"Hey - is that snot on your sleeve and a laptop-shaped hole in your wall?"

Word to the wise... here are two very unfortunate combinations from Sunday evening that I wholeheartedly do not recommend:

1. A raging case of PMS, sinus meds, and a special on the 1980 U.S. hockey team.

2. A raging case of PMS, sinus meds, and attempting to hook up a new wireless router.

You're welcome.


Post update - apparently I sounded much more awful than was actually the case. It was just the perfect storm of circumstances that resulted in an evening of nostalgic weeping and then hair-pulling frustration. No computers were actually harmed. All is good. :)

My Presidents Day Photo Project

Old Man Winter still has a few tricks up the sleeves of his parka. We got another round of snow and are supposed to get a little more tonight. I would be enjoying my snow day even more if it weren't already a holiday in which I'd planned to be at home. Oh well. My agenda of sitting on my ass hasn't been inconvenienced all that much now that I think about, so I guess I'll live.

And, in honor of Abe and George, here's a few shots of Presidents Day from my neck of the woods.

1. My brother gave me a nice sweater that he didn't want anymore.

It's a woolly J Crew number that's too big and bulky for me to be wearing in public, but comes in handy when you're hanging out around the house on a Snow/Presidents Day. I have another sweater of this ilk but it is the last remaining item in the ex-boyfriend collection. It probably has too much bad chi to keep, but is something I haven't been able to part with because of its good, hanging-out-around-the-house qualities. Hopefully this new acquisition will get me one step closer to sending the it and its chi to Goodwill for them to deal with.



2. Nothing I enjoy more than a losing battle...

Me: "Off the couch. Off the couch. Off the couch. Off the couch. Off the couch."

Me: [leaves the office/den and then returns only a few moments later]

Me: "Seriously?!"



3. Hand-me-downs Continued.

In addition to inheriting a sweater, I also inherited a refrigerator from my mother. A real grown-up refrigerator with a door that seals all the way without having to smoosh the bottom corner shut with your foot. First order of business was NOT to transfer the food from the old refrigerator that is plugged into an extension cord and sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. That's just crazy talk. No, it was to move the refrigerator magnets, photos and humorous whatnot.

You can give a girl a grown-up refrigerator,
but it doesn't mean she'll suddenly act like one.
A grown-up, that is, not a refrigerator...

Getting it in the house was an adventure. My brother and two friends (who fancy themselves my surrogate brothers) moved it for me on Saturday. During the week prior - and twice more the day of - I was asked by my mother, actual brother, one faux brother and my father if I had measured the refrigerator to make sure it would fit. I came to be a little agitated at all the asking. "You know, I'm not as dumb as I look," I said to actual brother. "Yes. I measured. You're the fourth person to ask," I said with a slight growl to faux brother.

And I had measured. Just not correctly it seems. And for some reason it never occurred to me to measure the doorway at my mother's house. I mean... just because their house was built a good 40 or 50 years before refrigerators were even invented, why should there be any problem with it fitting through the front door? Again, that's just crazy talk.

So the refrigerator and freezer door had to be removed and then the little bolts that attach the casters to the bottom got hung up on the storm door at my house and required two people to balance the refrigerator on one end while a third person squatted beneath the tipped up end to tighten up the bolts enough to get it through the door.

The brothers - both actual and faux - were none too amused.

Thankfully real brother got over it quickly - probably because our shared DNA causes him to create these situations as well.

The other two can be bought off with alcohol and banana pudding.

So we're all good for now, but I'll see what kind of problems I can stir up between now and Ash Wednesday.

Hope you enjoyed your Presidents Day!

Before it All Disappears

Now that our snow has turned from sled snow to snowman snow (I initially typed man snow, but then that sounded terribly odd...) I was reminded of one of my most favorite things in the world - Calvin and Hobbes and my stash of Calvin-building-snowmen comics.

Then I got to work and forgot.

Then I saw in the news where Calvin's creator, Bill Waterrson, gave a rare interview and I was reminded again. Which is a good thing because the snow will probably all be gone by tomorrow. Sad.

Until then:

Here is where I posted the comics before.

Here is the interview if you'd like to read it.

And here's to the groundhog who saw his shadow today - woo hoo! Hopefully this means we'll still get another round of snow before spring. Yes, I know I'm odd. Humor me.

Happy Groundhog's Day!

News of the Weird

1. It SNOWED!

A few inches even.

And then there was ice.

Then our infrastructure completely collapsed and everyone went sledding.

Well, the collapse of the infrastructure was a bit of an exaggeration... BUT I did try to go see a matinee movie on Saturday and the damn place was closed. CLOSED! Madness.

So we went to a little restaurant nearby on the off chance that it might be open- and lo and behold it was. Now I ask you. A tiny, locally-owned restaurant has enough supplies and employees who can get to work and bring out bread, make gumbo and pour large glasses of wine, but a ginormous movie theater - coughRegalCinemasHollywood27cough - can't scrounge up one person to turn on a projector and pour a Diet Coke? I mean, we even had our own cookies to smuggle in so we wouldn't have bothered them for snacks. Mercy.

Needless to say, after my wine and gumbo detour at 1:00 in the afternoon, I went home and was completely useless for the rest of the day. I did play with the dogs out in the snow. Elsie will root around in the snow. Then roll in the snow. Then run at top speed, stop short and shower Oliver in giant spray of snow. Oliver, however, will prance in the snow because his paws are cold. Then he will fling himself into the air and yelp when Elsie sprays him with snow. Then he will come and try to sit on my feet until I let him go back inside. Good times.

2. Blanche DuBois in Footie Pajamas

My niece started talking a lot more around Thanksgiving / Christmas. Cute little toddler-talk:

peeze (please)

again

bankit (blanket)

night-night

In the last couple of weeks though she's started stringing together more words but with a much more exaggerated Southern accent. Now, everyone in my family would sound like we have accents to anyone living anywhere else in the world, but compared to other Southerners, our accents are extremely mild. Somehow though (we think it must be one of her classmates or teachers) she's picked up this crazy drawl. It's like she's in some sort of Montessori preschool production of Streetcar:

Thee-uhs Du-ugh. My-y dawg. (This is Doug. My dog.)

Hay-elp (help)

Paynk (pink)

Puh-lay bawl? (Play ball?)

I babysat the other night and couldn't stop laughing. Totally hilarious.

3. Potato Bandit

Elsie is a bit of a thief. It's likely the herding dog in her. She mostly likes to steal socks or dish towels and usually ferrets them out through the dog door and then drops them into one of the holes in the yard. You know when she's stolen something because she tries not to be obvious and run through the house - but she's way too excited to be nonchalant and walk normally - so she does this quick little walk with tiny steps and rapid clicking of her toenails on the hardwood floors. Guests are often amazed when I have my back to her as she comes trotting through the living room, sock-in-mouth, and I loudly say "Elsie. Drop it." without ever turning around.

On Sunday I got up and made roasted red potatoes for a brunch later that morning. I came back from brunch and was talking to my mother on the phone when I heard an odd crunching noise coming from the bedroom. I went to check and there was Elsie, sprawled out on the floor with a raw red potato. She grasped it in her paws and nibbled it with her front teeth, then would ponder it briefly, turn it with her paws and continue nibbling. She finally noticed me staring at her, picked the potato up in her mouth and quickly trotted it outside, dropped it in a secure location and then came back in. I decided it wasn't worth putting on shoes and a coat to go out in the cold and chase down a half-eaten raw potato. I also reasoned that it couldn't have tasted all that great and therefore she wouldn't do it again.

Later that night I heard the same crunching noise and damn if she didn't have another whole potato. I went to the kitchen to see if she'd pulled the bag off the kitchen island and onto the floor, but the whole bag was gone. I turned on the outside light in the back and looked out into the snow-covered yard for signs of a mesh bag of red potatoes, but I didn't see anything. Not knowing how good it was for a 35-pound dog to eat at least part of two raw potatoes, I decided to take that one from her. She looked at me strangely, got up, trotted out the door and came back 30 seconds later with another brand new potato. Apparently there's a stash. And it's likely hidden in a hole under several socks and a dish towel. I took that one from her too and I'm going to check today and see if it's okay for her to eat raw potatoes. If so, I'll be tossing part of one into her bowl every now and then since she seems to enjoy it and it keeps her occupied for several minutes. Every time I think that dog can't get any more bizarre, she seems to find a way.