OHIO:

Packing (I have always hated packing).
Driving (TEN HOURS!).
Nana (words cannot express).
Diana exhibit (very very pretty).
Cheryl's graduation party (Ali's was better).
Seeing the cousins (rambunctious) and the aunts (women) and the uncle (SO man).
Visiting Penny and Jaffe (Yay!).
Packing (I really HATE packing!).
Driving (TEN HOURS!)


Home.

Long, long exhale.

I would like to publicly apologize for:
a) not writing since the first and, alas, keeping my adoring public in the dark (there was nothing to write about! I cannot always make dullness sound exciting, sue me. Any complaints, I take calls Mon-Fri, normal work hours.)
b) not going on my second official Venture Crew outing (a fishing trip. Red necks. Need I elaborate?)


On Friday I went to the Relay for Life kick-off, saw a bunch of people I knew, laughed, and walked a lot.
On Saturday, we dropped my Nana off at Peace college for her 50th High school/college reunion, and I decided I am SO going to Peace until I find an alternative, because the campus is the best.
On Sunday, we went to Mellow Mushroom and I found yet another good reason to attend Peace: there's a Starbucks not five blocks away!

Tomorrow I shall rest and recuperate and pull weeds.

On Thursday, I am going to Cleveland for my mums' best friends' second daughters' High school graduation, see my cousin's cute not-puppy, and eat a bunch of stuff I don't want to know about.

I will see your adoring faces when I get back!

I sat out on the deck today in the Silk-Road-esque heat, slowly eating the topping off four pieces of pizza, while the sun first baked my still-bald scalp, and then made my upper lip break out in moisture so profuse, I was under the impression (for a little while) that I had bitten in to a hot pepper.
Afterwards, I crunched down the last of the ice cream we had for my baby's FOURTEENTH BIRTHDAY GOD HELP US, and thought about meaningful things like the fact that my baby brother will never be thirteen any more (thank God for small favors), and this ice cream would be really good with coffee flavor, and meaningful things like that.

I love an Ordinary Summer Day.

Especially in Spring.

Hmmm...

My mum is 'rendering fatback'.

This is rather off-putting, because on the one hand, it looks like a side of Lamb, only it's fat, and on the other...it...SMELLS really really really GOOD.

Like bacon.

But not smokey.

Just to let people know, mum and I sang Mozart's Requiem with the NC Master Chorale yesterday at Meymandi.
Yes, I know I didn't say anything, but the ticket prices were atrocious ($24.00 bucks! Who do they think they are!?)
It was SO MUCH FUN, and also rather too warm, and now my Little-little brother is going around singing Dies Ire, only with lyrics like, "cum se-dasy-dasy-meela".

My little-little brother, One Who Has Ultra-Low Pain Threshold, just got back from the dentist after having two baby molars extracted.
He hath been talking like thith ever thinth he goth home, because of two gauze pads in his mouth. But unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. I'm betting two hours till that novocane runs out.

Plus, dad gave him a hair cut last night, so his misery is quite complete.

Awaking from my Easter afternoon stupor, I came upon a revelation: I never get the sugar high. I skip straight to the low.

Boy, wouldn't I be a riot on recreational drugs.

To complicate matters, the Blue Screen of Death was in reruns on our computer.
Or the desktop just took a holiday. Which is probably more likely.

Good news, though. We got more M*A*S*H, so at least we are entertained through our Sugar Blues.
Happy Easter...

I arose yesterday morning and was on the point of making breakfast, when I opened the fridge, and--!!!!!


Tragedy! Disaster! O, woe! O, misfortune! O, despair! What exigency!

NO BUTTER!!!

I hadn't really considered my dependence on butter. To me, it seemed rather nonexistant. I mean, no butter? Please! I can so deal, people! It isn't like I've never been deprived before, wretched child that I am.
But little did I know: no butter = No french toast, no scrambled eggs, no fried-egg sandwich, no toad-in-the-hole, no grilled cheese... I know I sound like I'm whining, but NO BUTTER! O, calamity! REALLY.

It's like running out of Coffee or Hot Water--You don't do a thing like that.

But we all had this enourmous breakfast this morning, and a long walk, and it is a gorgeous day, and maybe this whole unnatural-daylight-savings-time thing is working...

My mind seems to be rather Skewed today.
That's a great word. I love that word. Isn't that a great word?
But I just wanted that to go on record for posterity.

Why is it already in the 80's? It's MARCH. I love changing all my winter clothes out for my summer ones, but I like doing it until mid-to-late April.
My friend's pool doesn't even open till June!

Global warming might have sent a calling card, at least...

I have reached a quandary: I am undoubtedly Irish, right? With my last name, family heritage, inexplicable desire for corned beef three hundred and sixty-five days a year and general hatred of the color orange, how could I be anything else? (The fact that mum's reliatives are all German is immaterial).
So why do I have such a deep-founded lack of interest when it comes to the potato?

I really do feel sympathy for the sufferers of the potato famine--a whole infostructure based on a root!--but I must be chanelling Queen Anne or Elizabeth or whoever it was that outlawed the potato in England, because I just do not see the attraction.

Maybe I'm English.

Or worse! Scottish!

Either way, I resign myself to being doused with whiskey and/or Porter and carried to the nearest Catholic confessional in an wool Aran playing "The Yoodil Is On Me Now" on a Bodhran.

Happy St. Patricks day.

Why is Daylight Savings time FOUR WEEKS longer?

Has the President taken leave of his remaining senses?
Why are we asked to abandon a tradition that our forefathers long upheld? A tradition that was invented by Ben Franklin? WHY MUST WE AWAKEN IN DARKNESS???

Because, as we all are perfectly aware, four weeks will help boost the floundering economy to such a level that even (a certain person who is in office who will remain nameless at the present time) won't be able to rip it down.

Of course, those with seasonal depression are in a lurch. But hey! We figure that the economy will be booming along so nicely, we won't notice the insurance agency's shares plummet.

What makes French Vanilla french?

Well, I was going to tell you all about the fabulous Lunar eclipse I saw last night, but that was driven clean out of my mind by the fact that Google has taken over Blogger!
No, maybe this isn't newsworthy, but I am very annoyed when I try to write on my blog and find I can't even LOG ON because the stupid COMPANY sold out to GOOGLE.
So what if they've updated their system? Could they LET ME KNOW? Give me fair warning? Not make me get a Google account?
Ugh, I hate Empires.

And I was singing all day yesterday, and I'm still really, really tired, and I just finnished a serise, so I have that melencholy, let-down feeling.
All that to say, take whatever I say with a grain of salt.
Or maybe the whole Ocean.
But Ocean is masculine, so take whatever I say with a little Sea instead...

Disclaimer: If any of the words in the below post, previous posts, or posts as yet to be realized are spelled or used incorectly, TOUGH TOENAILS.
Go kiss a dictionary.

Why do these things always happen on Saturdays?

Today is a momentus occasion. A celebration of aging. Out-with-the-Old, In-with-the New. The ONLY TIME this will EVER HAPPEN, darn it.

My youngest brother bridging over to Boy Scouts, walking across a flimsy peice of rope suspended two feet off the ground, receiving the red epaulets that symbolize countless Pinewood Derbys, banned Hazing, Sleepless nights on frozen ground, and go oh-so-becomingly with his complexion.

This Arrow of Light Cerimony will be attended by the Cub Master, Den Leaders, younger Cubscouts, Den mates, and most important, our friendly neigbourhood Plumber.
That's right, folks, you heard it here first: Our Water Heater has officially bitten the dust, I repeat, has OFFICIALLY bitten the dust.

A tragedy that will soon be overcome by the wonders of Home Depot Instillation and the IRS Tax (Return) Agency.

Until then, I will be living out of the our immaculate 1/2 butt kitchen, musing about the many ways in which my life revolves around Hot Water.

By the way, a typical Happy-Bridging-Over present is a 47 gallon Water Heater. Electric. Any color, brand or style okay. WE DO NOT DISCRIMINATE.

When I first went to the Post Office to get my passport, I thought I was going to Austria with my choir.
Slight change of plans:
1. Destination: Italy
2. Entourage: Family
3. Head exploded--Just a tad worrisome
4. No Singing--Bonus?

10 Things You Really, Really Need

10. Bonfires. Unfortunately, none of you is likely to lie on your deathbed and moan "Why didn't I go to more bonfires?!" You ought to. Everyone loves glowing embers, and good things come to those who sing Kumbayah.

9. Flowers. Go out and buy flowers. Even if you're deathly allergic. Even if your face swells up and your lips puff out (Angelina Jolie is fuming) and your eyes turn red. Buy flowers, and know that the days of darkness and cold are soon to be over. Smile.
Then take an Antihistanine and lie down for a few months.

8. Coffee. What more can be said? I ought to just stop writing here.

7. Tissues. Can you beleive that sane people traveled with small squares of linen? And this was in the days before allergy medicine!
It should be noted however, that a) you can't sleep with a guy's tissue under your pillow, and b)Kleenex boxes positively RUIN an dashing image.

6. A rainy, stay-at-home day. Fire, good book, tea and Chinchilla-fur hot water bottle cover included. Extra for Snow, Sleet, blanket and Digestive Biscut.

5. The Peterman Catalog. You will NEVER have enough money for ANY of it, not even the 1903 Cologne and Aftershave set, but it's worth getting the catalog. You can look at gorgeous stuff for free.

4. A friendly IRS agent. A couple thousand could come in real handy sometime.

3. A baseball bat. Please, don't be so quick to dismiss it. Use to attack rowdy boyfriends, deface mailboxes, in self-defense, as a paddle if your car gets stuck in a downpour, or as a cat-trainig device. Or you could always use it to kill the opposing team's catcher.

2. A Gin-Sue. For use on anything from a Tomato to a cinderblock.

1. An Ostritch egg. It won't really do a lot, and it'll be pretty quiet most of the time (Warning: talking eggs not good.) But it's...Big. And a good conversation starter. And really, really round.

My eye lashes are growing back in!
They're about 1/8 of an inch long, and very thick and blonde at the tips.

YAY!

...Of course, NOW my attention is drawn to the final two lashes on my right eye, which are long, and close together, and dark, and spindly and they look like spiders' legs.
I know they'll have company soon enough (give me six weeks and my eyelids will be so heavy as to render weight-lifting obslete), but why do good things come to those who wait?

If you're willing to wait, you don't want it bad enough.

GROW, my velcro, GROW.

Is it at all fair that we had a 60-degree IN JANUARY?

It's okay in Florida. It's okay in South Carolina. It's okay in places where nobody has a Down Jacket to their name.
But please. My brother has a snowball in the freezer, he's so desperate.

Shall the Snow Gods smile down upon us?

Oh, and no more Dam jokes.

Last night, I was sitting quietly on the couch, minding my own busines, when out of the blue, my family hit me with six 6-ml saline saringes.
Salt water. In those little needle jobbies that you get shots in, but without the needle.
Have I not suffered enough???

Although, I must remember that...

Oh, and my brother gets his final four braces out today!

Hey... Guess what I just got? No, c'mon guess. I really want you to guess.

Okay, here: A perfect 20's silhouette.

Because guess what just came out at 9:10 this morning?
HA!! YES yes YES yes YES!!!

Now I have a hardcore Buggs Bunny Band-Aid over a little quarter-inch scab, and I can shower and put my arms over my head and turn 60's rebel and not wear a bra and be happy. HA!

I did ask if I could take my bloody, used Catheter home to show you guys and watch you ooh, aah and be violently ill, but evilsome Dr. Skinner put the kabosh on that one. His high on the humor reader is -52, not that he'd admit to it.

But I did try for you guys. I made an effort. Honest.

And now all I have to do is two months of PT (I hope) and I shall make you throw a Ridiculously Large Party for me.

Or I could take a really long shower...

Yes! Yes! YES! Yesyesyes!
My Catheter comes out on the 22!

...For those of you who are not as divinely blessed with the knowledge of The Catheter as I am, let me elaborate: Ick.
It is a peice of plastic that sticks out of the right side of your chest (and it has to be in a blood vessle or it won't work), enabling the Vampire Nurses to painlessly draw blood and preventing you, the Long-Suffering but Silent Wearer, from taking a shower.
Wondering why I haven't been smelling as rosy as usual? Wonder no more.

I plan to take a very long, hot bubble bath when I come around from all the knock-out meds, so please, no letters till half-past February.