balance my checkbook. Pay some bills. Make a couple of phone calls. THEN work, for sure.

XO!

 
with major LURVE from tiff 12:58 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Six, Sechs, Seis
THINGS THAT ARE EVIL


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



TK, you wound me with you day-glo scenes of improbable clarity, candyfloss coloring, and thermal danger (all those fucking CANDLES, man!). You are evil in sheep's clothing.



This was found whilst searching for the below, and truly is a serendipitous stumble upon something so wrong on so many levels that it can only be classified as evil



If you don't know by now, spiders are the very definition of evil. Just imagine finding one in your hair and tell me I'm wrong.




The less said, the better, IMHO.




The SHOW, not necessarily the man. Oh what the hell, the man too.



Take the prissy little finger and shove it up your ass, you painted mute-elect. That'll keep you from bothering ME while I tryto eat/read/play/ignore YOU. Or is your finger already THERE, you naughty dirty perve, and that's why you look so surprised?



No noses at all. Big eyes. Pointy chins. They're not DOLLS, they're frigging ALIENS! One of them should come with the "anal probing" accesory pack. Fashion PixieZ my weathered ass, these things are here to snatch our children! Kill all Bratz! Kill! Kill!




As if the Bratz weren't bad enough, someone makes money selling paintings of scary young children with lemur eyes. Somebody, please, make them stop staring at me.



I am Beembo, the Travelling Perderast, and I'm here to EAT YOUR SOUL. Come on, take a balloon. Balllons are fun. You can breathe the silly air inside, and if you feel a little woozy, that's OK, I'll hold you. If your shirt needs to be unbuttoned so you can breathe, I can do that. I won't take off my gloves unless you ask me to. Oh yes, that's right, just pass out a little more so I can suck the life-force out of you and return you to your parents an empty husk. Come on, just a little closer....

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


The world is full of evil. This post too. But now it's over.



Have a nice day.

 
with major LURVE from tiff 1:25 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
The precursor to EEEEEEVILLLLL!
Ha! This is post 665. Can you hear the Thump Thump of the pure heart of doom approaching? Tomorrow is the day, the day when all goes black, the post of the sixes....and a fine Mwuahaha to you too!

To start today's journey through that reality that is Tiff (that's ME!) let's begin with a little something I've just discovered through the generosity of my friend Renn:

CHRISTIAN CRUNK.

Um, rilly? RILLY?

See, she snuck this one in on me, because she didn't ANNOUNCE that the CDs she was giving me were all firmly planted in the Christian with the capital C genre, the big sneak. Not that I'm opposed to it, nosir, because I'm slowly finding my way around the whole C thang lately and am finding it to be a very big world indeed, but still, no warning is a sneaky thing.

Not that any of the songs are overtly about God, or even Jesus, or really even anything you'd consider even remotely within the spectrum of what you'd think should be played inside any church or at any worship gathering, but then let's remember that I'm new to a lot of this and so may not know about the whole "Krischeen Crunk" worship movement....but I digress.

The long as short of it is this: This stuff kicks ass. It's loud, it's got a fabulous beat, it's driving and fierce and who cares if the words aren't about sexxing up some boie in the ladies room of the local hall-o'-skanks-n'-drunks or getting naked or trying to find out who your babydaddy is? There's enough of that crap on commerical radio, and I for one am not a big fan. This stuff has humor and energy and a distinct lack of preachiness, which is awesome, there are NO swear words so it's Thing safe, and Tinkerbell seems to quite enjoy the way the bass pratically lifts her off the ground when the volume is tured up justalittlebitMORE than is strictly necessary.

So, yeah. Renn's sneaky, and I'm a fan.

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

Note to self: when a child calls me at work asking to come home sick, it's best to advise them to poop at school before calling next time....because sometimes a good poop will cure even the worst of bellyaches.

Yeah - Thing 1 called me yesterday, an hour before I was supposed to do a training class, and asked to be picked up from school because he didn't feel good. He didn't have a fever, but just didn't feel good, his stomach hurt and he was really tired, or so he said.

Being a decent Mom, I delegated the training class to my boss, got some work downloaded to complete at home, and went to fetch my precious young man from the hell that is his middle school (his description - I rather like the place!). He staggered off to the bathroom first thing, and after about ten minutes I heard a flush, followed by the unmistakeable sound of the plunger being put to use.

Another flush.

MORE plunging.

A third flush.

And just as I was about to go intervene, I heard the sweet sound of the toilet-whoosh noise. Success!

A lighter, brighter Thing 1 emerged from that bathroom, allowing as to how he felt a whole LOT better. Me, being a pseudo-decent Mom, told him to go to bed, that he was sick, and sick kids need to rest.

THAT lasted 5 minutes. The door to their room swung slowly open, Thing 1 came out blinking and asking how long he'd been "asleep," and I, being a sorta-decent mom, told him "not long enough, go back and try again."

He fell asleep at 3. I had to wake him up at 4:30 to tell him I was going to get his brother from the Y. He didn't want to go, so I, being a quasi-decent Mom, left him at home, asleep. When we got back at 5:15 he was still asleep, HARD. By 5:40, when Thing 2 had turned on some cartoons, Thing 1 was sufficiently rested and re-energized, simply aghast that he'd slept for so long.

He was still awake at 11 last night when I went to bed. Being 12 is tough, y'all; it takes a lot out of a body just to keep a-going, apparently. I, being a lethargic-decent Mom, told him to get some sleep already, or there would be hell to pay in the morning when the alarm went off.

Because......

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

My favorite meal to eat out is breakfast. How lucky then that there's a break-lunch place not but two blocks from the Tiny House. It's not fancy (most good B&L places are NOT), the waitresses all have thick Southern accents and call me "sweetie," the sausage patties are nice and schpicy, and it's cheap.

Today was the first time that we went there on a weekday (read: before school). It's astounding how fast the boys will get out of bed when the promise of hot waffles is in the air. Why, they were ready with such speed that we beat the waitress into work, even though the place opens at 4 and we got there at 6:30. Heh. Nice. Thing 1 downed three pieces of french toast and three sausage links before the first half of my "Country" breakfast was gone (proof that he was alllll better, eh?), and Thing 2 inhaled his pancakes and strawberrires almost as fast. I wound up feeding bites of spicy sausage patty into Thing 2's mouth so he wouldn't keep looking at my still-laden plate with big sad eyes. Daggone kid, pushing my buttons like that.

Even with the extracurricular trip to the local eatery, we got to school way before we normally do; that is to say, with more than 30 seconds to spare before the bells start going off. Felt darned good to watch Thing 2 SAUNTER into school rather than doing the Fred Flintsone shuffle he normally does when he 'rushes' anywhere but doesn't want to look like he's rushing.

Could it be that not only is breakfast the most important meal of the day, but breakfast OUT might help you live a better life? I wonder.

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

That's totally it for today. I just got off the phone with a good friend who offered me that chance to speak at a "convention" (for lack of a better term), and I'm too 'cited to write more. Yay for friends who have influence! Yay!

Have a lovely Tuesday folks. See you tomorrow.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 8:58 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Monday, February 04, 2008
The Spinach is an Excuse
Let me get this posted right now in the aye-em, so as y'all get to salivating early. I don't care if you HATE spinach, you will LOVE this daggone casserole/artery clogger. Truly the spinach is the merest of excuses to eat the rest of what's in this dish...

You'll need:

1 bag frozen chopped spinach (or 2 boxes)
8 oz. cream cheese
1/2 cup bacon bits
1 stick butter, melted
1 cup shredded Parmesean

Mix all ingredients in casserole dish, sprinkle with 2 TBSP Parm, bake at 350 for 30 minutes until ooey-gooey and brownly bubbly.

(Note: I used lowfat cream cheese and Parm dust in the green can, and it still turned out luscious beyond all reasoning. Also - 'Bacos' rock this dish, HARD)

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

Tennis twice this weekend.

Ow.

It's been YEARS since I played tennis, and yet the serve I worked so hard to master seems to have been a retained skill. The ONLY retained skill, but one of which I am very proud. Really, most of the 'tennis' was spent running after missed balls, which was great for my 'bending over' muscles, which apparently needed a workout, because, again I say OW.

The Things have their own raquets now, and are learning to play. It's hard to tell a 10-year-old about the physics of the swing, particularly when the 10-year-old is a perfectionist and HATES to struggle with anything, but in the end, once the first serve went over the net and into the box correctly, Thing 2 brightened considerably and gained a new head of steam for learning the game. Thing 1 has the serve and the hand-eye coordination his brother lacks, but is a wild swing. All will come in time, I'm sure, and at that point they will take much glee in whipping my middle-aged ass in the sport of gentlefolk.

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

More training today. In 13 minutes. I must go. More later, perhaps, though today promises to be extraordinarily busy.

Be well, y'all, and have a lovely Monday.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 9:39 AM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0
Friday, February 01, 2008
663
Getting closer to the ultimate in EVIL posts, which should occur Tuesday, if my posting schedule holds up.

Mwuahahahaaaa!

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

Wendy's puts ketchup, mayonnaise, AND mustard on their burgers. Anybody else out there think that this is overkill? Certainly them there burgers aren't meant to be eaten while driving. I almost had a "Grandpa" moment just now in an attempt to wolf down a single (no cheese) in Tinkerbell, and I can't have that.

"Grandpa moment"? That's when someone, while eating, doesn't know they've got a big ol' glob of something on their face, and leave it there for the duration of the meal.

My Grandpa was famous for that. Most memorable was the "slimy egg yolk drip on the whiskery chin" one, though the "slightly melted dab of butter on the upper lip" was almost as good. I suspect that Grandpa either didn't have much if any sensation in his peri-oral area, or he just didn't care enough to use a napkin until the entire meal was finished. Either way, it grossed me out.

Gah - the runny egg yolk! Glistening, deep yellow, slowly running between the grizzle on Grandpa's chin as he poked at the yolks with the tip of a piece of toast, smacking contentedly and slurping his coffee.

You can see why I'm pretty dead set against having moments like that. I will NOT be someone's bad memory if I can help it. However, the Wendyburger in the car thing is almost guaranteed to result in either a Grandpa Moment or a blotch of some greasy or vibrantly-colored condiment on the shirt, which I can't have either because I'm doing training today and would really like to look put-together, even if I'm making half the stuff up as I go.

I probably should have just gone to McDonald's. They're pretty skimpy on the condiments and so the risk of accidental spillage is thus reduced, but DAMN I wanted a squre piece of "meat" in a very bad way.

While waiting in line to get said meat (plus fries, and a DIET COKE, because who needs all those calories? ;>), a gentleman in trousers as big around as he was tall came barreling out of his car toward the entrance. I did not realize that very obese people could move so fast. His stomachs (one above and one below the belt) shook and rolled with each step, the gigantic sleeves of his coat billowed in the breeze created by the wavelike action. It truly was poetry in motion.

He must have really wanted beef badly to have run like that. Scaring innocent citizens and all...

He's the reason I didn't eat all the fries. That, and whoever is manning the deep fry at the Wendy's must believe that HOT ENOUGH TO PEEL FLESH FROM BONE is about the right setting for cookery. Even with half the spudpod gone I was still having to blow on 'em to get them cool enough to eat, and that, my friends, is too much effort to go to for deep-fried ANYTHING.

And now that you're all caught up on my lunch, it's time for me to go. More training in 15 minutes and I must ensure that all the ducks are lined up juuuust right.

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

Have a wonderful Superbowl, one and all. I will be watching, for once, in the hopes that my support will ensure that the Pats have a perfect season. It's not that I like them so VERY much, but a perfect season? That's cool.

XO, my friends! See you Monday.
 
with major LURVE from tiff 1:29 PM | | Old Blogger Comments: 0