I was trying to think of something funny and/or pithy to post today, but I got nuthin'. I'm tired, and the weekends only seem long enough to catch me up on sleep before I have to start all over again. So the three of you still reading this blog get bullets.
*I have a semi-unbloggable thing going on at work. I'll just say that my work has gotten notice by my peers. In a good way.
*Went to our five-year old nephew's birthday party yesterday morning. He had a pirate-themed party, and Offspring went dressed as a pirate wench. It was cute. I made a little pirate treasure chest in lieu of a card that I filled with chocolate coins. It was a hit, but only because the coins were chocolate. I did take a picture of it, though I haven't uploaded it yet.
*Have been asked by my school's secretary to make up a few Christmas cards designs so she can present them to the principal. They're thinking about commissioning about 100 cards from me to present to staff this year. If they choose one of my designs, I'll have to get cracking pretty soon here.
*Have also been approached by a parent that's seen my work to make about 10 "teacher" themed cards that she can present to her children's teachers. That will be a nice way to make a little money, too.
*I've gone through the box of clothes, and need to take pictures. There's some stuff in there that's bad, but not truly cringe-worthy. The one thing I notice is that she was very fond of lime green. Needless to say, I look hideous in lime green. And, she really likes linen. I doubt if I've ever seen so much linen in my life.
*Speaking of lime green and linen -- anyone know how to home-dye some of this lime green stuff? Or should I just call around and see how much an alterations shop would charge me to dye some of this? Never having worked with linen before, I don't know much about its properties. Is it prone to shrinking? Should it be dry-cleaned, or washed by hand?
*I have a birthday coming up. I'm looking forward to the gift part, but not the idea of aging another year. Why is it that the actual *number* bothers me so much? It's not like 37 is old. I still feel young and vital -- why is it that 37 makes me feel so ancient? Am I mental? (Pipe down with the snarky comments, I am *not* all that odd...)
Well, I should go. I have bills to pay, clothes to wash, and miles to go before I sleep.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Some News, and a Blast From the Past
There's a teacher at my school who was searching for someone willing to take in a rabbit. It seems that one of her friends or neighbors has this bunny that they can no longer care for (owners are older, and all the children are now gone off to college) and wanted to place with someone who'd care for it. My class was anxious to be the recipients of the bunny, so we let the teacher involved know that we wanted to take him. The go-between told us that she planned on taking the bunny to the vet for a full check-up and a nail clipping before bringing him in to us. The kids are waiting, not quite so patiently.
Offspring has been asked to bunny-sit over the long holidays, and agreed with alacrity. She has asked me daily if the bunny has arrived or not. I'm sorry to report each time to her that so far, the answer is "no." Hopefully, we'll see the rabbit soon, or she'll implode.
Her anxiousness over when the bunny will arrive reminds me of a story from when she was small. Offspring's PreK teacher had two bunnies in her classroom, and the kids were totally enamored with them. Offspring used to regale me with stories of what the bunnies were up to. She was especially fond of BlackBunny, who had been purchased on a class trip to a farm. BlackBunny was a teeny little thing when she was acquired, and the kids delighted in holding her. Everyone fought for the privilege of feeding cute little BlackBunny.
In the late fall of that school year, we took a trip to Disney World. Normally, we wouldn't pull Offspring out of school for such a trip, but we'd made the reservations a year in advance, and well before she was accepted into the PreK program, and we could not cancel at that late stage of the game. When we got down to Disney World, we had a great time, and Offspring forgot all about school. We went merrily on our way through our vacation, until we came to the Magic Kingdom, and the "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride. As we're setting off in the boat, Offspring's expression turns dark, and she turns to us with tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Mama," she says, "will BlackBunny be okay?" I wondered why she'd bring up BlackBunny at that particular moment, so I told her that I was sure she was fine. Dealing with the odd connections and leaps from the train-of-thought that was a then four-year-old Offspring, I was used to non sequiturs, but the tears bothered me. I looked down at her, and said, "Why are you worried about BlackBunny?" She looked back up at me, those big blue eyes just swimming in unshed tears, and said, "The pirates."
Pirates? Like pirates on this ride? "Honey, what about the pirates?" She looked very solemn as she said, "The song says 'we kidnap the rabbits and don't give a hoot.' I don't WANT them to kidnap Black Bunny!"
I had to stifle a laugh, because it was so stinking cute, but we assured her that BlackBunny was okay, safe at home. Now, every time I hear "Yo, Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me", I can't help but think of bloodthirsty pirates, making off with chests full of gold and bunnies.
Offspring has been asked to bunny-sit over the long holidays, and agreed with alacrity. She has asked me daily if the bunny has arrived or not. I'm sorry to report each time to her that so far, the answer is "no." Hopefully, we'll see the rabbit soon, or she'll implode.
Her anxiousness over when the bunny will arrive reminds me of a story from when she was small. Offspring's PreK teacher had two bunnies in her classroom, and the kids were totally enamored with them. Offspring used to regale me with stories of what the bunnies were up to. She was especially fond of BlackBunny, who had been purchased on a class trip to a farm. BlackBunny was a teeny little thing when she was acquired, and the kids delighted in holding her. Everyone fought for the privilege of feeding cute little BlackBunny.
In the late fall of that school year, we took a trip to Disney World. Normally, we wouldn't pull Offspring out of school for such a trip, but we'd made the reservations a year in advance, and well before she was accepted into the PreK program, and we could not cancel at that late stage of the game. When we got down to Disney World, we had a great time, and Offspring forgot all about school. We went merrily on our way through our vacation, until we came to the Magic Kingdom, and the "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride. As we're setting off in the boat, Offspring's expression turns dark, and she turns to us with tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Mama," she says, "will BlackBunny be okay?" I wondered why she'd bring up BlackBunny at that particular moment, so I told her that I was sure she was fine. Dealing with the odd connections and leaps from the train-of-thought that was a then four-year-old Offspring, I was used to non sequiturs, but the tears bothered me. I looked down at her, and said, "Why are you worried about BlackBunny?" She looked back up at me, those big blue eyes just swimming in unshed tears, and said, "The pirates."
Pirates? Like pirates on this ride? "Honey, what about the pirates?" She looked very solemn as she said, "The song says 'we kidnap the rabbits and don't give a hoot.' I don't WANT them to kidnap Black Bunny!"
I had to stifle a laugh, because it was so stinking cute, but we assured her that BlackBunny was okay, safe at home. Now, every time I hear "Yo, Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me", I can't help but think of bloodthirsty pirates, making off with chests full of gold and bunnies.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Another Box
Remember back a few months ago, when I told you all of the odd story where a lady approached me at a crafts class with an offer of free clothes? Well, I got a call from her this weekend. She sorted out her closet, and was looking to get rid of quite a few winter clothes. She wanted to know if I was interested. She said she had "a box of clothes" for me.
I took the drive out to her house to find that she had THREE boxes of clothes. There were some nice things, including several nice dresses, but there were also the hilarious things. Amy got such a kick out of the plaid vest-and-shorts combo in the last batch that I'll have to be on the lookout to see if there's anything that compares in this allotment.
I have yet to really wade through all of the items, but I'll keep the camera handy, just in case.
I took the drive out to her house to find that she had THREE boxes of clothes. There were some nice things, including several nice dresses, but there were also the hilarious things. Amy got such a kick out of the plaid vest-and-shorts combo in the last batch that I'll have to be on the lookout to see if there's anything that compares in this allotment.
I have yet to really wade through all of the items, but I'll keep the camera handy, just in case.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Ammunition for the Clue Stick Brigade
If you're a fan of the illustrious Wednesday Whine (and how could you NOT be?), you may have heard that the denizens there prefer our justice served with a healthy serving of freshly sawn lumber. This is mainly for those in *serious need* of the judicious application of a good two-by-four upside the head, so don't let me scare any interested parties off. Wednesday Whine has typically been a place where we go to let off some steam, and have a forum in which we can gripe, knowing that there are people there who support us, and who do not mind listening to all of the things, great and small, which are plaguing our everyday lives.
One of the products of the weekly WW has been our claim that there are many, many people who are in dire need of the clue-by-four whomping. This week's column involved a suggestion that we form a precision drill team to administer our smackdowns. Said suggestion was met with much agreement all around.
I have a select group of (unfortunately nameless) people that I would like to offer up as fodder for the Clue Stick Brigade: the dad-blamed idjits who thought up using *METAL* as an effective material for the making of colanders. A colander, as we all know, is a straining device, mostly used (in this household, at least) for draining pasta. Which, you know, boils?! Therefore, the pasta is going to be HOT at the point of draining, and said colander will become too hot to pick up for any reasonable amount of time. Yes, you can use oven mitts, and your can rinse the pasta, but that's not the point. Metal is what the pot you likely *just cooked* the pasta in was made out of, and you're going to transfer all of that boiling hot, napalm-sticky pasta to ANOTHER metal container? Not a smooth move for those of us who have already established ourselves as clumsy.
Not that this has happened to me, you know. I'm far too graceful to burn myself with pasta, right? (Hush all that snickering!)
One of the products of the weekly WW has been our claim that there are many, many people who are in dire need of the clue-by-four whomping. This week's column involved a suggestion that we form a precision drill team to administer our smackdowns. Said suggestion was met with much agreement all around.
I have a select group of (unfortunately nameless) people that I would like to offer up as fodder for the Clue Stick Brigade: the dad-blamed idjits who thought up using *METAL* as an effective material for the making of colanders. A colander, as we all know, is a straining device, mostly used (in this household, at least) for draining pasta. Which, you know, boils?! Therefore, the pasta is going to be HOT at the point of draining, and said colander will become too hot to pick up for any reasonable amount of time. Yes, you can use oven mitts, and your can rinse the pasta, but that's not the point. Metal is what the pot you likely *just cooked* the pasta in was made out of, and you're going to transfer all of that boiling hot, napalm-sticky pasta to ANOTHER metal container? Not a smooth move for those of us who have already established ourselves as clumsy.
Not that this has happened to me, you know. I'm far too graceful to burn myself with pasta, right? (Hush all that snickering!)
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Stop Me Before I Steal Again!
I stole this meme from Marni, who, in turn, stole it from CCW.
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Have you ever licked the back of a CD to try to get it to work? Uh, no. I teach kindergarten, remember? I already have my lifetime allotment of germs.
What's the largest age difference between yourself and someone you’ve dated? Seven years. My first love was seven years older than me, and it was a long-distance relationship. You can see how it was doomed from the start.
Ever been in a car wreck? Yeah. Most have been fender-benders, but the worst was when a drunk guy ran a red light and hit me so hard that we did a complete 180, and the impact bent the entire car frame. The insurance company totaled the car out. The guy got out of the truck at first, but was acting oddly, so I had the foresight to get the plate number. After about 5 minutes of him lurching and weaving around, he hopped back into the truck and hauled tail. The police later found the truck in the KMart parking lot, and the dude called it in as stolen. They didn't buy his story, either. I ended up having to go down and identify him in a mug shot array.
Were you popular in high school? So far from popular, it was laughable. I was one of a group of about five misfits who lived on the fringe of Shoebox School. When I transferred to Gigantic High in the summer between my sophomore and junior years, I went from Nobody to Just Another Face In The Crowd. My graduating class had 222 seniors, so it was hard to NOT find a group in which you fit there. I still wasn't what you'd call "popular", but I was also no longer totally miserable.
Have you ever been on a blind date? A couple. Most of them ended with the guy telling me that I was too fat for him to be interested.
Are looks important? Not if you already have them. If you don't, it's another kettle of fish altogether. I'd like to say they don't matter, but as someone who has been judged on the basis of my physical appearance all my life, I know better. I didn't look for a mate based on looks, though I think my husband is very attractive. I looked for him based on who he is inside. And, I got a pretty sweet deal, if I say so myself.
Do you have any friends that you've known for 10 years or more? Yes -- my friend OzChick. We've been friends for about 12 years now. And my husband, who is my best friend. We've been together a little more than 16 years. We are nearing our 15th wedding anniversary this November.
By what age would you like to be married? I got married at 22, and I think it worked well for both of us. We were always considered "more mature" than a lot of people our age, and we were both ready to be married. We had had serious discussions about marriage, fidelity, children, and other issues while we were still dating, and we had decided that we ready to put all those plans and ideals to action. I'd like my daughter to be a little older than we were, when and if she decides to marry.
Does the number of people a person's slept with affect your view of them? It depends. As a friend, no. I don't care who or how many. As a potential partner, it does in the sense that I must protect myself in this day and age. I don't care if you've sowed your wild oats -- I did some sowing of my own in my time -- but I need to know whether you are a high risk. (Of course, this is all moot, since I'm married, but this is my train of thought behind this issue.)
Are you a good tipper? If the service merits it. I don't undertip to be cheap, but I do both reward good service, and withhold from crappy service.
What's the most you have spent for a haircut? Fifty bucks, I think. That was back in high school, though. I go to a place around the corner now, and I pay $12.95, and I get every sixth haircut for free. Hey -- why pay more when this place gives me what I want for cheap?
Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? I did -- on my English teacher in middle school (who was also my drama club advisor.) When I grew up, I did some theater work with both him and his wife, and I could not, for the life of me, see why I'd crushed on him so hard as a tween. He's a nice guy, sure -- but not THAT nice. Odd circumstance -- Offspring had him as one of her Gifted instructors for a couple of years.
Have you ever peed in public? Not that I can remember. I can't imagine a situation in which I would feel comfortable dropping trou in public.
What song do you want played at your funeral? I don't have a particular one in mind, but I'll leave that up to the ones who are left behind. I hope it's something that makes people remember me fondly.
What would your last meal be before getting executed? There used to be a Mexican restaurant here that served the most delicious dish called "Pollo Fundido." It was shredded chicken with sour cream, wrapped in a tortilla and deep fried, and served with a queso blanco on the top. SO GOOD! Unfortunately, that place burned down 20 years ago, and the owners went out of business. If I can't have that, a meal from my favorite Japanese place.
Beatles or Stones? Beatles, no question.
If you had to pick one person on earth to die, who would it be? I, personally, don't feel comfortable playing judge, jury, and executioner.
Beer, wine or hard liquor? Liquor -- but only in fruity, girly drinks with paper umbrellas. Other than that, I don't drink alcohol. And, I only have that once in a blue moon.
Do you have any phobias? Phobias, no. I do have fears, though. Fears of dying in a car accident, fear of guns, fears of being attacked, and a fear of dying by violence.
What are your plans for the future? Immediate future? I'm going to finish this post and get something to eat. Long term, I'd like to go back to school, but I'd need more disposable income.
Do you walk around the house naked? No, but we, as a family, do tend to eschew the wearing of pants in the house. JF calls us the Peter Pantsless family. It's too darn hot here for most of the year to wear superfluous clothing.
If you were an animal what would you be? I think I'd like to be a bird, so I can soar free.
What do you do as soon as you walk in the house? Put down my stuff and take off my pants. (See? I told you we were pantsless!)
Do you like horror or comedy? Comedy. Horror holds no appeal for me anymore. I used to like it somewhat when I was a teenager, but I don't care for it now.
Are you missing anyone? Yes. My cousin, who died when I was 17. There was so much living that he didn't get to do. Also, friends that I never see anymore. People who are no longer with us.
Where do you want to live when you are old? Somewhere close to the water.
Who is the person you can count on the most? My husband. I have no fear that he won't always be there for me.
If you could date any celebrity past or present, who would it be? Sean Connery. Yum!
What did you dream last night? I dreamed that I was in the hospital, having some tests run.
What is your favorite sport to watch? Figure skating. I don't really care for sports, so if I have to watch it, it has to be something highly visual.
Are you named after anyone? There's a story that I'm named after a character in "Gone With the Wind", but I'm not sure how much of that is true.
What is your favorite alcoholic drink? A Pina Colada. Heavy on the coconut!
Non alcoholic drink? Sonic's Cherry Limeade. And lately, Crystal Light Raspberry Ice.
Have you ever been in love? Yes. Still am.
Do you sing in the shower? No. It's usually so early in the morning now, that I'm lucky to be walking upright and functioning at all.
Have you ever been arrested? Nope. I'm a goody-goody.
What is your favorite Holiday? Christmas.
Would you ever get plastic surgery? Probably not. Not unless I had some sort of disfiguring accident. Just for kicks, no. I can't see spending that large amount of money on stuff like that. Though I don't condemn those who do. It's just not for me.
Have you ever caught a fish? Yes, when I was small. Fishing isn't a priority these days.
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Have you ever licked the back of a CD to try to get it to work? Uh, no. I teach kindergarten, remember? I already have my lifetime allotment of germs.
What's the largest age difference between yourself and someone you’ve dated? Seven years. My first love was seven years older than me, and it was a long-distance relationship. You can see how it was doomed from the start.
Ever been in a car wreck? Yeah. Most have been fender-benders, but the worst was when a drunk guy ran a red light and hit me so hard that we did a complete 180, and the impact bent the entire car frame. The insurance company totaled the car out. The guy got out of the truck at first, but was acting oddly, so I had the foresight to get the plate number. After about 5 minutes of him lurching and weaving around, he hopped back into the truck and hauled tail. The police later found the truck in the KMart parking lot, and the dude called it in as stolen. They didn't buy his story, either. I ended up having to go down and identify him in a mug shot array.
Were you popular in high school? So far from popular, it was laughable. I was one of a group of about five misfits who lived on the fringe of Shoebox School. When I transferred to Gigantic High in the summer between my sophomore and junior years, I went from Nobody to Just Another Face In The Crowd. My graduating class had 222 seniors, so it was hard to NOT find a group in which you fit there. I still wasn't what you'd call "popular", but I was also no longer totally miserable.
Have you ever been on a blind date? A couple. Most of them ended with the guy telling me that I was too fat for him to be interested.
Are looks important? Not if you already have them. If you don't, it's another kettle of fish altogether. I'd like to say they don't matter, but as someone who has been judged on the basis of my physical appearance all my life, I know better. I didn't look for a mate based on looks, though I think my husband is very attractive. I looked for him based on who he is inside. And, I got a pretty sweet deal, if I say so myself.
Do you have any friends that you've known for 10 years or more? Yes -- my friend OzChick. We've been friends for about 12 years now. And my husband, who is my best friend. We've been together a little more than 16 years. We are nearing our 15th wedding anniversary this November.
By what age would you like to be married? I got married at 22, and I think it worked well for both of us. We were always considered "more mature" than a lot of people our age, and we were both ready to be married. We had had serious discussions about marriage, fidelity, children, and other issues while we were still dating, and we had decided that we ready to put all those plans and ideals to action. I'd like my daughter to be a little older than we were, when and if she decides to marry.
Does the number of people a person's slept with affect your view of them? It depends. As a friend, no. I don't care who or how many. As a potential partner, it does in the sense that I must protect myself in this day and age. I don't care if you've sowed your wild oats -- I did some sowing of my own in my time -- but I need to know whether you are a high risk. (Of course, this is all moot, since I'm married, but this is my train of thought behind this issue.)
Are you a good tipper? If the service merits it. I don't undertip to be cheap, but I do both reward good service, and withhold from crappy service.
What's the most you have spent for a haircut? Fifty bucks, I think. That was back in high school, though. I go to a place around the corner now, and I pay $12.95, and I get every sixth haircut for free. Hey -- why pay more when this place gives me what I want for cheap?
Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? I did -- on my English teacher in middle school (who was also my drama club advisor.) When I grew up, I did some theater work with both him and his wife, and I could not, for the life of me, see why I'd crushed on him so hard as a tween. He's a nice guy, sure -- but not THAT nice. Odd circumstance -- Offspring had him as one of her Gifted instructors for a couple of years.
Have you ever peed in public? Not that I can remember. I can't imagine a situation in which I would feel comfortable dropping trou in public.
What song do you want played at your funeral? I don't have a particular one in mind, but I'll leave that up to the ones who are left behind. I hope it's something that makes people remember me fondly.
What would your last meal be before getting executed? There used to be a Mexican restaurant here that served the most delicious dish called "Pollo Fundido." It was shredded chicken with sour cream, wrapped in a tortilla and deep fried, and served with a queso blanco on the top. SO GOOD! Unfortunately, that place burned down 20 years ago, and the owners went out of business. If I can't have that, a meal from my favorite Japanese place.
Beatles or Stones? Beatles, no question.
If you had to pick one person on earth to die, who would it be? I, personally, don't feel comfortable playing judge, jury, and executioner.
Beer, wine or hard liquor? Liquor -- but only in fruity, girly drinks with paper umbrellas. Other than that, I don't drink alcohol. And, I only have that once in a blue moon.
Do you have any phobias? Phobias, no. I do have fears, though. Fears of dying in a car accident, fear of guns, fears of being attacked, and a fear of dying by violence.
What are your plans for the future? Immediate future? I'm going to finish this post and get something to eat. Long term, I'd like to go back to school, but I'd need more disposable income.
Do you walk around the house naked? No, but we, as a family, do tend to eschew the wearing of pants in the house. JF calls us the Peter Pantsless family. It's too darn hot here for most of the year to wear superfluous clothing.
If you were an animal what would you be? I think I'd like to be a bird, so I can soar free.
What do you do as soon as you walk in the house? Put down my stuff and take off my pants. (See? I told you we were pantsless!)
Do you like horror or comedy? Comedy. Horror holds no appeal for me anymore. I used to like it somewhat when I was a teenager, but I don't care for it now.
Are you missing anyone? Yes. My cousin, who died when I was 17. There was so much living that he didn't get to do. Also, friends that I never see anymore. People who are no longer with us.
Where do you want to live when you are old? Somewhere close to the water.
Who is the person you can count on the most? My husband. I have no fear that he won't always be there for me.
If you could date any celebrity past or present, who would it be? Sean Connery. Yum!
What did you dream last night? I dreamed that I was in the hospital, having some tests run.
What is your favorite sport to watch? Figure skating. I don't really care for sports, so if I have to watch it, it has to be something highly visual.
Are you named after anyone? There's a story that I'm named after a character in "Gone With the Wind", but I'm not sure how much of that is true.
What is your favorite alcoholic drink? A Pina Colada. Heavy on the coconut!
Non alcoholic drink? Sonic's Cherry Limeade. And lately, Crystal Light Raspberry Ice.
Have you ever been in love? Yes. Still am.
Do you sing in the shower? No. It's usually so early in the morning now, that I'm lucky to be walking upright and functioning at all.
Have you ever been arrested? Nope. I'm a goody-goody.
What is your favorite Holiday? Christmas.
Would you ever get plastic surgery? Probably not. Not unless I had some sort of disfiguring accident. Just for kicks, no. I can't see spending that large amount of money on stuff like that. Though I don't condemn those who do. It's just not for me.
Have you ever caught a fish? Yes, when I was small. Fishing isn't a priority these days.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Fundamental Difference
Juggling Freak and I have very differing tastes, especially when it comes to music. As you all know, I'm fond of the 80's music and British "New Wave" of the same era. Juggling Freak is into Heavy Metal. And never the twain shall meet.
A few years ago, we got a Sirius satellite radio system as a Christmas gift, and we keep it in my car, although we have a home dock for it as well. The system has a number of buttons along the front, where you can preset your favorite stations. Offspring immediately claimed preset number one in the name of Radio Disney. The next two are my favorites -- First Wave (which plays the New Wave and alternative songs, mostly from the 80s era) and the Big 80s (which is pretty self-explanatory). Juggling Freak set all the other presets up with a mixture of other stations, mainly the ones that he likes, but some that we both tolerate fairly well.
As we headed for dinner the other day, Juggling Freak was surfing through the selections, much the same way that he channel surfs on TV. (May I point out here that stopping on each station for approximately 3 seconds does not really give you a good grasp as to whether what's on that channel is really worth watching/listening to? Are all men like this?) It's slightly better with the satellite radio because at least the display screen lets us know the song title and the artist's name. JF usually makes unilateral decisions based on artist: "Tears For Fears: Hell, no!" Or, "Ugh -- not more U2!"
As he blazed through the channels, he was finding nothing that he really wanted to listen to. He finally settled on a station, but the song that was listed was going off, and a Madonna song came on next. Now, I'm no big Madonna fan, but neither do my eyeballs bleed upon mere mentions of her name. JF starts mock-gagging, and blindly punches buttons as if his life depended on it. I try to tell him that some of Madonna's early stuff isn't bad -- it's much less objectionable than her later, I-believe-in-my-own-hype, self-absorbed work, but he's not buying.
Me: "Now, her early work isn't all that bad."
Him: "Says you. I say it sucks ass."
Me: "Sure, it was pure bubblegum, but at least it wasn't as bad as some of her later stuff."
Him: "Maybe ass-flavored bubblegum."
Needless to say, the radio didn't remain long on Madonna, early hit or no.
A few years ago, we got a Sirius satellite radio system as a Christmas gift, and we keep it in my car, although we have a home dock for it as well. The system has a number of buttons along the front, where you can preset your favorite stations. Offspring immediately claimed preset number one in the name of Radio Disney. The next two are my favorites -- First Wave (which plays the New Wave and alternative songs, mostly from the 80s era) and the Big 80s (which is pretty self-explanatory). Juggling Freak set all the other presets up with a mixture of other stations, mainly the ones that he likes, but some that we both tolerate fairly well.
As we headed for dinner the other day, Juggling Freak was surfing through the selections, much the same way that he channel surfs on TV. (May I point out here that stopping on each station for approximately 3 seconds does not really give you a good grasp as to whether what's on that channel is really worth watching/listening to? Are all men like this?) It's slightly better with the satellite radio because at least the display screen lets us know the song title and the artist's name. JF usually makes unilateral decisions based on artist: "Tears For Fears: Hell, no!" Or, "Ugh -- not more U2!"
As he blazed through the channels, he was finding nothing that he really wanted to listen to. He finally settled on a station, but the song that was listed was going off, and a Madonna song came on next. Now, I'm no big Madonna fan, but neither do my eyeballs bleed upon mere mentions of her name. JF starts mock-gagging, and blindly punches buttons as if his life depended on it. I try to tell him that some of Madonna's early stuff isn't bad -- it's much less objectionable than her later, I-believe-in-my-own-hype, self-absorbed work, but he's not buying.
Me: "Now, her early work isn't all that bad."
Him: "Says you. I say it sucks ass."
Me: "Sure, it was pure bubblegum, but at least it wasn't as bad as some of her later stuff."
Him: "Maybe ass-flavored bubblegum."
Needless to say, the radio didn't remain long on Madonna, early hit or no.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Can't Seem To Find The Time
I can't seem to find the time to post anymore. I seem to go, go, go from the moment I fall out of bed in the morning until I drop into it each night.
Can I tell you that middle school is KILLING me? Offspring is having a great time, but seeing her off to the bus at 6:42 am is *really* cramping my style. I used to be one of those people that rolled out of bed about 20 minutes before I had to be at work, eking out every possible second of sleep that I could. Gone are those days. LONG gone.
She seems to be adjusting well to middle school life -- has fun riding the bus with her friends, and is overjoyed that her best buddy is in her homeroom (and same "block" schedule) so they get to see each other all day.
She's already had several info packets about upcoming papers and projects sent home, and even turned in an "All About Me" project this morning. The work load is heavier, but it's not too much just yet -- as the year gets fully under way, I expect there to be more work.
The one thing she was bummed at: her school does not have lockers. She REALLY wanted a locker. And, judging by how freaking heavy that backpack is, they really need to get them lockers. That thing weighs a ton!
Friday, September 07, 2007
They May Be Clueless, But At Least They Got Religion
My class is shaping up, slowly but surely. Each year, I forget how little they came to us knowing, and what a hard task those first few weeks are, teaching them all the little quirks and rules. I guess it's because at the end of the year, they're well-trained, and it's underscored by how far they get by the end of the year. Simple things, like knowing their own last names, or what their mama's names are.
I misplaced the little slip of paper that I keep with me that tells me how all my babies get home: these two to daycare vans, this one to the on-site afterschool care service, these three or four walk home with big brothers or sisters, and so on. One child, I could not, for the life of me, remember how she got home. So, I called her up to my desk to question her on the matter.
Mrs. KLee: "Sweetie, are you a bus rider?"
Cute Little Girl: "Huh?"
Mrs. KLee: "Are you a bus rider, a car rider, or a walker?"
*blank stare*
Mrs. KLee: "How do you get home? Are you a car rider, a walker, or do you ride the bus?"
Cute Little Girl: "No, I'm a Baptist!"
I misplaced the little slip of paper that I keep with me that tells me how all my babies get home: these two to daycare vans, this one to the on-site afterschool care service, these three or four walk home with big brothers or sisters, and so on. One child, I could not, for the life of me, remember how she got home. So, I called her up to my desk to question her on the matter.
Mrs. KLee: "Sweetie, are you a bus rider?"
Cute Little Girl: "Huh?"
Mrs. KLee: "Are you a bus rider, a car rider, or a walker?"
*blank stare*
Mrs. KLee: "How do you get home? Are you a car rider, a walker, or do you ride the bus?"
Cute Little Girl: "No, I'm a Baptist!"
Monday, September 03, 2007
Summer's End
The rain has kept the sun worshippers from their daily rituals for the better part of this past week. The touristy shops along the beach roads begin to close earlier and earlier, and the seasonal ice cream shop sports new winter shutters.
The intermittent rain brings needed relief for the parched earth. The lower temperatures allow the pale denizens to finally emerge from their cool, shady homes. Their faces upturned to the roiling sky, the cloistered ones breathe air not cooled and recirculated by machine for the first time in weeks.
The stores are full of parents stocking up on supplies for school. Two young, first grade-age girls argue the various merits of the lunch boxes: Hannah Montana, High School Musical, or Bratz? The shoppers move through the aisles, denuding the shelves as a high wind would strip leaves from the trees. Like a plague of locusts they come, laying bare the store's metal skeleton.
The large tan SUV moves swiftly into traffic, a pair of lurid fuchsia flip-flops miraculously clinging to the rear bumper with the tenacity of barnacles. The streets are surprisingly empty for a holiday. The city hunkers back down for more rain.
As night blankets the wet city, lights wink out earlier than normal in preparation for the morning's new beginning.
The intermittent rain brings needed relief for the parched earth. The lower temperatures allow the pale denizens to finally emerge from their cool, shady homes. Their faces upturned to the roiling sky, the cloistered ones breathe air not cooled and recirculated by machine for the first time in weeks.
The stores are full of parents stocking up on supplies for school. Two young, first grade-age girls argue the various merits of the lunch boxes: Hannah Montana, High School Musical, or Bratz? The shoppers move through the aisles, denuding the shelves as a high wind would strip leaves from the trees. Like a plague of locusts they come, laying bare the store's metal skeleton.
The large tan SUV moves swiftly into traffic, a pair of lurid fuchsia flip-flops miraculously clinging to the rear bumper with the tenacity of barnacles. The streets are surprisingly empty for a holiday. The city hunkers back down for more rain.
As night blankets the wet city, lights wink out earlier than normal in preparation for the morning's new beginning.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Looking Back on the Summer
Most of the summer has been spent in a battle of wills over the main desktop computer. I was usually on the losing end. My children (the human one and the furry one) have severely cut into my online time, necessitating a strategic retreat to the craft room with the laptop. As you see from the above photo, the cat won that particular round due to laser weapons fire. And, apparently, she likes the YouTube.
We kicked off the summer in mid June with a trip to the Happiest Place on Earth (no, it's *not* Tijuana.) and maximized our photo ops. We had a great time as always, and can't wait to go back. Again. And again. The only thing that we hate about Disney World is the EPCOT factor (Every Pocket Comes Out Thinner) and having to pack up and leave. We didn't have nearly the amount of pictures this year that we normally do because JF had his hands full with pushing me in the wheelchair.
Oh, and a side note to wheelchair rental companies -- please *glue* or somehow otherwise attach the rubberized handles to the actual chair. I had hellish visions of road rash when JF tried to play a joke on me on a hill. Only, the joke was on him when, at the crest of the hill, I went careening down, leaving him standing there holding only two rubbery grips. Not fun.
I got to meet Marni, and her great family. We ate some wonderful pizza, and she didn't run screaming away from me! She even wants to come down to my neck of the woods sometime soon and get together again! I hope she's able to make it down.
We even got to take a second little vacation (something that almost NEVER happens) to the Biltmore. We loved Asheville, and can't wait to go back up. We won't have all that long to wait either, since I have a cousin that's getting married in one of the nearby towns in October. So, I get to head back up to the mountains. JF may or may not attend, depending on work. If he's not able to go, he'll miss my lovely family and their assorted neuroses and character flaws. Maybe I can blow off the wedding, and just go get that hot stone massage and hot tub soak at that outdoor spa. Hm -- worth thinking about. Maybe as an early birthday treat for me! :)
I did a lot of loafing around, made a lot of cards. Actually cleaned the
Had a fantabulous lunch with the not-so-mysterious Liz, and hope she'll want to have lunch with me again on her next trip down. She's remained mostly quiet on the subject of our meetup, so I'm hoping that she's not trying to find a nice, polite way to tell me I'm a whackjob and that she'd never be caught dead in the same state as me again. Sorry -- is my insecurity showing again?
Got addicted to Pandora. Trying real hard not to lose my cool when the DSL drops connection just as a really! cool! song! comes on. Throwing the laptop NEVER makes things better.
Now, summer is over, and it's time for school to start again. I've been cleaning, bending over, and moving furniture all day. My back is hurting. I'm hoping the Naproxen I took a while ago kick in soon. I still have so much to do. And, I'm not ready to be a productive member of society. I want to go back to bed.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
I Am In Such Trouble
Every summer, I do this. As the summer nears each year, I look forward to sleeping late, and not being at the beck and call of the clock. And every year, as the summer wanes, I find that my sleep patterns are all out of whack.
I'm a night owl. I prowl the house at night, long after Juggling Freak and Offspring have gone to bed. I read, I watch TV, I do my craft projects. I like the quiet, the calm. The heat of the day has fled; the phone has stopped ringing. The house is still. I find something very appealing about that. And that's my time to find inner peace.
I have been going to bed very late these past few weeks, and like I do every summer, I need to get my system reset. I need to be back on school time. I report back to work Monday, and have to hit the ground running. I'm not looking forward to having to drag myself out of bed when I would normally be comfortably lost in dreamland. Though I do only have myself to blame for being in this predicament in the first place.
I'm a night owl. I prowl the house at night, long after Juggling Freak and Offspring have gone to bed. I read, I watch TV, I do my craft projects. I like the quiet, the calm. The heat of the day has fled; the phone has stopped ringing. The house is still. I find something very appealing about that. And that's my time to find inner peace.
I have been going to bed very late these past few weeks, and like I do every summer, I need to get my system reset. I need to be back on school time. I report back to work Monday, and have to hit the ground running. I'm not looking forward to having to drag myself out of bed when I would normally be comfortably lost in dreamland. Though I do only have myself to blame for being in this predicament in the first place.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Rules For Living
A humorous list of rules for living here in HumidityLikeABrickWall recently appeared in the local paper. There were 99 in all, but a lot of them are location jokes that others wouldn't understand unless they were locals, so I've condensed them for your amusement.
--------------------------
Complain. About anything.
Celebrate the solemn religious import of St. Patrick’s Day with clowns on scooters and wet T-shirt contests.
Mascara: Best applied at 80 m.p.h.
HumidityLikeABrickWall summers: “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Actually, moron, it’s both.
Consider anyone a “newcomer” whose family arrived later than the Fillmore Administration.
Don’t mess with Parking Services. (Those meter maids are hell on three wheels.)
Tourists spend a kazillion dollars here every year. Treat them with impatience and disdain.
If a tourist asks what the rank odor in the air is, say it's the smell of money. (We have a paper plant right near the tourist district.)
Always order sweet tea.
Say you like the heat even when the air feels like Campbell's Cream of Chunky Molasses Soup.
Show your support for the troops by displaying a magnetic ribbon made in China on your Japanese car.
Talk loudly in movie theaters. Everyone around you is dying to hear your opinions.
Be sure to crank up your stereo at intersections, too. We all love hearing how to "bitch slap that ho."
Resent college kids who are "different." But love the big bucks their parents send here.
Don't bother moving your car for the street sweepers. Just for the ticket truck that follows five minutes later.
Worship the God of your choice - or else.
Too fat to wear Spandex? Not in HumidityLikeABrickWall.
Leave the Spanish moss alone. Unless you want little visitors in your undies.
Your preparation for hurricane season? Lay in some extra martini mix. (And beer. And if the hurricane misses us, throw a party.)
Turn signal: Term unknown.
Yellow light: A signal for the next seven to eight cars to accelerate.
Red light: A signal for all but the first three to four cars to stop.
Blame the weatherman when it doesn't rain. Blame him when it does.
Any store with 20 check-out lines? At least 18 will be closed.
Local spelling: "Dog" = "Dawg." And folks wonder why our SAT scores look like wind-chill factors.
It's always someone else who buys that "special lingerie" at the adult 'bookstore.'
Anyone driving 65 mph on the parkway is considered a "slowpoke." Those traveling at 55 mph (the technical speed limit) are officially "parking."
Tailgating? Shoot, hon, we're just being sociable.
Calvinism: A local religion, popularly represented on a pickup's back window by a picture of a young boy urinating.
Fire Lanes: Excellent places to park. And so convenient to the stores. Even better than those "handicapped" spaces.
The Parkway: An ambitious project launched the same week as Egypt's Great Pyramid. Scheduled for completion later this millennium (tentatively).
Curbside recycling? Obviously a hippie Commie plot.
Expect your cable to go out when it rains. Or when it's partly cloudy. Or on any day that ends with "y."
The sign at the grocery store that reads "15 items or less, cash only" doesn't apply to you. Heavens, no.
Don't believe everything the downtown tour guides tell you. The Confederacy, for example, did not win the Civil War.
Coolly walk past the celebrities you spot in town. Then excitedly call everyone with the news.
Pamper your dogs more than your children.
Those roaches that are so big you can put saddles on them? They're "Palmetto Bugs."
Let us know when you see a ghost on a ghost tour. You'll be the first.
Don't look for many flights to Paris at HumidityLikeABrickWall "International" Airport.
You call them "horseflies." We call them "teeth with wings."
If you live on the southside, your out-of-town guests will want to spend all their time downtown. If you live downtown, they'll want to visit the malls.
Honk your horn when you're stuck in traffic. Repeatedly. We're sure all of those cars in front of you will magically disappear.
Synchronized traffic lights? Dream on ...
Hang out in the left lane of the interstate if you're older than 80 and can barely see over your Cadillac's steering wheel. Be sure to leave your turn signal on.
No bathing suit is too tiny for the beach. Especially if you resemble a sumo wrestler on steroids.
The editorial page at the paper isn't really conservative; it's just opposed to "change for change's sake" (like those new-fangled horseless carriages).
A fistful of quarters comes in handy when you finally find a parking space downtown. We hear they make excellent brass knuckles too.
Nothing says HumidityLikeABrickWall like a debutante with a tattoo on her ass.
Anyone standing in front of you in line at Wal-Mart will need a price check.
Stop signs are for sissies.
Watering restrictions are for that guy down the street. It's OK if your lawn looks like a tropical rainforest.
Yield when you enter a square. Unless you don't feel like it.
Appomattox?: A temporary setback.
--------------------------
Complain. About anything.
Celebrate the solemn religious import of St. Patrick’s Day with clowns on scooters and wet T-shirt contests.
Mascara: Best applied at 80 m.p.h.
HumidityLikeABrickWall summers: “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Actually, moron, it’s both.
Consider anyone a “newcomer” whose family arrived later than the Fillmore Administration.
Don’t mess with Parking Services. (Those meter maids are hell on three wheels.)
Tourists spend a kazillion dollars here every year. Treat them with impatience and disdain.
If a tourist asks what the rank odor in the air is, say it's the smell of money. (We have a paper plant right near the tourist district.)
Always order sweet tea.
Say you like the heat even when the air feels like Campbell's Cream of Chunky Molasses Soup.
Show your support for the troops by displaying a magnetic ribbon made in China on your Japanese car.
Talk loudly in movie theaters. Everyone around you is dying to hear your opinions.
Be sure to crank up your stereo at intersections, too. We all love hearing how to "bitch slap that ho."
Resent college kids who are "different." But love the big bucks their parents send here.
Don't bother moving your car for the street sweepers. Just for the ticket truck that follows five minutes later.
Worship the God of your choice - or else.
Too fat to wear Spandex? Not in HumidityLikeABrickWall.
Leave the Spanish moss alone. Unless you want little visitors in your undies.
Your preparation for hurricane season? Lay in some extra martini mix. (And beer. And if the hurricane misses us, throw a party.)
Turn signal: Term unknown.
Yellow light: A signal for the next seven to eight cars to accelerate.
Red light: A signal for all but the first three to four cars to stop.
Blame the weatherman when it doesn't rain. Blame him when it does.
Any store with 20 check-out lines? At least 18 will be closed.
Local spelling: "Dog" = "Dawg." And folks wonder why our SAT scores look like wind-chill factors.
It's always someone else who buys that "special lingerie" at the adult 'bookstore.'
Anyone driving 65 mph on the parkway is considered a "slowpoke." Those traveling at 55 mph (the technical speed limit) are officially "parking."
Tailgating? Shoot, hon, we're just being sociable.
Calvinism: A local religion, popularly represented on a pickup's back window by a picture of a young boy urinating.
Fire Lanes: Excellent places to park. And so convenient to the stores. Even better than those "handicapped" spaces.
The Parkway: An ambitious project launched the same week as Egypt's Great Pyramid. Scheduled for completion later this millennium (tentatively).
Curbside recycling? Obviously a hippie Commie plot.
Expect your cable to go out when it rains. Or when it's partly cloudy. Or on any day that ends with "y."
The sign at the grocery store that reads "15 items or less, cash only" doesn't apply to you. Heavens, no.
Don't believe everything the downtown tour guides tell you. The Confederacy, for example, did not win the Civil War.
Coolly walk past the celebrities you spot in town. Then excitedly call everyone with the news.
Pamper your dogs more than your children.
Those roaches that are so big you can put saddles on them? They're "Palmetto Bugs."
Let us know when you see a ghost on a ghost tour. You'll be the first.
Don't look for many flights to Paris at HumidityLikeABrickWall "International" Airport.
You call them "horseflies." We call them "teeth with wings."
If you live on the southside, your out-of-town guests will want to spend all their time downtown. If you live downtown, they'll want to visit the malls.
Honk your horn when you're stuck in traffic. Repeatedly. We're sure all of those cars in front of you will magically disappear.
Synchronized traffic lights? Dream on ...
Hang out in the left lane of the interstate if you're older than 80 and can barely see over your Cadillac's steering wheel. Be sure to leave your turn signal on.
No bathing suit is too tiny for the beach. Especially if you resemble a sumo wrestler on steroids.
The editorial page at the paper isn't really conservative; it's just opposed to "change for change's sake" (like those new-fangled horseless carriages).
A fistful of quarters comes in handy when you finally find a parking space downtown. We hear they make excellent brass knuckles too.
Nothing says HumidityLikeABrickWall like a debutante with a tattoo on her ass.
Anyone standing in front of you in line at Wal-Mart will need a price check.
Stop signs are for sissies.
Watering restrictions are for that guy down the street. It's OK if your lawn looks like a tropical rainforest.
Yield when you enter a square. Unless you don't feel like it.
Appomattox?: A temporary setback.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Ewwwww....Just....Ewwwwww
While out running errands yesterday with Offspring, I spied this sign above a local rib house, and almost wrecked my car. I've never eaten there, and now -- I surely don't intend to. What happens when you drop your napkin?! Minds boggle.
The name of the restaurant? "Sticky Fingers."
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Leave Me Alone, I'm Making Christmas Cards
Before you go spiking my drinks with Happy Pills, lemmee 'splain. As if meeting with Liz on Tuesday wasn't fabulous enough, I arrived home late that afternoon to a UPS delivery -- a box of stamping/scrapbooking supplies that weighed 13 pounds.
Why am I getting packages that weigh as much as a baby, you ask? Well, thank you for your query. I am BORED. I know, I know. I bitch all year long about how I can't *wait* for summer vacation, and now I'm bored?!?
You see, typically I would already be back at work. Our school system shuffled their calendar this year, and we don't go back for another 10 days or so. Students join us after Labor Day. It's supposed to be a cost-cutting, heat-related effort. So instead of frying eggs on the sidewalk in early August (when we normally go back), we'll save that for the first two weeks of June when we'd normally be out of school already.
At any rate, not so long ago, the company that I buy rubber stamps from (and sell, too, if anyone's curious) came out with a spiffy new catalogue, and I just HAD to have quite a bit of the new pretties. I got 10 new stamp sets, some colored cardstock, and some inks. So, I'm sitting here at 11:30 at night, getting a jump on the Christmas cards. And other stuff, too, but I can always use a premade Christmas card... Actually, it's really an excuse to play with my new stuff.
Those of you who've been deluded enough to actually give me your addresses may find your mailboxes overflowing with homemade cards soon. If you were smart, you might think about moving.
Why am I getting packages that weigh as much as a baby, you ask? Well, thank you for your query. I am BORED. I know, I know. I bitch all year long about how I can't *wait* for summer vacation, and now I'm bored?!?
You see, typically I would already be back at work. Our school system shuffled their calendar this year, and we don't go back for another 10 days or so. Students join us after Labor Day. It's supposed to be a cost-cutting, heat-related effort. So instead of frying eggs on the sidewalk in early August (when we normally go back), we'll save that for the first two weeks of June when we'd normally be out of school already.
At any rate, not so long ago, the company that I buy rubber stamps from (and sell, too, if anyone's curious) came out with a spiffy new catalogue, and I just HAD to have quite a bit of the new pretties. I got 10 new stamp sets, some colored cardstock, and some inks. So, I'm sitting here at 11:30 at night, getting a jump on the Christmas cards. And other stuff, too, but I can always use a premade Christmas card... Actually, it's really an excuse to play with my new stuff.
Those of you who've been deluded enough to actually give me your addresses may find your mailboxes overflowing with homemade cards soon. If you were smart, you might think about moving.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Lunch with Liz
I did survive the weekend birthday party, though I have no really good stories to tell. We ended up not going to the beach because the jellyfish were terrible, so we just went to a neighbor's pool. A fun time was had by all. No fights, though everyone got pretty sloshed. (Not me.)
It's a good thing I didn't party myself too hard because Liz was visiting a relative not too far from where I live, so we arranged to meet up for lunch today. Hooray -- blogger meetup!
Liz is a bundle of infectious laughter and has a smile a mile wide. I was a little thrown at first, because I was expecting a short-haired Liz, but she showed up with this gorgeous, long, curling hair. We had a great time talking as we ate. I chose a cafe that had things for the little guys, thinking of things that Muffin Man would enjoy as we dined. Unfortunately, Muffin Man's grandma didn't want to share, and he stayed home with her. Boo. :) So, Liz, Offspring, and I sat outside overlooking the water for lunch. After lunch, we got an ice cream to cool off. Among many of the other reasons that I knew I liked Liz, she ordered chocolate ice cream. After tasting, she sighed with pleasure, leaned back in her chair and said, "Nectar of the Gods." A soul sister to be sure.
We talked about our families, Disney World, school (both hers and mine), books, and all sorts of stuff. Unfortunately, all things must come to an end, and we left each other much sooner than I would have liked. Liz is truly a wonderful person, and I'm so fortunate to not only have her as a blog friend, but now as actual, in-the-flesh friend. I can't wait until she visits again, and I hope that one day, I have the chance to be up in her neighborhood.
** Liz graciously allowed me to take this picture for the blog. She does not show her face on her own blog, so in order to help preserve her anonymity, I am not linking back to her place. Most of you know who Liz is anyway, and know how to find her.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Off to the Beach
My little brother is in town for his birthday, so we are heading out to HumidityLikeABrickWall's beach in the morning for a fun-filled day with my parents. Long-time readers of this blog will know what a Keystone Kops operation this will likely turn out to be.
If there are any good bloggable moments, be sure that I will be on the internet within minutes after returning home.
PS -- Happy Birthday, little brother.
If there are any good bloggable moments, be sure that I will be on the internet within minutes after returning home.
PS -- Happy Birthday, little brother.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
A Weekend at the Biltmore
We arrived in Asheville late on Friday and went to the hotel to recover from altitude sickness. (Not really. Though we live at 15 feet above sea level, and Asheville is at 2, 216 feet above sea level, so it *did* take some getting used to.) We set off early on Saturday morning to visit the Biltmore Estate. On the way there, we were held up by an impromptu duck parade. There were about 20 ducks that decided that this was the appropriate time to cross what is most likely a busy street on weekdays. For some reason, the sight of the ducks put us in a rather silly mood, and we smiled all the way to Biltmore.
We drove through Biltmore's entrance, and after about 10 minutes of driving through scenic woods just chock-a-block with gorgeous vistas, we parked in one of Biltmore's lots. We spotted a trail sign that informed us that the house was an eight minute walk from the parking lot. The drive and that sign were our first hints that this place was huge. You know, when you hear that Biltmore is set on 8,000 acres, it *sounds* really large, but it doesn't quite make an impact until it sets in that you might actually be WALKING those 8,000 acres.
We broke through the trees to the above view. It was breathtaking. It almost doesn't seem real. Most of the other people had the same reaction we did -- *gasp!* Where we are standing is the Esplanade. There are fountains and marble stairs that lead down to ground level. Looking at the Esplanade from the house, you can see a large expanse of lawn that slopes sharply upward to a pergola-covered statue of Diana. (Bonus conversation: I heard a young woman asking another member of her party why the Vanderbilts had a statue of the Princess of Wales. Duh. I flashed to "A Fish Called Wanda" and Wanda's comment that Otto had asked why Archie had named his daughter Portia "after a car.") JF later bravely made this arduous trek to the statue while Offspring and I took on the Herculean task of sitting in the shade and eating ice cream.
Right at the entrance to the house, this lion guards the main door. There are two of them and we are posing with the lion to the left of the main entrance. Behind us to the left, you can just see the spiraling of the Grand Staircase. The Biltmore staff do not let you take pictures inside the house, as flash can damage delicate art and fabric over time. You do get to take as many pictures as you'd like of the outside of the house. We decided to take a specialty tour that allowed us access to parts of the house that are sealed off to the general public. We saw the room where all of the Vanderbilt children were born, and which is currently under restoration. We also got to see the "Blue Room" (my name for it) that was restored in 1980 for the filming of "The Private Eyes" with Tim Conway and Don Knotts. This room featured hidden passageways, and the staff had left the passageway open so we could see how it blended in seamlessly with the wall. In addition, the tour also included getting to see some balconies that were not accessible by the general public, and a trip to the rooftop.
This is a picture of Offspring and I, standing on top of what's called the Copper Dome. The Dome caps off the Grand Staircase, and holds a massive, four-story 1,700 pound iron chandelier in place. The view from here was simply astonishing. You could see to Mount Pisgah through the haze from 19 miles away. Mount Pisgah is northwest of the house, and part of the Pisgah National Forest, much of which was land that the Vanderbilts originally owned. The estate started out at 125,000 acres, and was whittled down to the current size of 8,000. The only drawback to the Copper Dome was the fact that copper radiates heat like no-one's business, and it was sweltering up there. In fact, the whole house was warm since there was no A/C in the Vanderbilt's time. The staff had fans going everywhere, and the windows were all open to get those breezes through, but all those bodies do heat things up.
Behind us, you can see the Esplanade in the distance. There are several trucks parked there, unloading equipment for that evening's entertainment. Biltmore has a summer concert series, and while we were there, we got to the hear the B-52's warming up in rehearsal. They were just jamming away while we strolled in the gardens. Nice work if you can get it.
Another lady on our tour asked us to take a picture of her whole group, and she returned the favor. Here are the three of us, on top of the Copper Dome, with the roof and a tiny portion of the Esplanade behind us. We are on top of the fourth floor, and I wasn't all that comfortable leaning on just a railing, with nothing else between me and the solid, and very hard ground. That may account for why I look like I'm grinding glass between my teeth. That, or it was just flippin' hot.
By this time, we were flat worn out. We headed back to the hotel for some rest and then out to a wonderful Italian restaurant for dinner. We all fell asleep fairly early, worn out from the heat and the trudging through four acres of house. And the grounds on top of that.
We spent Sunday at all of the other places on the Estate, since the house took up nearly every second of Saturday. We awoke early on Sunday, and set out with plans to visit the Winery. We didn't bother (this is where JF would most likely point out that *I* fell down on the job here) to read the little insert given to us of what each facility's operating hours were. The Winery didn't open until noon on Sunday, due to (I assume) North Carolina's blue laws. So, we bypassed the Winery, and slogged off to the historic Horse Barn and Barnyard. In the Barnyard, we met Stanley, the fluffiest goat I've ever petted in my life. The docent there told us that he was half dwarf and half angora, and had just been weaned. Stanley proved this true by sucking on my pinkie like there was no tomorrow. He gave up when he realized that I don't produce milk out of my fingers. Sorry to disappoint. The Barnyard also had chickens; sheep; and Bert and Ernie, the Belgian draft horses. They were the largest horses I have ever been close to. They were also very gentle and sweet, and Offspring was enchanted.
Close to noon, we swung by the Winery to grab a bottle of chardonnay for the 'rents and to let JF take advantage of the free wine tasting. Being that neither of us are big wine drinkers, we didn't stay long, and headed out to Biltmore Village for lunch in a funky little bistro. After lunch, based on CCW's suggestion, we proved ourselves total tourists by gawking like idiots at the swanky McDonald's, which has a grand piano in the lobby. We stopped for milkshakes just for an excuse to go in. And, yes -- we took pictures.
We didn't want to leave, but headed home shortly thereafter. We had a great time, and can't wait to return at another time. While I was in the hotel I picked up a brochure for a spa, which is complete with isolated open-air hot tubs dotted all over the pastoral mountaintop. It looks like a slice of heaven. I'm going to start saving my pennies for a treatment there during our next visit.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Head 'Em Up, and Move 'Em Out
We are off to North Carolina. Blogging will be sporadic while we're away. I'll be taking the laptop, but I don't really anticipating using it much.
Going to see my grandmother, father, and brother on the way through to NC. And maybe an aunt and cousin or two. Maybe. If time permits.
Miss you guys, and I'll have pictures when I get back!
__________________
UPDATE: made it to Asheville with no injuries but copious amounts of our ears just popping away. Spent yesterday in CityOfMyBirth visiting with my father and grandmother. Made a detour today to a "nearby" community to visit my brother. It's the first time that I've been to the city where he lives now. Had lunch with Little Brother and his new girlfriend, who is very nice and personable. Saw his house, and met his dogs. Had a nice time.
The ride from Little Brother's Town to Asheville was culture shock for us flatlanders. Moving into mountainous territory, and passing a break in the trees, we saw a black bear! Offspring about wet her pants. Mountains and bears! We don't have anything cool like that back home! It's all marshes and frickin' pine trees back home. Blah.
We're going to a nice German restaurant tonight (schnitzel -- yum!) and then to the Biltmore in the morning.
Miss you all, and will see you when we return!
Going to see my grandmother, father, and brother on the way through to NC. And maybe an aunt and cousin or two. Maybe. If time permits.
Miss you guys, and I'll have pictures when I get back!
__________________
UPDATE: made it to Asheville with no injuries but copious amounts of our ears just popping away. Spent yesterday in CityOfMyBirth visiting with my father and grandmother. Made a detour today to a "nearby" community to visit my brother. It's the first time that I've been to the city where he lives now. Had lunch with Little Brother and his new girlfriend, who is very nice and personable. Saw his house, and met his dogs. Had a nice time.
The ride from Little Brother's Town to Asheville was culture shock for us flatlanders. Moving into mountainous territory, and passing a break in the trees, we saw a black bear! Offspring about wet her pants. Mountains and bears! We don't have anything cool like that back home! It's all marshes and frickin' pine trees back home. Blah.
We're going to a nice German restaurant tonight (schnitzel -- yum!) and then to the Biltmore in the morning.
Miss you all, and will see you when we return!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Yet Another (Will They Ever Stop?!?) Fat Rant
Okay, before you all run away screaming bloody murder -- let me state that I will try to remain civil in this particular fat rant. "Try", mind you. Let's only hope that I'm more successful than my last attempts.
I was talking with a friend tonight who was telling me of a recent session with her therapist. The therapist is of the mind that most women who have been abused or sexually assaulted are overweight. I don't what she bases this opinion on -- are there studies? Does she see an inordinate number of abused women who are heavy?
At any rate, it hearkens back to something that my (very brief) therapist mentioned to me: do I stay fat because it's "safe"? I was told that maybe I choose to remain fat because it's a way that I desexualize myself; make myself less attractive to any would-be rapist. That somehow, being fat keeps me "safe." That those layers of fat protect me from the world. And, that I remain fat even now because it's all I've ever known, and I wouldn't know how to relate to myself without that crutch.
I am not exaggerating to say that I was highly pissed off by this notion. Would anyone ever *choose* to be ridiculed by both family and strangers? Rationally, I know that rape is not about sex, but about power and control. Sure, rapists often target women that they find attractive on some level, but being fat is no 'get out of jail free' card. Fat women are raped quite often. There's no reason involved, just the proclivities of the rapist.
For this person to say this -- this person who was supposed to be HELPING me -- was an utter betrayal. I just hope my friend who is hearing it now deals with it better than I did. Obviously, I'm still insulating myself from the pain of the world by remaining fat, and giving the mental finger to any rapists on the make out there. Just doing my part.
I was talking with a friend tonight who was telling me of a recent session with her therapist. The therapist is of the mind that most women who have been abused or sexually assaulted are overweight. I don't what she bases this opinion on -- are there studies? Does she see an inordinate number of abused women who are heavy?
At any rate, it hearkens back to something that my (very brief) therapist mentioned to me: do I stay fat because it's "safe"? I was told that maybe I choose to remain fat because it's a way that I desexualize myself; make myself less attractive to any would-be rapist. That somehow, being fat keeps me "safe." That those layers of fat protect me from the world. And, that I remain fat even now because it's all I've ever known, and I wouldn't know how to relate to myself without that crutch.
I am not exaggerating to say that I was highly pissed off by this notion. Would anyone ever *choose* to be ridiculed by both family and strangers? Rationally, I know that rape is not about sex, but about power and control. Sure, rapists often target women that they find attractive on some level, but being fat is no 'get out of jail free' card. Fat women are raped quite often. There's no reason involved, just the proclivities of the rapist.
For this person to say this -- this person who was supposed to be HELPING me -- was an utter betrayal. I just hope my friend who is hearing it now deals with it better than I did. Obviously, I'm still insulating myself from the pain of the world by remaining fat, and giving the mental finger to any rapists on the make out there. Just doing my part.
Monday, July 30, 2007
A Question For Y'all
Many of you long time readers may recall that I get very motion sick. And, when I say "motion sick", I mean that I drive everywhere our family goes because I get nauseous even riding a couple of blocks as a passenger. (Offspring takes a kind of fiendish delight in getting me on the Teacups at Disney World and spinning as fast as possible, trying *purposefully* to make me sick. She must get that vicious streak from her father's side of the family.)
Bearing my unfortunate propensity for mal de mer in mind, JF and I are quite excitedly considering a Disney Cruise for our next year's vacation. This would be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of trip for us. JF is due to come in to some money (God willing and the creek don't rise) this fall that would finance this venture. We would never be able to afford it under other circumstances.
The cruises available are: a) the four night Bahamas cruise; which goes to Nassau and Disney's island, Castaway Cay, b) the seven night Eastern Caribbean; where the stops are St. Maarten, St. Thomas, and Castaway Cay, and c) the seven night Western Caribbean; which goes to Key West, Grand Cayman, Cozumel, and Castaway Cay. If we book a seven night cruise, and I'm seasick, I have to endure an entire week of Vacation From Hell that I shelled out big bucks for. On the other hand, the seven night cruise is not that much more expensive, and if I manage to do well on anti-nausea meds, we'd much rather take the longer (and more diverse) itinerary. I think the family consensus is that we'd like to do the Western Caribbean.
The only thing that's holding us back (other than not having the money until late fall, that is) is my motion sickness. Now, I take over the counter meds (Dramamine) to get through each vacation, and on most days, I feel pretty well, but let me ride Mission: Space a couple of times in a row, and I might get a bit green around the gills. I would think that anything a doctor would prescribe would be much more effective than any over the counter med might be, and think I would be able to muddle through. But -- and here's the main sticking point -- if I am sick, we're at sea, with no escape until we dock. In that instance, would I prefer seven nights of torture, or four?
What would you do? Have you ever been seasick on a cruise, or have a family member who has been? How did you/they cope? Do the prescribed meds work better than the over the counter meds? Most people would just say, "don't go!", but it's something that the whole family would enjoy, and why not partake of something we would all benefit from? And there's only a CHANCE that I would be ill on top of whatever medication the doctor would give me.
Here is our breakdown of the pros and cons:
PROS:
--------
* We'll actually have the money, and not be putting ourselves into debt in order to go.
* None of us have ever been on a cruise.
* It will be the first time JF and Offspring have ever traveled outside the US, and I'd like to make that happen for them both. Not to mention that *I'd* love it.
* We might convince other family members to join us.
* It would be something a little more culturally enriching for ALL of us.
* I think we'd all have a really good time.
CONS:
--------
* This will likely be the ONLY time we are able to afford such a trip, so it's now or never.
* The aforementioned seasickness. What if I'm miserable the whole trip? We've wasted a TON of money so I can throw up every hour for four to seven days.
* The time schedule would be difficult to arrange, with school and work, but we'd manage.
* The four night cruise vs. the seven night cruises. Which one?
* We'd have to get passports, so I'd have to start planning that this fall in order to get them in a timely manner before the voyage.
I've got to figure that if this is all that's worrying me lately, then I am very fortunate, indeed. This would, more than likely be what JF and I give each other for our upcoming 15th wedding anniversary. I would like to hear what you guys think. Any input would be appreciated.
Bearing my unfortunate propensity for mal de mer in mind, JF and I are quite excitedly considering a Disney Cruise for our next year's vacation. This would be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of trip for us. JF is due to come in to some money (God willing and the creek don't rise) this fall that would finance this venture. We would never be able to afford it under other circumstances.
The cruises available are: a) the four night Bahamas cruise; which goes to Nassau and Disney's island, Castaway Cay, b) the seven night Eastern Caribbean; where the stops are St. Maarten, St. Thomas, and Castaway Cay, and c) the seven night Western Caribbean; which goes to Key West, Grand Cayman, Cozumel, and Castaway Cay. If we book a seven night cruise, and I'm seasick, I have to endure an entire week of Vacation From Hell that I shelled out big bucks for. On the other hand, the seven night cruise is not that much more expensive, and if I manage to do well on anti-nausea meds, we'd much rather take the longer (and more diverse) itinerary. I think the family consensus is that we'd like to do the Western Caribbean.
The only thing that's holding us back (other than not having the money until late fall, that is) is my motion sickness. Now, I take over the counter meds (Dramamine) to get through each vacation, and on most days, I feel pretty well, but let me ride Mission: Space a couple of times in a row, and I might get a bit green around the gills. I would think that anything a doctor would prescribe would be much more effective than any over the counter med might be, and think I would be able to muddle through. But -- and here's the main sticking point -- if I am sick, we're at sea, with no escape until we dock. In that instance, would I prefer seven nights of torture, or four?
What would you do? Have you ever been seasick on a cruise, or have a family member who has been? How did you/they cope? Do the prescribed meds work better than the over the counter meds? Most people would just say, "don't go!", but it's something that the whole family would enjoy, and why not partake of something we would all benefit from? And there's only a CHANCE that I would be ill on top of whatever medication the doctor would give me.
Here is our breakdown of the pros and cons:
PROS:
--------
* We'll actually have the money, and not be putting ourselves into debt in order to go.
* None of us have ever been on a cruise.
* It will be the first time JF and Offspring have ever traveled outside the US, and I'd like to make that happen for them both. Not to mention that *I'd* love it.
* We might convince other family members to join us.
* It would be something a little more culturally enriching for ALL of us.
* I think we'd all have a really good time.
CONS:
--------
* This will likely be the ONLY time we are able to afford such a trip, so it's now or never.
* The aforementioned seasickness. What if I'm miserable the whole trip? We've wasted a TON of money so I can throw up every hour for four to seven days.
* The time schedule would be difficult to arrange, with school and work, but we'd manage.
* The four night cruise vs. the seven night cruises. Which one?
* We'd have to get passports, so I'd have to start planning that this fall in order to get them in a timely manner before the voyage.
I've got to figure that if this is all that's worrying me lately, then I am very fortunate, indeed. This would, more than likely be what JF and I give each other for our upcoming 15th wedding anniversary. I would like to hear what you guys think. Any input would be appreciated.
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