Craft Extravaganza

So, yesterday I planted my seeds for the spring. Last year I did it in March and I felt my plants were a little later-blooming than I would have liked, so I started earlier this year. I'm also hopeful that all this activity will alleviate my depression of late. Planting seeds means spring is coming.
Here are 3 of the many trays of seeds currently taking over our mudroom (Sorry Thomas!)



As I mentioned previously, I rely heavily on crafts to get me through the winter season. So Friday, Jennifer and I did a practice run for this month's stitch and bitch: Mod Podge. Also, Jenn is a great beader, so we made bracelets, which made me very happy.



This is Jennifer's mod podge cigar box


and my (slightly blurry) mod podge box top

Finally, Thomas and I decided to stay in for V-day this week and I'm going to cook us something shmancy. Please help me choose between these two (low-carb!) desserts:
Dessert A: Strawberry Shortcake

Dessert B: Flourless Chocolate Hazelnut Torte

Soon, You're Just Going to Think I'm a Wild Animal

Ok, so the heat still isn't fixed. The poor repairmen have been trying all week, which I guess is what you get for living in a 95 year old house. When we first moved in, the stove was broken and it took almost 2 months for anyone to figure out how to fix it.

Oh, my wonderous landlord, though you deal with my issues promptly and thoroughly, if you sold me this house these things would be my problems.

See, despite the seeming 2 weeks it takes to fix anything around here, I love this house with a fiery passion. To me, this house just speaks my name. But sometimes it tries my patience, none the less. Last night, while waiting for Jennifer to come over for dinner (and oh, we'd bought beads and mod podge and all our spring seeds to start in trays! I'll blog about that tomorrow) Thomas tried to plug in one of the space heaters left for us by the repairmen and we blew a fuse.

And in our house, that's literal. Thomas was driving all the way across town to buy a fuse while I searched the house with a flashlight for a phone that wasn't cordless so I could call my guests and tell them to wait.

In slightly unrelated news, I seem to be developing Carpal Tunnel Syndrome in my left hand. Having it is sort of like have allergies for the first time. I used to disdain allergies and consider them to be wussie. Now I feel the pain.
Quite literally.

And so, it seems as if everything around me is just slowly disintigrating. First my ovary and now my left hand. The heat and then the power. DAMMIT!

It all reminded me of the house we lived in before we moved here. The city line running into that house often got blocked--it wasn't our fault, there was just something wrong with it--so periodically we'd have to call out the city to dig out the pipe and leave raw sewage in our yard to deal with. YAY! One day that happened on our birthdays! And we were giving a party! In the backyard!

But I digress.

We got used to that situation and began to be able to sense it coming and call the city before the sinks stopped draining and the toilets stopped flushing. But one Friday at 5 o'clock it caught us completely off guard. There was nothing to be done; the city was closed. So we went to our friends' houses and to the bar a lot so as to be in proximity to bathrooms while we waited for Monday to arrive. But at night, right before we went to bed...

all four Gilberts: Thomas, Meg, Gertie and Gonzo, would go outside to pee.

Unfit for Human Life

My best friend, Kasey, lives where it is very, very cold. So cold that when I asked her on the phone the other day what the weather was like there, she answered, casually, oh, it's 2.

2.

And that's pretty warm for there. I check her weather every morning along side my own (as if I need to verify for myself daily that someone I hold dear was crazy enough to leave the state of North Carolina for the frozen wilds of Northern Maine) and it's not unusual to see -13.

Dude.

A couple of years ago, I sent her a down-filled robe for Christmas. Her husband asked her why I felt the need to ship her that monstrosity and she said, "Meg thinks I'm cold." And I'm like, Kase, I don't think you're cold, I know it for a fucking fact. Because that is just not fit for human life. If you stayed outside too long, you would die.

And that's just not ok to me. Much like the temperature of my house right now.

Last night at 1:30 am, Thomas woke me to tell me that there was something grievously wrong with the heating system and he was going to have to turn it off. I sat there, totally unable to comprehend this for a moment. I said, "Um, you know it's 22 out there, right?" And drat his responsible self, he pointed out that it is better to be cold than to burn the house down. I just don't need to hear that kind of logic at 1:30 am.

So, now it is 30 something outside and 52 in my house and I think my hands are seriously going to fall off.

What I wouldn't give for that down-filled robe right now.

Suprise!

So, I am no longer a surprise party virgin. Yes, it's true, I attended my very first surprise party on Saturday night for my friend Mary's 30th birthday and I didn't even wreck the surprise!

Here are some great pictures of Mary freaking out:





Happy Birthday, Mary!


Here is my favorite video ever of surprise parties:

Yes, I Eat Out of the Trashcan

So I've been enjoying this post by Lauren about dropping the love bomb.

I wanted to reply with a story of my own, but I actually don't remember the first time that Thomas and I said "I love you." We discussed it last night, but all we could come up with was, "Maybe it was at Lula's?" Sad.

(P.S. I just ate fake chocolate. It took 17 minutes for my body to figure it out. Uh oh.)

What we did remember was a very funny incident from the first couple of months that we were dating:

I eat a lot. I mean A LOT. I really think I could enter food eating contests and win. This is not something that I generally like to reveal to my significant other right off the bat. It does not seem feminine to reveal that you could eat 3 times the meal that he just put away.

So one night, Thomas brought home food from Checkers. To the best of our recollection, it was chicken fingers and fries. I ate my portion nicely (or at the speed of light, depending on your perspective) and waited while Thomas picked at his food in a leisurely manner. Finally, it appeared he would eat no more. Would I reach over and eat the food? Should I request the leftover food? Should I clear the table and eat it on the way to the kitchen? These and other options I pondered while Thomas put his uneaten food back in the Checkers' bag and threw it away. THREW IT AWAY!

So I did what any self-respecting person would do. I waited until he left the room, got it out of the trash and ate it.

Except he came back and caught me at it.

Thereafter, we were at a gas station and Thomas was going in. He asked me if I needed anything and I said no. He asked if I was sure. Yes, I said, I'm sure. He walked toward the gas station and stopped at the trashcan, pointing at it and looking at me as if to say, "Anything from in there you want?" Bastard.

To this day he'll still tease me about it.

Stitch N Bitch

So, this cuff bracelet is what I made this weekend at the home of my awesome friend, Michelle, who hosted the very first Stitch and Bitch. We were at Edge of Urge, just browsing around when she saw one and said, "We could totally make that!" We'd already been talking about having a once-a-month, all-girls craft night, and this was her chosen project. I left my camera over at her house, or I'd have more pictures to show.

I had a great time hanging out with the ladies, drinking more than my fair share of wine and attempting to operate a sewing machine.

I'm suffering right now from a bit of seasonal affective disorder and crafts have always been my number one solution to that problem. For an entire winter, several years ago, I made custom "bars in boxes," you know, those train cases from the 40's and 50's that were designed to hold liquor bottles? I'd buy them and paint them, lacquer them, or generally trick them out for whoever came to mind or had requested one. I did an Elmo one for my mom, a Fight Club one for a friend of mine who specially requested it and a whole bunch of different girly ones. (Laura, I'm sorry if you're reading this. I know I never did the Moonpie one I promised you). My obsession with doing it lasted until the spring and then I felt so much better that I abandoned a whole bunch half finished. This is why if you want me to crochet you something, you'd better ask me in November.

I'm looking forward to further stitching and bitching and am also very open to craft ideas right now. Last week I was feeling happy and full of hobbies. Right now I'm prone to the nagging feeling that life sucks and that everyone is talking about me behind my back. Give me a project so I'll know you love me.

Five Things About Me (Which Will All Be Weird, Because, Well, It's Me)

Tagged Again! by the awesome Velocibadgergirl, who is my long lost sister from another mister.

So this meme is technically just 5 facts, so it might be a tad bit more boring than the list of 55 things that make me just left of normal.

And just let me say, as well, that I am tickled to death to see that she has actually physically written my name on a piece of paper and scanned it into the computer. I love that someone I have never met wrote my name down on a piece of paper. Don't ask me why that's so thrilling. It just is.

1. I have no tattoos and no piercings (except the standard earring holes that I agreed to at age 9). If I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn't even have those. I kind of like being perfectly intact. Wait, I have no tonsils. So that would be imperfectly intact.

2. I can't drink coffee. It's not the caffeine, per se--I drink enough Diet Pepsi to fuel a rocket--but something about coffee as the delivery system makes me very jittery and crazy. Also, if I drink coffee, I smell very strange afterward. There's sort of a stale, dark smell about me. It lasts for days and is highly unpleasant.

3. About once every year for the last 3 years, I have a week where my sleep cycle becomes abnormal. I start sleeping very deeply and dreaming strange and vivid dreams that I have trouble waking up from. Several years ago, I dreamt that I was being chased by huge chessmen. I woke Thomas, telling him that we had to climb out the bedroom window, that they were just behind the door! It took about 30 seconds for me to realize that my arguments made no sense. I kept saying, "There's no time to explain!"
Once I walked into the living room, waved enthusiastically and yelled, "Hi, guys!" It's not sleepwalking exactly, because I am awake...just confused.

4. These fine dinosaur heads stare at us while we pee.


5. Last, but not least, I have extreme difficulty keeping up with my shoes and my beer. Those who have been to parties at our house know that I spend about 65% percent of my time chasing down one or the other. My constant refrains are, "I've lost my beer again", "I have to pee", and "Has anyone seen my shoes?"

Oddly, in our household, I am the "finder." I have a semi-photographic memory and have powers of recall for the mundane that are somewhat astounding. Where did we put the snap machine? I'm all over it. Track down a costume from 4 years ago? No problem. 80's song lyrics? I'm your girl. But where did I leave my beer?

I'm tagging:

Andrea
Josh
Gina
Ashley
Pen and M

Further Proof that Thomas Loves Me and Wants Me to be Happy

I will have them all. Oh yes, I will have them all.

I'll Take Fame However it Comes

As we watch the US Sergeant at Arms present the President of the United States tonight, let's just all remember, that dude read my blog.

Status: Ovary OK

So this week was mostly spent in contemplation of my left ovary, which did NOT feel good. Mostly, I feel you should not even notice that you have ovaries.

Of course, the ovary stopped hurting two days before my doctor's appointment, which made me feel like a car that obstinately refuses to start until it is towed to the mechanic's.

The doctor (and please, whoever is in charge of blessing, bless Planned Parenthood, for they are the harbingers of all that is good in the world) says I'm fine. The pain and weirdness exactly corresponded with my ovulation this month, so she says it's just some random weirdness.

And so now I'm free to think and blog about things besides my left ovary. I'm sure my male readers are pleased to hear that.

So, comparing myself to a car made me realize that I've never blogged about good old Christine, my car of yore, who is now driven by my fine friend, Katie.

Christine was a 95 Saturn SC2 and so named because she turned on by herself. No kidding. No one around her, no remote entry or ignition, nothing. Just sometimes you'd come out and the car would be locked and running.

The first time it happened, I was so baffled that I actually thought I might have somehow been so absent minded that I left the car running when I went into TJMaxx. Then I realized that if that were true, the keys wouldn't have been in my hand, they'd have been in the ignition.

The best, or at least most dramatic, of the times that Christine christined, was, in fact, the only time she did it in front of other people (pretty much all of whom thought I was crazy). It was late and Thomas, Mary and I were coming home from Lula's in a cab. We pulled up in front of the house, and my car was turning on and off, flashing her lights, locking and unlocking the doors, her windows were going up and down and the windshield wipers were going. "Look at that!" we were all screaming. Thomas went to touch the car and I was like, "NOOOOOOO!"

I think I seriously thought it would eat him.

I always wanted to call Click and Clack about it, but figured that either no one would believe me, or there would be a perfectly simple explanation and I would prefer to believe that my car was possessed by the devil.

The only other really bizarre thing that she did (and really, she was a wonderful, reliable, long suffering car) was that once, for a two week period of time, she would only turn on once a day. And once was a hard and fast rule. You could go as far as you wanted once the car was on, but once it was off it would not turn on again until tomorrow.

I drove it to the mechanic's and parked outside and went in to tell my tale of woe. The mechanics all laughed at me. This stupid girl, you could hear them thinking. "Fine," I said, "Laugh. And then go try to move my car into the bay."

They came back. One looked at me, almost angrily. "Your car won't start," he said.

"I know," I said. "Try again tomorrow."

To be fair, they could have totally hosed me. They could have said ANYTHING and I would have believed them, because their initial assessment was right, when it comes to the car, I AM a stupid girl. But it turned out that it was just the sensor that tells when the car is overheating. The sensor was broken and it wouldn't let the car turn on because every time the car was driven, it thought it was overheating. Hughs Brothers only charged me $75.

Sensor shmensor. That car was possessed by the devil.

Game On

I don't play games; this is just a thing about me. Oh, I play some games, but they are few and select and generally involve things I already know how to do and a minimum of competition.

This was a big issue when Thomas and I first started dating and I was inducted into the ranks of they who must play games at all times, aka his friends. The people we knew and hung out with played cards, they played drinking games, they played board games, they played Jenga. They played games loudly and with enthusiasm.

I didn't grow up playing a lot of games. My parents didn't teach me to play poker or hearts or rummy. In fact, once we were past the Chutes and Ladders/Candyland stages, I can remember only two games I ever played with my parents: Scattergories and Win, Lose or Draw. Also bear in mind that I didn't have my first beer until I was in college and safely 3 states away. So when I arrived at said college, I knew no drinking games and no card games. And I didn't find a great deal of opportunity to play Win, Lose or Draw.

So that's the first reason. I hate to be the person in the room who has to be taught to play, who can never remember the rules. I hate to have to have practice runs and slow everyone down. It's too much pressure.

And then the second thing is that I was once married to someone incredibly competitive, someone who once didn't speak to me for two days because my team beat his team at Mario Party. And so I don't like to win, and who likes to lose? So generally I find no enjoyment in the whole process.

However

There are some games SO FUN and low pressure and easy to understand that I love to play them and would do so all the time if anyone would play with me and these include

Taboo
Best word game ever. I have two copies, one that displays all the words in French on the underside of the cards, you know, just in case you want to up the stakes a little. I love this game because perfectly literate and polite people suddenly find, when playing this game, that they know no adjectives except dirty ones. Typical delivery of the person reading the card, "This is uh, This is uh, This is a fucking thing that you use when you're fucking...uh...in the car, fucking going someplace. SHIT!"

Apples to Apples
I played this for the first time last night. Thomas bought it because it sounded like something I would play. And boy was he RIGHT. In this game you're given a catagory and have to look in your hand to find the closest match. So maybe the category is "Chewy" and you have Goldie Hawn, Spit, Nuclear Power Plants, The 1960's, My Boyfriend, Grass, and Rednecks. You have decide which is the most chewy and play that card. Then the judge chooses whose card was best described by "Chewy." It is great fun. Wanna come over and play?

Five Shot Friday!

Look out! Last night was 5 Shot Friday.

Earlier this week, Thomas and I were watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother in which Ted takes five shots in a row. Instead of feeling like, Oh God, What a Horrible Idea! We felt like, Hey, That Looks Like Fun. Hence, Five Shot Friday.

No one was actually brave enough to slam five shots in a row (the shots being offered were tequila, after all) except Thomas who completed the whole mission and did not vomit, pass out, or behave strangely afterward.

I did manage to wreck my New Year's Resolution on Five Shot Friday, which was "don't eat anything you are not supposed to eat for 30 days." I don't think there's any way that I can spin the pizza and a half I ate last night as something I was supposed to eat. However, it did nicely to combat the tequila.

Random Thoughts for January 10

Ok, so, first off: Where the hell is the Wrightsville Avenue cow?? We drove by on Sunday and its stall stood empty. Thomas revealed that he had ACTUALLY SEEN some guys loading it into a van. To refurbish the cow? Perform atrocities on the cow? Dude.

Secondly, I am still crying from watching the 1st season finale of How I Met Your Mother. Why did no one tell me about this show before? We started watching because of Jason Segal from Freaks and Geeks (clearly the best show EVER) and it is just so great and funny. Like Friends, but younger and drunker. SUIT UP!

Thirdly, the oppossum is BACK!

Fourthly, earlier, I did my daily four mile walk with my sister, Ali. We were chugging down front street, which, for those who are not Wilmingtonian, is lined in tall brick walls that mask the rich from the pedestrians. Every once in a while, there's a break in the wall where a driveway comes out. So, Al and I were walking, talking about whatever it is sisters talk about for four miles, when all of a sudden a car came speeding out of a hidden driveway and seriously nearly took my sister out.

I made a noise that was not unlike the seal-shriek that my beagle makes if you step on her foot. Ali stepped back. Was she ok? Yes, she's ok. We, all of us, Ali, the driver and I, all stopped there for a second. Did we need to do anything? No, we're all ok. Then Ali and I just went on our way. The driver called out, "I'm sorry!" We waved. "It's ok! I'm not dead!"

Fifthly, thank God for my dogs, who came jingling to my bedroom door this morning as if to say, "Woman! Can we get some service?" because without them, I would have woken an hour late instead of just 20 minutes. Perhaps that was the beginning of all this madness.

UPDATE: Sixthly, I just discovered that the US Senate Sergeant at Arms visited my humble blog today by googling the words, "Hummingbirds Attack." 1. How much do I love SiteMeter? 2. Is there going to be a hummingbird attack???

Savages.

So, today some people decided to relieve me of some of my car's polka dots.

Um, thanks. I really appreciate it.

Savages.

What is wrong with people, seriously. Why? What is the point of wrecking something, just for the sake of wrecking it? I'm sure that whoever took the dots isn't intending to use them on their own car. I'm sure they are not starving and eating the dots for sustenance. The dots are not worth the big bucks. They just took them to take them, to destroy my enjoyment of something whimsical. Hey, that person has something neat and different! Let's wreck it! Yeah!

Excellent.

The Glasses Are Here!

How much am I loving my $20 glasses???

So much.

Goodbye T:3

I just participated in the fine activity known as "denuding the enormous-ass fire hazard in my living room." It took me almost 2 hours to strip the tree and carefully wrap and box the 8 gazillion ornaments that I insisted on hanging this year, but I don't mind doing it.

This year I got to participate in the hanging of my friend Michelle's ornaments, and while that was totally wonderful and festive, I couldn't return her lovely gesture. My ornaments are so fragile and so dear to me that I'd throw myself in front of a moving car for them. If someone else broke one...well, I couldn't vouch for their health. And I don't think it's fair to ask someone to help you with something that could end your friendship...or their life. So, for that reason, I almost always undo my tree alone. But that's nice, because I get to visit with each ornament myself, even the ones that Thomas hung, and say goodbye to them before their long hibernation in the closet.

I've mentioned it before, but there's something so beautiful to me about having ornaments from 4 families on our tree. I love that there are ornaments from our parents' childhoods and our own. For a while at Christmas I considered spotlighting an ornament on each blog post, but I couldn't decide between them. Should it be Aunt Adeline's monstrously huge glitter one, or my mom's santa that's so old it's translucent? Thomas' record ornaments, or the first ornament my mom gave me when I wasn't living in her house? The tiny balls from my grandfather's 5 and 10 cents store, or one of Thomas' grandmother's intricately painted ones? I love them all so much; Like a kid kissing all her stuffed animals before she goes to bed, I couldn't leave one out. What if it was sad?

This has just reminded me of the only tangentially related idea of food that is too sad to eat.

This will definitely be a numbered entry on the next "weird things about me" meme, or on someone's list of reasons I should be committed, but there are some foods that just look too sad for me to eat. First on that list is pigs in blankets. I don't mind Little Smokies as a rule, but once they are wrapped in dough, I can't eat them. Those poor piggies just curled up in their blanket for a nap and AARRRAGGGAGGGG! Now they're digesting. Also cornish hens. So Sad! And peeps. I love when other people mutilate them, but I can't bring myself to do it. Especially not with my teeth.

Question of the Day

Why do roaches always die on their backs?

Adventures with Wildlife

Ok, so, I've searched and searched and I cannot find on the web ANYWHERE a picture of an opossum as big as the one that I saw in my yard on New Year's Eve. I'm telling you, this thing was as big as a SMALL DOG and in no way cute or friendly looking, like many of the opossum pictures online. It looked pretty much exactly the way I remember the R.O.U.S. looking in The Princess Bride. Dude.

It made a horrible lumbering sound through the leaves and was totally undeterred by my stamping and yelling and generally freaking out.

I've read many varied accounts of the danger, or lack thereof, of opossums, so I don't really know what to think. My friend Michelle across the street has had to have opossums removed from her attic twice this year. Freaky deaky.

Two years ago, on Thanksgiving, I was forced to call Animal Control out because there was a ferret in our yard. The dogs found it (thank GOD I got there in time) and as I was shrieking for Thomas to PLEASE COME LOOK WHAT THEY FOUND, I realized that it was a ferret. I managed to lure it into a pet carrier, but then I didn't know what to do with it. I mean, I couldn't let it go, or they would eat it. But I certainly didn't need a ferret. We asked around to the neighbors, but they all claimed not to have lost a ferret, so we ended up having to have it removed. The Animal Control guy was NOT PLEASED to have come out on Thanksgiving to rid me of a harmless ferret.

FUN-due

The first time I ever had fondue was New Year's Eve, 2000. Some friends and I went out and bought 2 fondue pots and then we went to the grocery store and picked up some meat and vegetable oil. Then we went to the cheese counter and asked what they recommended for fondue. They recommended Gruyere. I wonder, can you see where this is going?

Vegetable oil isn't good for cooking at high tempuratures. It smokes, and it stinks to high heaven. Gruyere is not what you would call a mild cheese. In fact, that night, as it cooked, my friend Bethany said, "This cheese smells like scratching your ass." And that was true. None of the rest of us were going to say it out loud, but that was, in fact, exactly what it smelled like.

By 10, I had a headache so severe that I went to be early and missed the new year.

Several years later, when Thomas recommended doing a fondue night, I thought, "WHY? Why would anyone do that?"

But it turns out that the secret is peanut oil and brie. Much better taste to stink ratio.

So last night, we hosted our 2nd annual New Year's Fondue (or, as Thomas insists, Fun-due) Night. We added a chocolate pot for the first time this year and it was highly successful. Steak, tuna, chicken, vegetables, fruit, rosemary bread and little smokies. Yum.

Just after our first post-midnight sip of champagne, we somehow coerced the entire party into several renditions of "I'm Driving Down Highway 40 in my Big Old Pick-up Truck," including one for the benefit of my parents who had called to wish us a happy new year and I think were quite baffled by the whole thing.

Best wishes to everyone for a very happy 2007.

I'm Driving Down Highway 40 in my Big Old Pick-up Truck

So, I'm doing something I've never done before. I'm posting a video. But this has given me such enormous pleasure over the last 2 days that I just had to share it with you.

I am a huge fan of Brak. We recently got the latest Brak box set and I busily set about learning all the menu songs because they rule. Picture me sitting at home and happily yelling "Choose an episode! 9-14 there all here: The Eye, Poppy, Bully, Mother, Did You Move My Chair?" Ok, maybe it's better if you know the tune. But singing Brak songs is one of my favorite pasttimes and I freaked a lot of people out at the grocery store today, wandering around with my husband and singing, "I'm driving down highway 40 in my big old pick up truck!"

We got home and pretty much fell straight into bed from exhaustion. It's been a long couple of days. 3 hours later, we woke up and my small voice ventured into the darkness: "I'm driving down highway 40 in my big old pick up truck."

Happy Happy Glasses Time

So, I finally went to the eye doctor. After 10 years.

That was my much appreciated gift from my mom for Christmas--money for an eye exam. I went to Sam's Club today, armed with $200 and only spent 79 of it! So happy.

Then I went home and was planning to order my glasses from the Kim recommended 39 dollar glasses, but instead I ordered from 19 dollar glasses because I'm just cheap like that. But my glasses will be black and blue! And I'm so excited!

Let's recap: exam=$79, glasses (with shipping)=$20.40. Yes, it's true, I will be able to pass my driving test and renew my license in June having only paid $100 for glasses.

Why does God love me so much?

And does this mean that I can now order 100 dollars worth of seeds from the Burpee Catalogue that came today? Because I really, really want to.

Best Reading of 2006

So, I thought that in honor of the approaching new year, I would post some kind of list. I considered trying to do one every day until Sunday, but frankly, I don't have a lot to make lists of, and I'm too lazy besides.

I try, in general, to read a book a week. Sometimes I do better than that; sometimes I read only one book in a month, but as I've mentioned before, I don't get cable so that what free time I have can be devoted to reading, blogging, gardening and making stuff. Reading will always be first on that list. I don't think there's ever been a time in my life when I didn't have at least one book going, even if I was just re-reading an old favorite.

So I read a lot of books this year. And a few really stood out. Here they are, in no particular order. (Note: these are not books that came out this year. These are just books I read this year.)

The Amazing Adventures of Cavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
How is possible I waited so long to read this book? I'm so contrary sometimes. An amazing history lesson so tied into the fiction that you forget you're learning. More important to me than most, maybe, as my husband is in the comics business so, essentially, I was learning our bread and butter. But if you know me, you know that I read for story above ALL other things. A beautiful story.

The House on Dream Street by Dana Sachs
I'm slightly acquainted with Dana Sachs, so I put off reading this book for a long time. I never wanted to read it just because I knew her. But I got it at the library booksale for 75 cents. I left it to the bottom of my pile because I'm not so into travel memoirs. But this far transcends that genre. I was impressed by Dana's willingness portray herself fully, even when she was doing something that might make you think less of her. Brave, engaging writing.

The Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Another one I kept putting off. It seemed so gimmicky and the first chapter was just. so. boring. But a bengal tiger named Richard Parker so charmed me that I was hooked. The ending of this book is masterful. If it doesn't, as it claims, make you believe in God, it at least forces you to know your own heart, which maybe is the same thing.

Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
Once again, I'm a contrary bitch. And I would have stayed one, as far as this book was concerned if it hadn't been the voice of Alex which ran a lovely counterpoint through the whole novel.

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
I admit that I am an absolute sucker for a good love story. And to me, this is one of the best. It haunted me for weeks. This book asks you to give in entirely, to give up not just logic but its facsimile as well--I stopped even trying to follow the "story logic" of Henry's time travel--and it is this, I think, that leaves you so raw and open to the story, just like love does.

A Million Little Pieces by James Frey
I read this after the controversy, so I knew what I was in for. But this novel swept me away anyway. I read it like a person on fire, reached the end, turned it over and started again. As I said, I read for story above all else. It was a great story.

The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst
Something about the imperfect relationship between the two main characters really struck me about this book and lent it, for me, something beyond the standard grief/love story. Also, I am a dog fiend.

The History of Love by Nicole Krauss
I just finished this recently, so I haven't had as much time to reflect on it as I did the others. But it kept me sequestered for two days, grunting non-commitally in response to Thomas's questions and behind in my work.

Two old friends I revisted this year:

The Hundred Secret Senses by Amy Tan
I hadn't thought of this before, but my feelings for this book are very similar to those for The Time Traveler's Wife. But added to this lovely novel is the insidious way that Amy Tan's dialect makes the world seem skewed and new, like seeing with different eyes.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt
Just finished this for the 4th time this morning. It was the perfect choice through my illness--familiar enough not to keep me awake with suspense when I needed to sleep, but elusive enough never to seem too familiar. There is something about this book that can never be owned no matter how many times you read it. I hate to make grand pronouncements, but this may be favorite book of all time. There's something so delicate about it, and yet it's as powerful as a sledgehammer.


Thank God for the library book sale and for the library of Ali, my sister, who keeps me in reading material all year long. I've probably read 120 books this year, altogether. For 8 of them to have been exceptional enough to mention seems like a great gift. 8 times this year, I sat up in bed, holding a finished book and crying, either for the characters, or because the book was over, or because someone in the world made something so true and beautiful that it made me afraid I could never do the same.

2006 was a good year.

Merry Christmas

WE DID IT!! IT'S OVER!!

No, seriously, I had a wonderful time. In spite of being sick as a dog--the kind of sick where your mouth fills up with canker sores and you can't breath through your nose so the back of your tongue kind of dries out and everything aches and it hurts to eat--my Christmas dinner (including ham) went very well, my family and Thomas's family got along together happily, I gave and recieved awesome Christmas presents, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, I'm home now and no one can make me move off the couch for 5 whole days. Then I have to throw another party.

Highlights:

Gifts Given:

What Would Bacon Do? Folder to my friend Jennifer
Inanimates and Librarian Tattoos to both my mom, and best friend, Kasey
9 weight fly rod to my dad

Christmas Dinner Menu:

Brown Sugar Glazed Ham
Waldorf Salad
Mashed Potatoes
Peas
Corn Pudding
Creamed Onions
Pumpkin Pie

Gifts Recieved:

Awesome new camera with docking and printing station from Thomas
Complete Freaks and Geeks from Thomas
and technically this is Thomas's gift from my parents, but it's too cool not to mention:
The Gnome Be Gone











All in all, a great success. But I am glad that there is a whole year before I have to do it again. Hope everyone else had a great time, too.

Countdown

Today:

Presents returned, replaced, bought, wrapped. Done.
House cleaned except for vacuuming and sweeping.
Ingredients for Christmas dinner purchased.
2 pies baked.


My parents arrive at 4 o'clock tomorrow. We'll hold Christmas a couple of days early: tomorrow night is our Christmas eve. Then Saturday, we'll all open presents, I'll cook dinner and all of Thomas's family will arrive. Sunday morning, my parents will leave and Thomas and I will get in the car and drive to Southport to spend real Christmas with his mom and Jessica. By Monday night, I'll be back in the car, this time on my way home, with 6 gorgeous vacation days in front of me, Christmas gifts to play with, and no one to entertain.

Bring it.

I hope everyone is doing well and enjoying the holidays. No matter how much I hum bug, I love the sight of my tree all lit up (if slightly lopsided) and the way the house is so sparkly and full of good baking smells. I only see my family a couple of times a year, so I'm really looking forward to their visit. I got them some really great things this year which I will post about after Monday, just in case they read this before they come.

I'll probably be dormant until Tuesday what with everything going on, so Happy Holidays to everyone who makes this place my favorite part of the day. I hope your days are merry and bright.

Bake-Bake-Bake, Bake-Bake-Bake, Bake your Cook-ie

Sorry to have been AWOL. The Christmas season, no matter how much I love it, takes its toll on me. In the last 24 hours, I have crocheted a hat, baked 5 batches of cookies, shopped, posed for Christmas pictures, wrapped 85% of the gifts I will give this season and written out 15 Christmas cards. Oh yeah, and I also went to work and slept.

Here is a glimpse of the Gilbert bakery:




For those I hold dear, including my waitress at Golden Corral, I have baked Irish shortbread, oatmeal raisin, peanut butter, white chocolate macadamia, and chocolate chip cookies.

Now, to finish the shopping, wrapping, card writing, cleaning in frantic preparation for my family's arrival on Friday and the subsequent Gilbert-Wittig family Christmas dinner on Saturday (I'm making a ham! I've never cooked a ham before! My mother in law will be there!), pie baking, and christmas cd burning. God help me.

Just Thought You'd Want to Know

We used up the shrimp toothpaste.

Naivete Springs Eternal

This post, over at the awesome bluishorange made me recollect again, with giggling and grimaces, how woefully ignorant I am on the subject of drugs.

Because, being 29 and mostly friends with artists, writers and other n'er-do-wells, I'm around people who are familiar with drugs of various kinds and legalities, and people usually assume that I, too, have experienced my fair share. Which would be totally wrong.

I'm often at a loss to try to explain how very, very inexperienced I am. But this story fairly well sums it up: When I was 18, I was hanging out with some kids from DC, going down to the Mall to see the fireworks. I grew up in Metro-area Maryland, so this was a pretty-near annual occurance.

If you've been to the Mall for the 4th of July, you know that in addition to some kick-ass fireworks, our Nation's capital also hosts the Great American Smokeout. When I was a kid I assumed that this was a group of people marching on Washington to abolish cigarette smoking.

So, here I am, laying on my blanket next to my way-cool friends. The fireworks are booming around us and I smell their familiar, pungent smell. I take a big sniff and sigh. "Don't fireworks smell weird?" I say to no one in particular.

Everyone looks at one another as if to decide who will get the glee of making fun of me for this. "Meg, that's pot," someone says.

Oh.

Tis the Season to be Yacking

This is one of the few days that I'm glad I don't have children.

The last week of school before the winter holiday is hard enough: the kids are wired, sleepless, restless, overexcited, filled with Christmas candy snuck from santa dishes, and then conversely lethargic, grumpy and full of attitude. But today one of my poor little girls yacked EVERYWHERE.

I have to give my class credit: for a bunch of elementary school kids, some under 6, no one screamed, threw up in response, or held their noses. In short, they did not make her feel any worse than she already did, but that was already pretty DAMN BAD.

I cleaned it up--just mentally adding it to the list of bodily fluids I've had to touch in the years I've been teaching--held her, got her some water, told her no one was going to hate her, that this happens to everyone. I regaled her with the story of when Greg Miller threw up on my desk in 2nd grade, got her to smile. But it was nice to hand her off to her mother, to know that I won't be up all night checking on her, that my puke duty is over for today.

When Doves Cry

So, this afternoon I let the dogs out and after a few minutes they scratched at the door to be let back in. They often do this when it's cold; they're not wearing their winter coats yet.

I went into the spare bedroom to lay down and read with them for a while before I started my school work. Gertie was prancing about, ready to jump in bed and she'd brought a big toy with her. Gertie doesn't usually play with toys, so I was happy that she was feeling playful.

"What have you got?" I asked her. And then, for real, "What have you got?!?"

I didn't recognize that toy. And it was really big and gray. What the hell could it be?

"WHAT HAVE YOU GOT?????"

It was a huge dead dove.

I ushered her out of the house post haste, but she would not drop the dove. I offered her cheese and carrots; I screamed and yelled. Finally I had to go put on gloves and pry the bird out of her mouth.

I suppose I should be thankful. Years ago, the only other time she's done this, I came stumbling home from Lula's at 2 in the morning, never turned on the light, peeled off my clothes and crawled in bed. With a disembowled bird.

Nipples

It is really, really important that everyone read this post.

I've been giggling over it for days.

Godzilla!

Well, the tree is up.

Poor Thomas, I dragged him all over town because no one had the right Christmas tree, and I'm very intense about my tree. Last night, as we lugged the tree home and tried desperately to get it to stand up, I cried copiously and wished terrible things on the tree and everyone and everything around me. Finally, after being poked in the eye 3 TIMES by the tree, we got it up and I hung the lights. But, of course, we'd just begun.

I have 3 humongous boxes of ornaments. And by humongous, I mean really fucking huge. Triple stacked, each one. It took us almost 3 hours, all told, to get everything onto the tree. At one point, during the last stage, which is the little tiny balls that are the size of blueberries, I referred to myself as "determined" when it came to the tree. Thomas sort of chuckled to himself. "I'm not sure 'determined' is the word I would have used," he said.



We like to refer to our tree as "T:3, Return of the Tree," inkeeping with our tradition of naming our trees. Last year's was, of course, "T:2 Electric Boogaloo." We'll start working on a rhyming sequel name for next year ASAP. What rhymes with four? "T:4, It's blocking the door"?

In my family, the tree was serious business, and involved a complex series of compromises between my parents' family traditions.
Rules:
1. The tree must be a Douglas Fir.
2. The lights must be the large old kind. They must be colored, and they must wink intermittantly.
3. Ornaments must be glass ONLY. They can be any shape or color, as long as they are glass.
4. The tree must be finished with tinsel.

Thomas and I have a douglas fir for the first time, but sadly, I cannot afford the big winky lights. And I despise tinsel.

Very early on in our relationship, Thomas's mom was cleaning out her house and offered us a huge box of Christmas ornaments. We looked in, and there, in the box, was one of the most amazing collections of old glass ornaments that I had ever seen outside my parents' house. There were many, many that I recognized from my own tree. It was one of those moments in which I knew we'd be together forever. It's nice to be able to uphold some of my family's traditions and still be using his family's ornaments.

Though our tree is 99% glass, we do have some exceptions. Ornament spotlight of today:

Godzilla!

Happy Wednesday

I miss posting every day. No, really.

Recently, I've been enjoying many happy displays of what Thomas and I refer to as "Dog TV." We don't have cable, and we watched our new box set of the Sopranos in one crazed, drooling bout, and so we have returned to the entertainment provided by the two small, red maniacs that happen to live in our house. (P.S. Whose good idea was it to release the Sopranos season 6 in two parts so that I would have to pay 60 dollars TWICE to get it? Much like when Stephen King released the Green Mile by chapter, I have to say, Um, I think you're rich enough. But thanks for playing. However, unlike me, my husband could not wait).

Episode 1: Triangulation.

These dogs


are watching this cat, out the window

who, in turn, is watching this squirrel, up a tree
None shall move for over an hour!


Episode 2: Drunken Brawl




Episode 3: Beagle Racetrack

Gertie is approaching the speed of sound in her efforts to outrun....no one.


I know, I know. When am I going to grow bored of taking pictures of my dogs? The answer is NEVER. Dude, they are 9 and 14 now. If I were going to get tired of this, I would have done it a long time ago.

Tom Fleming: A Photo Diary

Tom told me this weekend at our first oyster roast of the year that he feels he must act out every time we get together so as to make it onto the blog. He asks himself, is this blog-worthy? I had no idea there was some motivation for his antics. I thought he was just like that.
(Note to Tom: of course I know you're just like that).

Here are some fine images of my friend Michelle trying to throw a hat onto Tom's head.





Then Tom started trying to throw it onto his own head.



I'll let you decide what he has created here:

Things In My Purse

I know I should be on vacation from this blog, but I can't be. I'm all devoted and stuff now. Anyway, I just want to tell you about some things that have made it into my handbag over time.

My mom used to say that you could tell she was a mother by the contents of her purse--not because there were bottles or diaper pins in there, but because there was a hammer, some crazy glue, 5 carrot sticks and a butter knife. Because who knows how those things got in there? I needed them! I'm a mom!
Once she went to some event at the White House with my Dad who used to work on Capitol Hill and was detained by security because there was a screwdriver in her purse.

Though I am not a mom, except to Gert and Gonzo, my purse seems often to fill itself with strange and interesting things.

There used to be a great picture of me sitting in a bar with a pile of things around me from my purse. I'd been looking for my cell phone. In my left hand, I'm holding the cell phone. In my right, I'm holding up a package of potato nails, because they had been in there too. (For those not familiar with potato nails, they are long aluminum nails that you put in a potato to help them bake more evenly and quickly. People always ask me that when I tell this story).

Once, in Jackson's Barbeque, the hushpuppies were so good that I decided to wrap the extra ones up in my napkin and carry them home in my purse. Then I forgot about them. There are still traces of hushpuppy goodness in there.

I had a wrench in my purse for almost a full year because my friend Jennifer needed help building her grill and I brought it over to her house in there.


All this occurred to me because last night, at my terrific friend Michelle's house, I put a tomato in my purse. The aforementioned Jennifer had brought nice ripe tomatos from her garden. I took one, and having no better place to put it, I stuck it in my purse. Miraculously, it made it home in one piece.

Once I put a lit cigarette into my purse by accident. I was sitting at the bar, and someone told me it was time to go home, so I started packing all the things around me away into my purse. I'm surprised I didn't add the whole ashtray, a couple beers...
Clearly, it really was time to go home.

Now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

It's over. I did it.

This has been a really interesting month for me. In some ways, I felt like blogging every day has been good exercise. There were days when I had nothing to say and a big white box in front of me and I felt I rose to the occasion, and was able to make something out of the mundane. There are other days were I just took up space in my own archives.

I had a great walk-and-talk with Cue today. Through talking to her, I realized that my sense of how and why I was doing this changed with a changing audience. I was more aware of people reading my blog than ever before--not that it affected what I wrote but who I wrote it for. I had fun, overall. And there's always a sense of accomplishment in completing a goal you set for yourself, even if it's a list you made filled with things like getting up and getting dressed, just so you could cross them off.

I've been tagged by Velocibadgergirl with the same 6 weird things meme. And because she was so sweet on her blog about my "about me," I will capitulate. I think this happens to me over and over again because this entire blog is essentially a running log of all the weird things about me. I've gone back and chronicled for myself all the slightly-off-center things that I've already revealed to you, my anonymous internet friends, and I will put it in a separate post so that you don't have to wade through it unless you want to, but here are the new ones:

55. There's a Jolly Roger flag flying in front of my house.
54. I've memorized and can rap along with at least 15 Eminem songs in their entirety.
53. Two naked hula people named Jorge and Evangeline grace my dashboard.
52. Lately, I am constantly convinced that there is fuzz on my face. I don't know if this is an OCD or if there actually is fuzz on my face.
51. I hated Pirates of the Caribbean.
50. I finished NaBloPoMo '06.

49 Other Weird Things About Me, In Order of Their Appearance

49. I don't eat purple food.
48. I rule at Megatouch Erotic Photo Hunt, which I call Touch the Boobie.
47. I practiced for a long time so that I could give the finger like Eminem.
46. I like to watch myself in the mirror when I talk.
45. The only thing I've ever won was a 3 foot chocolate rabbit.
44. On our first date, Thomas took me to see a giant urinal.
43. I can't help but tell people what I just bought for them.
42. I swear alarmingly when building furniture.
41. I hide upsetting books under the bed.
40. Our toothpaste tastes like shrimp.
39. I'm required by law to wear a portion of my food on my chest.
38. I can hurt myself just by sitting in a chair (and often do!)
37. Apparently, when I made this list, I left off number 37.
36. I'm afraid of worms. Seriously.
35. I'm deafeningly loud when I get excited.
34. I've never had cable tv.
33. I love karaoke. Particularly Love Shack and Gloria.
32. I have the cutest feet ever, in my humble opinion.
31. I collect garden gnomes and fake mustaches. In fact, the favors at our wedding were cards of fake mustaches, resulting in my entire wedding album being pictures of drunk people in fake mustaches.
30. By 30, I'd hoped to own a barbie pink beetle.
29. My dogs know "Cheese" and "Night Night" instead of "Come" and "Lie Down."
28. I know a lot of people named Tom.
27. I cannot function without cherry chapstick.
26. I am tragically unhip and cannot wear my own glasses for feeling like a poseur.
25. I once went on a blind date with a guy who had two hearing aides and an unholy obsession with Willy Wonka.
24. I consider my pre-Thomas poor choices in men to be a direct result of my love for the Breakfast Club and Dirty Dancing.
23. I harbor ridiculous regrets from childhood concerning unfinished French projects and fake 4 leaf clovers.
22. I am most comfortable in the company of boys.
21. Gas station attendants totally love me.
20. My favorite phrases are: Crap in a bowl, How exciting, Fucksie ducksie, Whatev, Whaaaaat? and Dude.
19. I did not learn to drive until I was 23 and consequently have no bump of direction.
18. I dress myself almost solely in black v-neck tee-shirts.
17. When I was little, I was afraid that if you cut through all 7 layers of your skin, well, sucks to be you, that's all you get.
16. I dress my pets in tutus and kiss them on the mouth.
15. I'm a Quaker.
14. I count when I pee.
13. I think it is appropriate to have only as many pets as you can remember names. I feel confident I could remember 100.
12. I can't eat enough pizza. Thomas orders 3 just for the two of us.
11. I have a very large head (in circumference, not ego!)
10. I am obsessed with the grammar of billboards.
9. I constantly mishear song lyrics and prefer my own.
8. I have to imitate any strange or electronic sounds that I hear.
7. When people are sad, I offer to dance a jig.
6. Whenever I hear the title of a movie sequel, I feel compelled to add "Electric Boogaloo."
5. I'm afraid of zombies.
4. I threw away all the attachments to my vacuum cleaner.
3.I hate Bob Dylan
2. I love freaky tv ad personalities, a la The Burger King (I dressed as him for Halloween last year) and locally, Pat and Ashley.
1. I eat Cool Whip for a snack.

Day 29--Almost There

I've seen a bunch of blogs this month. Many of them were really great. Some of them, I'll read long after this NaBloPoMo (or NaBlowMe, as Alexa at Flotsam so aptly put it) thing is over.

One thing I've really enjoyed is seeing people post excerpts from their adolescent journals on their blogs. I would love to do this, but I have no adolescent journals. As I've pointed out, until this blog entered my life, my journals generally read like this: "Monday. Cold. Went to English class. Why doesn't John love me?" The end.

So I will have to post for you excerpt from my 2nd grade journal. Spelling and grammar mistakes left intact.

Here goes:

I got a gernal its neet. I like it. and I can right my name in cursof look:

I rote a story 12 pages long. It is about a party and plan's to get the thing's. My birthday is in 4 months and 24 Days. I will have a teddy bear party. there will be prizes for the oldest, the best dressed and the best loved teddy bear. It will be a sleep over and it will be fun. I forgot the teddy that can do the most things.

On friday I will sleep over at sneha's house. We have a plan for geting cherry soda. Today I swiched bus stop's. I had to run home because I didnt no the ruls.

Whene I move wich might be soon we will get a nother dog I get to name it so I will name it ruff I wonder will be like. Fang won't no what to make of ruff I hope they will be friends.

[Editor's notes: I really did have a friend named Sneha (pronounced Snay-ha). I used to tease her that if she married a boy in our class named Oliver Ha, her name would be Snay Ha-Ha! Boy, did she hate that!!!

Also, our family dog was named Fang. My dad called all dogs "Fang" much in the same way that I call all dogs "Boo Boo."]

Where I would Like To Travel I would like to travel to kansas because my babysitter said she saw Dorothy and I want to see her too.

Brinkly and Luck followed me to the bus stop. they almost got on the bus. it was lucky, nobody likes dogs on the bus. boy am I glad they didn't.

We, meaning sneha and I are setting up a sleep over. We have a color colecion. We can dance to materil girl!! Tomaro we will go on a metro trip. I call Metro Met-Ro! Tee Hee!

[The same babysitter who told me she saw Dorothy (of the Wizard of Oz, natch) in Kansas used to bribe me to go to bed by offering to show me a picture of a duck billed platypus in the back of her Biology textbook.

Funny story concerning Material Girl: once on a long road trip to one of my parents' college reunions, I was gleefully singing along to my Madonna tape in the backseat, when my parents stopped the car and asked to talk to me. While they had no problems with my rendition of Like a Virgin, they wanted to be clear that it was not good to be a Material Girl.]

Ok, so maybe that wasn't as fun as other people's angst concerning big bangs, the roller skating rink and sex ed, but I had a good time.

A B C My Brains Leaking Out My Ears

So, I've been talking and talking about the ABC drama, and the longer it's been going on, the less I want to post about it. But I promised, and I'm a woman of my word, so here it is.

My grandmother is an artist. A very talented artist. That is the nicest thing you will ever hear me say about my grandmother. Ok? Enough said.

Many, many years ago, perhaps while she was at Bennington, she did a series of paintings of a clown discovering each letter of the alphabet, henceforth to be referred to as the ABC paintings. Soon you will know why I cannot bear to try to take a picture of them to show you.

A while back, my grandmother moved from her home of 50+ years into an assisted living facility, and much of the work she'd done, that hadn't already been claimed by a family member, went to live in my sister's apartment. I went through what she had and thought to myself, wouldn't that be nice for a nursery someday. Oh, how I rue that day.

I took the ABC paintings home and enjoyed them and thought about how one day I'd have a nursery that took on their bright primary colors: no pink and blue for me. Then my mother called and said that my grandmother wanted the paintings back because she wanted to show them. I pointed out that if I "lent" them back, I'd never see them again.

My mother agreed, and so we decided that I would just "forget" to send them back. I faithfully forgot for a year or more.

The morning that I was leaving for MD, my mom called and left a message on the machine to bring the ABC paintings with me. I called back and asked my dad if this was a message that "I missed," or whether my mom was actually instructing me to bring back the ABCs.

Apparently, I was to bring home the ABCs. My mom insisted that we would be able to dismantle and copy them and reassemble them in time for me to bring them home, something that I seriously doubted. So I packed them in the car, bitching and moaning the entire time about how it was all just so unfair. (You see, I admit that I had my part in all this drama).

From the moment I got to MD, the ABCs came up approximately every 2.5 minutes. How would we dismantle and copy the ABCs? (Scan them into the computer/Copy them on my parents' printer/Take them to Kinkos). Who would be allowed to disassemble them? (Me, to whom they belong. My mom, talented and able to fix anything. My grandmother, 87 and apparently unable to lift a mug of tea without groaning with exertion). Were the ABCs original or copies of the original? We fought on all these points. Extraneous opinions on paper quality and disc management were raised and dismissed.

Frankly, by the time that my up-for-sainthood husband took my grandmother to the Baltimore art museum, leaving us to actually complete this project, I was ready to just hand the damn things over. I DON'T CARE ANYMORE, I must have said, dramatically, 100 times.

So, my mom and I dismantled the frames and discovered that the damned panels were glued to the mats. Who does this?!? We lamented loudly and repeatedly. Finally, amongst much consultation, we agreed that the only thing to do would be to take them to Kinkos and let them copy them as one enormous panel and we would cut them apart.

Long story short, as this is already sucking out my will to live again, the Kinkos employees were rude and totally unhelpful, the manager looking at us condescendingly, taking a step back and putting his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I can't help you," he says. "The color copiers are over there."

So, you're saying I can do on a color copier over there, what you, a professional cannot do?

Well, we've got different equipment back here.

So you're saying that the color copier here for public use is better than what you have back there?

Well, I've got a lot of important orders to take care of.

I didn't ask you to do it now. I asked if I could place an order to have it done.

No, like I said, the color copiers are over there.

He's just lucky I don't believe in guns.

Because at this point, grandchildren having been invoked, my mother was determined to get this done, so we did it. All 26 panels, glued to four enormous mats, on color copiers in Kinkos.

Then we ran home, reassembled the frames and stuck them back in my car. They are now safely back in my closet and I am left wondering, what just happened to me?

I supposed this is what is supposed to happen on Thanksgiving: you are supposed to be reunited with your family so that you can all bitch and annoy one another and eat too much and generally turn things into international incidents (tm) when they need not be.

But now I think I need a drink.

The Accidental Hostess

Because I am the queen of all that is sane and logical, after we arrived home yesterday, we threw a small party. One of Thomas's high school friends came into town, which involved the inviting of another friend of theirs (and ours), who happened to be seeing a movie with a friend of mine at the time...

Next thing you know, I've consumed a bottle of wine.

I slept terribly, wracked with guilt and worry at having to teach in the terrible condition I was in. I dreamt that someone forced me to drink Mercurochrome. It was not good.

I know I'm supposed to be posting about my grandmother and the ABC paintings, but I just don't have the strength. So here are some pictures of my mom's pies. They were good, but I had to walk 5 miles today to even begin to erase their memory.




You might also be interested to know that my mom REALLY likes Elmo.


















Also, her car rules:

A Weird Girl Arrives Back at Home

First off, let me say how good it is to be back. Thomas and I arrived back in lovely Wilmington at 2:30 and were greeted by the shrieks and whimpers of the two greatest and most sorely missed dogs in the United States.

Secondly, sorry my blog has sucked for the last few days. It was hard, posting from home.

Thirdly, where the hell is everyone? I know it's been Thanksgiving and most of us were travelling, but STILL.

Fourthly (In the fourth place?), I have a fine blog planned about my grandmother's artwork and the longest-running, most-annoying discussion ever, but that will have to wait until tomorrow because:

I'VE BEEN TAGGED!

Kim has tagged me to reveal six weirdnesses about myself. Unfortunately, I covered many of the most weird in this post, but I'm a tough girl, so I'll do my best.

1. On our first date, Thomas took me to see a giant urinal. It resides downtown in Longstreet's Pub and it really is giant. I could fit my whole self into it. We visit it from time to time, just to reminisce.

2. Other than the recently discussed costume contest, the only thing I've ever won was a 3 foot, solid, chocolate rabbit. (I'm actually planning a whole post on this later). Suffice it to say, my friend, Dorothy, ate the whole head and had to go to the hospital.

3. I like to look in the mirror when I talk on the phone to see what I look like when I make my standard facial expressions. I'm actually mesmerized by this and cannot sit by mirrors in restaurants because I will just stare and stare at myself to see what I look like when I'm eating.

4. I practiced for a long time to be able to give the finger like Eminem--you know, with all the fingers bent at the knuckle and the middle one up. I think it looks cooler like that. I trained both hands to do it. During that time, my friend Bryan once remarked to my friend Craig, "Have you noticed that Megsie's been giving the finger a lot?" How embarrassing.

5. I am the MASTER at the Megatouch game Erotic Photo Hunt, which I like to call "Touch the Boobie." There was a time when I had the number one score at every machine I encountered in three states.

6. I don't eat purple food. Eggplants and grapes are ok, but anything that is "Grape flavored" is the elixir of the devil to me. I carefully separate out all my purple candies, popsicles, etc. Things that will stain my teeth purple are also in this catagory. I pretend to be allergic to red wine, but really, I just hate having a purple mouth. There. The truth is out.

My Most Popular Post EVER

has been this post about the Wizard's top 100 Greatest Villains of All Time. At least once a week, most often once a day, this blog is hit by someone who searched for "Wizards Top 100" or "100 Greatest Villains." Seriously. And it's like, one of the most boring posts ever. Well, now apparently it's gotten itself involved in some web battle taking place here. I haven't managed to figure out what they are arguing about, but it sounds an awful lot like the inside of my husband's comic book store.

Also, I'm getting hit by this argument about 30 times a day. Which makes this DEFINITELY my most popular post ever. And I thought NaBloPoMo was bringing in traffic.

Life is weird.

Bloating: The Day After

Well, it's the day after Thanksgiving and I'm in a bit of pain. I don't think I've eaten this much in a year or more. The six pies were excellent, and I've taken pictures that I will post as soon as I get home.

My parents had a shed erected in their backyard today by Amish people. I told them that it seemed a little crazy to have a barn-raising for a storage shed, but dear God were these men efficient. I've never seen anything like it.

I feel snarky and I don't want to post snarkily from home, so I think I'll be done for today. I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving.

Thankful Doesn't Begin

So, we made it. I'm here and blogging from Maryland. The drive was long and rainy--I was tired and cranky and stiff and hungry when we got here.

When we went upstairs to bed, there was a big roll of paper sitting on the bed.

Let's back up 10 years.

I used to be a HUGE Beatles collector. The records I still collect, but back in the day, I had some amazing original posters from the 60's, gorgeous stuff and HUGE! Posters weren't kidding around back then. Just one of my posters could take up my entire dining room wall.

Proud of them, I was. My collection was really arresting and it meant a lot to me emotionally and I felt, at the time, that it defined me and who I wanted to be in a lot of ways, when I still wasn't too sure about all that. 2 years into college, when I was moving from room to room, as I did every year, I lost my entire collection in one fell swoop. It was in one big poster tube and I never saw it again.

The loss was devestating to me. I didn't talk about it a lot at the time; I was moving in with someone who wouldn't have let me put up all those posters in the first place. But I missed them always, and when I finally met and married someone who not only would have let me put up those posters, but would revel in them, I missed them even more.

Over time I grew bitter about it, and I'm sorry to say that I began to wonder if that long ago roommate hadn't "lost" or sold them.

I guess you already know that the paper on my bed was my posters. All of them. All wrapped up together and in immaculate shape, having sat in a closet in my parent's house all these years. I cried as I unrolled them. I feel like someone gave me a huge, tangible piece of my life back. I have no idea how they got there.

I can't wait to get home and re-do that music room.

So I'm thankful, today, for this evidence of a 18 year old girl who loved the Beatles. And I'd also like to say I'm sorry to that person who I've maligned in my heart these many years.

Queen of the Wusses

I just totally drove to AutoZone and made them put my windshield wipers on for me.

It looked so inexplicable! But the man kind of rolled his eyes and snapped them on like it was the easiest thing ever, and now I am left feeling like...a girl.

Oh well.

Getting ready to leave...packing, cleaning, etc. Also just did my first Christmas shopping, courtesy of Pen's suggestion, Perpetual Kid. Way, way cool. Note to all those expecting Christmas presents from me: The Gilberts are strapped this year. There will be a 10 dollars or less rule applied across the board.

This is difficult for me, as I am fond of being known as the crazy-no-holes-barred-present-giver. Gift giving is my absolute favorite thing in the world, and I am often totally unable to wait until whatever gift-giving holiday is at hand to reveal what I have purchased. Yes, I am the girl who will call you up and gleefully tell you what I just bought you. I also like to be the one who hands you not just one package, but a mound of them. I don't know if this is a crazed attempt to get people to like me, or what, but like cooking too much food, giving too much present seems to be hardwired into my DNA.

Usually, I'm totally finished shopping by this point, but this year I just don't have the means to shower those I love with gifts.

Try to keep on liking me. I'll try to find the coolest under 10 dollar gift you ever got from anyone, ever, in the history of time.

All Hail the Hand Turkey

So, it was my students' last day of school for the week. They made startling works of art that took me hours to cut out, including the hand turkey, who holds a special place in my heart. Today's random questions included desserts that are on fire. I don't know where they encountered sweets en flambe but they were mighty intrigued. And very relieved when I told them that you put the fire out before you eat it.

We're frantically getting ready for our trek to the DC area...beginning tomorrow at the horrific hour of 5 pm. Just in time to hit every bit of traffic between here and the beltway. Ah, well, work. What can you do?

To appease my father, we put new tires on my Daewoo (Dae-WOO!) yesterday, but are still trying to figure out how to attach the damn windshield wipers. Very necessary in this hurricane-like weather we are having. I'm always very nervous about this trip, not only because (say it with me now) I didn't learn to drive until I was 23 and still don't consider myself to be the (a-hem) greatest driver in the United States, but also because I'm slowly going blind as a result of losing my glasses at a production of the Vagina Monologues back in 2001. I still suspect that the glasses were so shocked by the all the euphamisms for vagina that they jumped off my face and hid under the seat in shame.

Night driving is really scary for me, particularly in the rain. Everything looks like one enormous ring of light and I can never see the lines on the road and then I begin to get...testy. Ask my poor long-suffering husband, there is nothing worse than driving with me in the dark unless it is building furniture with me.

I'm good at building furniture, really I am. It's just that I find the whole process easier if I'm uttering every ugly thing that's ever crossed my mind. I plan to display the wide range of my vocabulary when I tackle those windshield wipers tomorrow.

My Stomach is Seceding from the Union

I don't know if it's this INSANE weather, or what, but my internet (that's my internet, not your internet) is really slow tonight. This always makes me freaked out and paranoid that I've gotten a virus.
I don't have a virus. Right?

Also, at lunchtime today, I consumed a small amount of fake chocolate. And we all know what this means: for the last 7 hours, my body has been in frantic EJECT mode. I don't know why I continue to eat the fake chocolate.

Actually, that is a total lie. I know exactly why I continue to eat the fake chocolate: because it is the only chocolate I can have, and sometimes, you just need chocolate. Even if it will haunt you for almost 24 hours. Hey, it could be worse, right? I could be wearing the chocolate like a floatation device for the next two years. Instead I get to rid myself of it immediately, along with anything else I might have eaten in recent history.

As has been previously documented, I suffer from a severe weakness for pizza. I consider myself a paragon of virtue when I do not eat two pizzas in one sitting. Pizza is the only food that I allow myself to cheat with (excepting situations in which politeness is the rule, or when one or two french fries accidentally fall into my mouth at high speeds) but when I declare pizza day, dude, pizza day is on.

Mostly I try to eat all my pizza at once, to save myself from the hideous temptation of left over pizza. But sometimes I pretend to be a paragon of virtue and then come home from work the next day to be a total depraved idiot. Recently I did this and as I suffered a great deal of remorse, I thought....fake chocolate. If I eat the fake chocolate, all this will be gone. (See what I mean about synthetic foods breeding new and improved eating disorders?) I struggled for a few moments over this moral dilemma and then quickly ate two handfuls of fake m&m's.

Nothing happened.

Apparently, if you consume a great deal of bread and fat before eating the fake chocolate, it renders the chocolate impotent.

Good on the eating disorder front--Bad on the front in which I just ate pizza and then chocolate.

Manipulate Me in One Easy Step

I will agree to anything if I've been drinking.

There are two categories of questions that are asked of my inebriated self.

Category 1: The favor
Paint your bedroom? Watch your cats? Drive to Raleigh? Pick you up at the airport? No problem. I'm really very agreeable. Sadly, people tend to call to remind me of these things the next day. Crap.

Category 2: Let's hang out
Let's go see a movie tomorrow! Want to go plant shopping? Hey, let's drive to the beach and go swimming. Hey, wanna fly to Africa with me? To these I always respond with "YES! OF COURSE! THAT SOUNDS GREAT! CALL ME IN THE MORNING!" (I'm also very loud when I've been drinking.)

Usually I'm forgetting about my 45 previous commitments. But that's ok, because no one ever really calls in the morning, because generally their enthusiasm was drinking induced as well.

However, today, all those people who made plans to have lunch and see a movie today actually peeled themselves out of bed, called one another on the telephone and left the house. Including me. Miraculous.

So, (there's that damned "so" again) I went with Thomas and our friends John and Steve to see Borat. I saved up this post all day so that I could write about Borat tonight, as I was led to believe that I was about to see THE MOST CONTROVERSIAL MOVIE ON THE EARTH, EVER.

My friend Steve, who is a comedian himself, told me last night that it was either, "The worst movie I've ever seen, or the bravest, most incredible satire ever." The incredibly funny Kim Shable recommended it. Gina over at Just Another Day panned it. Other friends of mine claimed not to understand it. Steve told me that the first time he saw it, 18 people got up and left the theater. I was apprehensive.

Afterward, I can't say I feel I've seen anything particularly noteworthy. Maybe it was all the hype (I'm notoriously contrary about hype. If a movie is supposed to be the best thing ever, I tend to feel blah about it) but I didn't feel particularly offended or enthused. Parts of it were funny. Parts of it were gross. Parts of it were offensive. How is this different from, say, Freddie Got Fingered?

In further musings on today's experience, I realized that in almost 6 years of being friends, this is the first time I've ever made plans and hung out with Steve or John when there was no drinking involved. I can't figure out if this says something about our friendship or just that I need to lay off the booze.