coincidence? hmmm…

santain on flickrSo, I get an A word a day  email every day (yes, I am that nerdy). Today’s word was schadenfreude. (An excellent word. If you don’t know it, you need to click on that link and learn it, so the rest of this post will make sense. If you are only now learning this word, you’re welcome. Enjoy it. Use it to impress the easily impressed.)

Anyway, so I took note of the lovely word for today, and then I opened facebook, and what should be at the top of my newsfeed (thanks to a cousin’s lady-friend)?

The following video. So you tell me: coincidence? Or is the universe trying to tell me something? (Other than the obvious lesson to not ever play soccer with these guys…)

Froggy went a courtin’

Okay, so I know I’ve done a total disappearing thing with this blog, but really I have been writing, just not here. Sorry..but not, like super sorry, because:

  1. Only about 20 people read this, so really it’s no big deal.
  2. I’m pretty sure that not one of those 20 people are losing sleep over me not posting.

So the man-of-the-house and I were out in the backyard last night because the dogs were acting suspicious in an area near one of the flowerbeds. As any dog owner knows that means it’s time to go out and see if they’d found some fun dead thing to roll in or fun half-dead thing to torture to death and then roll in.

We took a flashlight and were carefully shining where we were stepping as we picked our way across the grass (any dog owner also knows why we were walking carefully…actually anybody who’s been in the backyard of a dog owner knows why…see how skillfully I managed not to use the words dog shit and yet you knew exactly what I was talking about, right?) Anyway, you can see from the photo what we discovered on our way to the flowerbed. *

I have 3 things to say about this.

  1. Finding this in my backyard was the most amusing thing that happened to me all weekend. And yes, that’s exactly how lame I am.
  2. When hubby and I happened across these two toads in-the-act last night, I said, “I wish I had my phone so I could take a picture.” Then he said, “I have my phone,” to which I replied, “And you’re not taking a picture right now?” That’s how lame he is.
  3. When you ask people, “Would you like to see some toad p0rn?” it’s been my experience that they always, always immediately lean over to look at the photo on your phone. That’s how lame we all are. **

* We found nothing in the flowerbed, in case you were wondering, but probably you weren’t because you’re still looking at the hot, sexy toad-sex photo.

** When people lean over to look at toad-p0rn on your phone, it’s very important to start making “bowchickawowow” sounds so that they can fully can fully enjoy the moment.

Okay, well I know that you guys are expecting some really obnoxious animal sex video…and don’t think I wasn’t tempted. But, I’ve decided that I’m much too classy for that. So instead I’ll give you this extremely classy video….

no no na-neti pot

First of all, I want everyone to know that photo is not me–it is one I found on google images. And second of all, is it just me, or is the water running out of this woman’s nose only the second most disturbing thing about the picture?

Even though they are killing people right and left, my husband likes his neti pot. (And by likes I mean it helps his allergies–I am not insinuating that he enjoys it. Although if that were true, the therapy he would need would make a really awesome blog post.) Anyway, since he thinks it works, I decided to give it a try (with distilled water and my own little pot–yes we’ve been married almost 30 years but I’m not sticking his nettipot up my nose).

The following is my unbiased review of the Neti pot. I’m pretty sure consumer reports would pay good money for this, and you’re getting it for free, so…you’re welcome.

I tried it twice (I know…I am stupid that way) and I hate it. Hate. It.

Of course, to be honest, the results were mixed. Mixed as in it works fine one direction–right nostril to left if you must know–but in the other direction, rather than coming out my right side, the water rushes up into my sinuses and starts down my throat. Now, after enough coughing and gagging it will eventually drip slowly out the right side, but by then it’s too late. I’ve already told anyone who’ll listen where the WMDs are hidden.*

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it was all bad. For the next several hours anytime I leaned over I’d get the interesting little surprise of water pouring out of my right nostril. There’s some amusement to be had with that (and the fact that I feel that way should tell you just how easily I’m amused.) I kinda kept wishing that some little kid would come and annoy me so I could pin him down and lean over his face–it would have been even grosser than the spit thing.

Some of you will say that I was neti potting incorrectly somehow, and I suppose that certainly could be true. But I promise you that I read the directions very carefully. I’m weird that way when I’m considering doing something that can be deadly and sounds exactly like something a group of seven year old boys would think was a good idea. (Hey, I know, let’s pour water up our noses! Yeah!) The blame, I’ve decided, is my septum. I’ve been told by doctor that it’s deviated (aren’t they all?). So it’s not my fault; it’s just that my nose dresses left.

I know from experience that there are some people who probably should never try to stand on slippery boards and go fast down an icy mountain. I am now amending that to add that there are some people who should never attempt to pour salt water up their nose. I am simply not neti-capable. If God had meant for me to have salt water up my nose he would have arranged for me to be on a beach vacation right now instead of waterboarding myself over my bathroom sink.

I’m betting that all of you are worried hoping that I’m going to post a video of me trying to drown myself over my sink, but you’re wrong. Not that I wouldn’t post it if I had it–even I think it would probably be too awesomely funny to keep to myself–but I didn’t record it and I am NOT going to stick that thing up my nose again just for the sake of art. Fuck art. Instead I’m posting a video that a friend put on facebook, because it’s smart and has important ideas and will perhaps counterbalance the rest of this dumb post.**


*The only Weapons of Mass Destruction at my house are apparently hidden inside my dog, Stella. She deploys them to deadly effect when it’s nearing her dinner time and occasionally if my hubby and I laugh too loudly while watching Jon Stewart.

**I just realized that this blogpost is long, and the video is long which makes this whole thing like an endurance event. If you manage to finish it all, maybe it will be something you can brag about to your friends. Or not.

Narrative Urgency

Narrative Urgency

So it’s been suggested that I need more of this in the book and so that’s what I’m putting in, baby. Unsurprisingly, I’m finding that they key to adding more narrative urgency is cutting out words. (I knew that eventually some of those darlings* would have to go!)

Just thought I’d put up a post to show that I’m still alive but busy. And lazy.

But one more thing. When I was looking for an image to go with this post and googled “urgency” several pages down on Google Images, I found this!

This is necessary? Are there random circus performers who go around balancing on toilet seats for fun? Do you suppose the management caught someone in the act of doing this? Or did they find a mess large enough to think that this must be how it happened? Or do you think that they noticed people walking out of the bathroom with one wet leg after a failed attempt?

Inquiring minds, and all that…

* This is referencing good advice from Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch: “Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it – whole-heartedly – and delete it before sending your manuscripts to press. Murder your darlings”.

Oh yeah…and just for fun, here’s a video of me every morning because, doggonit…

any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter…

Okay, I have no reason to write this post except that hubby showed me this hilarious video (hats off to the the funny chiptalk forum guys for the video and the image). This has been going around lately, so you’ve probably seen it, but just in case you haven’t it’s a must-watch. I have a mixture of pity and admiration for the drunk-ass man in the video. Even wasted, this fellow knows his Queen.

Hubby and I have made a solemn pinky-promise that should either one of us get arrested we will perform this number in the patrol car for the enjoyment of the arresting officers and whoever else might ever see the video. So I did a dry-run last night while hubby kept the lyrics page open to check me. I did pretty darn good if I say so myself–about a B+ without studying. (There were a couple spots that I made a substitution of a sound-alike word vs the real ones, of course, and then I somehow left out the whole so you think you can stop me and spit in my eye… verse right near the end. Sheesh!) But overall, I think that with just a little work I’ll be primed for that patrol-car ride for when I begin my life of crime.

It never hurts to be prepared…

onward and yet waiting. sigh

So, I’ve started working on (yet) another book…how lovely to be in that place where it’s still wonderful–in other words, 99% of it is still in my brain…I haven’t mangled it up by trying to write it down yet. Ahhh a new relationship…I’m all batting my lashes and sighing at the new novel. How sad to know that just like the others, this book will certainly turn on me…first I’ll start finding its dirty socks on the floor, then I’ll come up with reasons to avoid spending time with it, and in the end will be scorn and eyerolling by both of us.

I’d also like to report that I have rediscovered something at which I suck–waiting. (Notice how I didn’t end that last sentence with a preposition even though, really it might have sounded better if I had.) Although I suck at lots of things, I think I suck at waiting the most (with the exception of skiing). My book has been at an agent/acquaintance’s office for two weeks, one day and….(looking at my watch) 12 hours now and I’ve heard not a peep. Zip. Nada.

On his website he lists his response time as a month for full manuscripts, and so I am sitting on my whiny “did you get it? have you started it?” fingers. Even though I’m certain…oh about 99% certain that whenever he does read it, the response will not be “Eureka! I love it now,” but will instead be another patient (perhaps less patient this time around?) explanation of new or yet unresolved problems*, I am still impatient for any news, even bad news.

Really, when you think about it, it’s amazing that I managed to have three children and managed to wait nine months plus for each one. How did I do it?

*Several months ago an agent I’d met at a conference many years ago was kind enough to read my manuscript and call me up and tell me why it sucked. I did a quick suck-abatement job on it and re-sent. I strongly suspect that new suck will be discovered and revealed. Stay tuned for that cheerful post. ha!

Okay…I’m not even sure how to segue into this, so just enjoy this odd and yet cool video. I keep thinking that I almost understand them…

and there was light and it was freakin’ awesome…

Okay, so here’s the story. We’ve been in this house ten months and for all ten months the streetlight in our front yard has been out. Although the obvious question is “why did you ignore the issue for ten months,” that is not the question I’m answering in this post.

So, here we go…

Upon my request, Hubby emailed the home owners association to ask about getting the light turned on (in the spirit of full disclosure, this first step happened about six months ago). The HOA told him that we needed to talk to the city. So, I told him I’d take care of it (that was about six months and one day ago).

Well, apparently there is a statute of limitations on procrastination, because last Wednesday morning I finally called the street department of our fine city and told them about our light. The city worker informed me that a local electric company, Oncor, takes care of all the streetlights. Sooooo, I called Oncor and worked my way through their hellish nifty little phone menu and, when I was at last able to speak to a human, I explained my problem. The woman on the phone replied, “I’m sorry, but there is not a streetlight at that address.”

I happened to be standing at my window, looking at the light in my yard, and I started to laugh. My husband walked past, and so I told him what the Oncor woman had just said, he replied, “She’s right. At this point it’s just a pole with a decorative top.” I shared my husband’s clever comment with the not-very oh-so polite Oncor service representative. She was not amused.

When, despite her many assurances that there was no light, I continued to believe my eyes rather than her words, she finally heaved a sigh and told me that she would have someone call me back. Now I’ll admit, when she hung up I thought, “suuuure you will…” But amazingly less than half an hour later someone else did call back.

This new person seemed less cranky but equally convinced that there was no light in my yard. The woman asked me go out and see if there were any numbers on the pole. So I went outside and sure enough, there were big orange numbers which I read off to her…and then I also read off the numbers on the Oncor box sitting right next to the streetlight. She told me that the streetlight was not one of their lights…but that the box was one of their streetlights. Hmmmm…. In fact, she went on to tell me that there were no streetlights at all on my side of the street (there are many, btw). However, she finally agreed to send a technician to take a look at things.

So I finally got off the phone and went to work and figured that in another ten months I’d try again. But the next morning when I got out of bed too-freakin-early, poured myself a cup of coffee and then went outside in the still-dark morning to get the paper, what do I see outside? Yes!! A light!

I’m sure there’s a moral here somewhere, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out. Ask–No Insist and ye shall receive? I don’t know.

What I do know is that the video below is what I should have put with my last post where I mentioned 70’s bowchickawowow porno music. I’m pretty sure that’s the soundtrack playing in this guy’s head while he’s doing whatever in the hell he thinks he’s doing.