Sunday, October 30, 2005
Note to self: Sew the gaping hole in the crotch of your pajama pants
We watched "The Wicker Man" (soon to be remade with Nicholas Cage in the lead) last night. Before the credits there was a warning that this little British film from 1972 had been passed as X, which wasn't a surprise to me considering I knew that it was about a small Scottish isle peopled with a group of rather hedonistic Pagans. So the massive amount of female nudity was expected. But I had no idea it was a musical. There was almost non-stop singing for the first half hour. And then more singing scattered throughout, finally topped by a rousing singalong complete with jaunty arm-swinging. I suppose it would have been a little more suspensful if I hadn't already known the "twist" ending. I don't know how they're going to remake it, because honestly, there is no topping Christopher Lee in a purple dress and long brown wig prancing through the countryside.
Was it last night or the day before that I saw the new commercial for Seasonal? Or Season-Al? However you spell that. Anyway, it just sort of hit me "Four periods a year? Holy shit!" While a bit on the unnatural side, think of the money you'd save on accoutrment! Can you tell I've put myself on a budget?
This past week has been a bit of an ordeal. The other woman who works under my supervisor took a week off to go on a cruise in the Caribbean, leaving me to do everything she would usually take care of, like calling vendors and answering half the phone calls. I haven't had one free moment to fart around on the internet, meaning that I had no idea Rosa Parks died or that Scooter Libby was indicted or that freakin' Harriet Miers stepped down until a day or two after the fact. It's been, here do this and this, but do this before you do that, and this you can do whenever you have a little free time, but don't forget to do this by the end of the day and so on. The good thing is that my brain is so tired that by the end of the day it doesn't have the energy to dream about work. I hate dreaming about work.
Our shower is making the downstairs toilet overflow again. I'm just glad I don't have the day off today, like last time, so I dont' have to deal with it all day. I really hate being on a septic system.
Was it last night or the day before that I saw the new commercial for Seasonal? Or Season-Al? However you spell that. Anyway, it just sort of hit me "Four periods a year? Holy shit!" While a bit on the unnatural side, think of the money you'd save on accoutrment! Can you tell I've put myself on a budget?
This past week has been a bit of an ordeal. The other woman who works under my supervisor took a week off to go on a cruise in the Caribbean, leaving me to do everything she would usually take care of, like calling vendors and answering half the phone calls. I haven't had one free moment to fart around on the internet, meaning that I had no idea Rosa Parks died or that Scooter Libby was indicted or that freakin' Harriet Miers stepped down until a day or two after the fact. It's been, here do this and this, but do this before you do that, and this you can do whenever you have a little free time, but don't forget to do this by the end of the day and so on. The good thing is that my brain is so tired that by the end of the day it doesn't have the energy to dream about work. I hate dreaming about work.
Our shower is making the downstairs toilet overflow again. I'm just glad I don't have the day off today, like last time, so I dont' have to deal with it all day. I really hate being on a septic system.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Scatalogical Humor R Us
I love the hundred-calorie popcorn bags. They really make my life worth living. And if that isn't a sad statement, I don't know what is.
The other day I passed Kevin in the hall after he came inside after feeding the poultry. He drops a big line of feed on the ground and they all come running. At this point we're talking around ten ducks and ten chickens. It gets crowded at feeding time. I noticed Kevin had a bit of a smirk on his face. He said "One of the ducks just crapped on a chicken." And I missed it. Oh, the ancient blood feud between chicken and duck! Why can't they live together in peace? It's not really a surprise. The ducks have a tendency to "make room" when they eat and it's often jet propelled. Get an unwary chicken within six inches of a duck's posterior and it could lose an eye. God, I wish I could have been there.
The phrase "Chocolate Thunder From Down Under" just popped into my head. The good folks at Outback Steakhouse might want to rethink that one. Bloomin' Onion and Walhalla Pasta are still fine with me.
I gotta get my mind out of the gutter. It's a beautiful, sunny day, although it is getting cold. I feel bad for the two ducks sitting on eggs. The cold has probably killed the eggs already, but they just keep on sitting. Yesterday was dark and rainy. We had a bit of a Noreaster come through and drop about 3 inches of rain all through Tuesday morning. The ground's so saturated from all the rain we've had this month that Lake Hyler was bigger than ever. I think our garbage can floated away. Most of my road is like a peninsula between two canals. It looked like the canal on the other side of the road jumped the bank in some places. The canal behind my house got to about seven or eight inches below the top at high tide, then decided to stay that high for the better part of the day. These are the days when I miss having a high ground to run to.
The other day I passed Kevin in the hall after he came inside after feeding the poultry. He drops a big line of feed on the ground and they all come running. At this point we're talking around ten ducks and ten chickens. It gets crowded at feeding time. I noticed Kevin had a bit of a smirk on his face. He said "One of the ducks just crapped on a chicken." And I missed it. Oh, the ancient blood feud between chicken and duck! Why can't they live together in peace? It's not really a surprise. The ducks have a tendency to "make room" when they eat and it's often jet propelled. Get an unwary chicken within six inches of a duck's posterior and it could lose an eye. God, I wish I could have been there.
The phrase "Chocolate Thunder From Down Under" just popped into my head. The good folks at Outback Steakhouse might want to rethink that one. Bloomin' Onion and Walhalla Pasta are still fine with me.
I gotta get my mind out of the gutter. It's a beautiful, sunny day, although it is getting cold. I feel bad for the two ducks sitting on eggs. The cold has probably killed the eggs already, but they just keep on sitting. Yesterday was dark and rainy. We had a bit of a Noreaster come through and drop about 3 inches of rain all through Tuesday morning. The ground's so saturated from all the rain we've had this month that Lake Hyler was bigger than ever. I think our garbage can floated away. Most of my road is like a peninsula between two canals. It looked like the canal on the other side of the road jumped the bank in some places. The canal behind my house got to about seven or eight inches below the top at high tide, then decided to stay that high for the better part of the day. These are the days when I miss having a high ground to run to.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Blogging on the sly, Edited for your further enjoyment
I'm working on assigning SKU numbers to the Christmas greens order, which is quite the soul-deadening task.
The other day Tracy's father told her he had some bad news. She was ready for, I don't know, death and mayhem. Turns out he has to cut down the silver maple that we planted (It's more like helped to plant. We were quite small at the time) when we were little. When it went in the ground we were taller than it. Well, I was. Have I mentioned that Tracy's 4 1/2 feet tall? I kid, She's at least 4'10" and three quarters. Now the tree is probably as tall as her three-story house. The trunk split and if another big wind storm comes through it could take out the porch, the shed, or their neighbor's porch. How mighty our little sappling has grown. So ends the era of the Tracy-Sarah Tree, in a blaze of glory and chain saws.
Hey, if you're having a bad day, just type line+cut+lion+cut into Google Image Search. Oh, the perils of taking your Southern accent to Chi-KAH-go, where you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
So here's me the other day.
Me: Jeez, I 've been sneezy all day today. I hope I'm not getting another cold.
My Immune System: Hehehe.
In the words of Lewis Black, at least I get to take my favorite drug--NyQuil.
The other day Tracy's father told her he had some bad news. She was ready for, I don't know, death and mayhem. Turns out he has to cut down the silver maple that we planted (It's more like helped to plant. We were quite small at the time) when we were little. When it went in the ground we were taller than it. Well, I was. Have I mentioned that Tracy's 4 1/2 feet tall? I kid, She's at least 4'10" and three quarters. Now the tree is probably as tall as her three-story house. The trunk split and if another big wind storm comes through it could take out the porch, the shed, or their neighbor's porch. How mighty our little sappling has grown. So ends the era of the Tracy-Sarah Tree, in a blaze of glory and chain saws.
Hey, if you're having a bad day, just type line+cut+lion+cut into Google Image Search. Oh, the perils of taking your Southern accent to Chi-KAH-go, where you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
So here's me the other day.
Me: Jeez, I 've been sneezy all day today. I hope I'm not getting another cold.
My Immune System: Hehehe.
In the words of Lewis Black, at least I get to take my favorite drug--NyQuil.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Check out my brand new October 7th post!
'Cause that's what happens when you save as draft and then post 8 days later.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
I love oldies day at the supermarket
As opposed to crappy 80s music day. An hour of the likes of Kajagoogoo is bad for your body. But I love 60s and 70s rock day above all else. I got to sit in the King Kullen cafe and read Entertainment Weekly, as I did not want my copy of Al Franken's "Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them: A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right" to turn into a pile of paste. If you hadn't noticed, the northeast coast is pretty effed up right now what with the rain, and the wind, and the rain. Oh, and don't forget the cold. And the rain.
I'm in the process of getting the oil man to give me a contract so we don't freeze to death. Methinks the naked huddle will only work for two of us, and neither of them is me. A little heat will be nice, although it's not that cold right now. It's the inevitable $715.00 charge on my Visa that's got me shaking. But if I do Visa I can get oil for $2.60 a gallon, and then get it for 25 cents under market price until May. I'm thinking we're going to make the first fill-up last as long as possible and invest in some heavy sweaters and fleece blankets.
The annual open house was last weekend, bumped up from the weekend after Thanksgiving to Columbus Day weekend. It was magical. And by "magical," I obviously mean a three-day sugar binge. Well, it was actually more like two, but when you're flying high who's counting? It started with a coworker going back and forth from the snack table to the kitchen and dropping bits of broken cookie and muffin that we couldn't serve because, well, they were broken, and you can't serve a broken cookie. The next day it was me running back and forth to the kitchen to restock the snack table, and I had a taste of everything except the linzer tarts. Everything being the chocolate chip cookies, the molasses cookies, the almond tea cookies, the oatmeal raisin cookies, lemon squares, some kind of homemade oreo that looked like a tiny moon pie, several different kinds of mini-muffin, and a cup or two of extremely mulled cider. Of course, I was on my feet the entire day in inappropriately high heels, so none of it counted. The next day it was decided that the cookies couldn't be frozen, so we had to eat them all because, dude, free cookies. Oh, and there were book signings and live music and reps from the companies we buy from and great discounts at the open house, too.
I popped into Scotto's Italian Pork Store out of, I don't know, morbid curiousity, and came face-to-face with a freezer full of fresh ravioli and homemade pesto. So I bought a box of 30 medium lobster, scallop and shrimp ravioli, a container of pesto, and a stuffed artichoke for Shawn because artichokes make him weak in the knees. The ravioli were ridiculously good. I'm looking forward to trying the pumpkin and the wild mushroom truffle. 'Scuse the drool.
Lost is on tonight. I must not forget. Oh, it's also the first reading of the year over at the school. Choices, choices.
I'm in the process of getting the oil man to give me a contract so we don't freeze to death. Methinks the naked huddle will only work for two of us, and neither of them is me. A little heat will be nice, although it's not that cold right now. It's the inevitable $715.00 charge on my Visa that's got me shaking. But if I do Visa I can get oil for $2.60 a gallon, and then get it for 25 cents under market price until May. I'm thinking we're going to make the first fill-up last as long as possible and invest in some heavy sweaters and fleece blankets.
The annual open house was last weekend, bumped up from the weekend after Thanksgiving to Columbus Day weekend. It was magical. And by "magical," I obviously mean a three-day sugar binge. Well, it was actually more like two, but when you're flying high who's counting? It started with a coworker going back and forth from the snack table to the kitchen and dropping bits of broken cookie and muffin that we couldn't serve because, well, they were broken, and you can't serve a broken cookie. The next day it was me running back and forth to the kitchen to restock the snack table, and I had a taste of everything except the linzer tarts. Everything being the chocolate chip cookies, the molasses cookies, the almond tea cookies, the oatmeal raisin cookies, lemon squares, some kind of homemade oreo that looked like a tiny moon pie, several different kinds of mini-muffin, and a cup or two of extremely mulled cider. Of course, I was on my feet the entire day in inappropriately high heels, so none of it counted. The next day it was decided that the cookies couldn't be frozen, so we had to eat them all because, dude, free cookies. Oh, and there were book signings and live music and reps from the companies we buy from and great discounts at the open house, too.
I popped into Scotto's Italian Pork Store out of, I don't know, morbid curiousity, and came face-to-face with a freezer full of fresh ravioli and homemade pesto. So I bought a box of 30 medium lobster, scallop and shrimp ravioli, a container of pesto, and a stuffed artichoke for Shawn because artichokes make him weak in the knees. The ravioli were ridiculously good. I'm looking forward to trying the pumpkin and the wild mushroom truffle. 'Scuse the drool.
Lost is on tonight. I must not forget. Oh, it's also the first reading of the year over at the school. Choices, choices.
Friday, October 07, 2005
The Incredible Escaping Plover, now featuring Meme O' Rama
The other day I tookk my plover necklace off in preparation to go to bed. I went downstairs then back upstairs to the bathroom. Something shiny caught my eye and I saw that my plover charm was still stuck on my chest, sans chain. "Ah whaaaaah?" I believe was my response. Thank goodness for sebaceous glands is all I have to say. On further inspection, I found that there was nothing wrong with the charm, and that the chain and the little, ummm, loopy thingy that connects the charm to the chain were both perfectly intact. I have no idea how the charm came to be stuck on my chest like, I don't know, a playing card to a forehead. Must be magic.
The rain is slowing, but the four-inch-deep pond at the end of my driveway that I've christened Lake Hyler hasn't gone down more than an inch or two. The canal is cresting less than a foot below my back yard at high tide. If we ever get a big storm surge, my house is very much gone, along with most of Long Island. 'Tis a very flat place.
Banned books I have read. Oh, about the What's Happening to My Body Book For Boys--I spent a lot of time in my high school library.
Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
Forever by Judy Blume
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Giver by Lois Lowry
It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Sex by Madonna
Earth’s Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
The Witches by Roald Dahl
The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein
Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
The Goats by Brock Cole Kaffir
Boy by Mark Mathabane
Blubber by Judy Blume
Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
Final Exit by Derek Humphry
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Beloved by Toni Morrison
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
The Pigman by Paul Zindel
Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
Deenie by Judy Blume
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
Cujo by Stephen King
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell
Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
Ordinary People by Judith Guest
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher
Fade by Robert Cormier
Guess What? by Mem Fox
The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Native Son by Richard Wright
Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Fantasies by Nancy Friday
Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Jack by A.M. Homes
Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
Carrie by Stephen King
Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
Family Secrets by Norma Klein
Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
The Dead Zone by Stephen King
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
Private Parts by Howard Stern
Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford
Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
Sex Education by Jenny Davis
The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
The rain is slowing, but the four-inch-deep pond at the end of my driveway that I've christened Lake Hyler hasn't gone down more than an inch or two. The canal is cresting less than a foot below my back yard at high tide. If we ever get a big storm surge, my house is very much gone, along with most of Long Island. 'Tis a very flat place.
Banned books I have read. Oh, about the What's Happening to My Body Book For Boys--I spent a lot of time in my high school library.
Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
Forever by Judy Blume
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Giver by Lois Lowry
It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Sex by Madonna
Earth’s Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
The Witches by Roald Dahl
The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein
Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
The Goats by Brock Cole Kaffir
Boy by Mark Mathabane
Blubber by Judy Blume
Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
Final Exit by Derek Humphry
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Beloved by Toni Morrison
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
The Pigman by Paul Zindel
Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
Deenie by Judy Blume
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
Cujo by Stephen King
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell
Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
Ordinary People by Judith Guest
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher
Fade by Robert Cormier
Guess What? by Mem Fox
The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Native Son by Richard Wright
Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Fantasies by Nancy Friday
Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Jack by A.M. Homes
Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
Carrie by Stephen King
Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
Family Secrets by Norma Klein
Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
The Dead Zone by Stephen King
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
Private Parts by Howard Stern
Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford
Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
Sex Education by Jenny Davis
The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
Look at me exercising restraint
The first thing I thought when my supervisor took the cookies off was "Countdown to my entry into the Halls of Doocedom." But I will try not to blog about work, or at least not use specific names or tell particularly embarrassing stories about this company that I have not mentioned by name since I got the job. Mostly I think I'll be telling you about how much I want blueberry pancakes, or how I wish people would wait to get home and call me on a land line. This is a high traffic area, so short posts, people.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
I CAN BLOG AT WORK NOW!
Cookies be gone!
