Rantings of the Queen

Most expensive cat toy ever

2009-02-22T13:03:00.003-06:00

I finally caved into the 21st century and bought an ipod yesterday (which I refuse to capitalize even though my English major brain is freakin' out). I paid in cash that I had saved in my 'Ladies Nice Things Account', i.e. the battered envelope in the cash file where I save my extra spending money. I've been saving up for a while with no particular goal in mind. Statia mentioned the other day that I might enjoy exercise more if I had an ipod. Since I don't enjoy exercise AT ALL, any little nudge might help (mmm, nudge rhymes with fudge, mmmm). And I had two frosted brownies for breakfast this morning and half a tube of butter crackers for lunch. So any little bit might help.

This has been the most frustrating experience of my life. Not even filing for graduation has caused this much trauma. I decided Friday that I wanted to go get my ipod Saturday. Less time to back out of plans is best for me, because I will find any excuse not to do the thing I really wanted to do, if you give me 24 hours.

Saturday morning we head to Circuit City, hoping there will be a good going-out-of-business sale.

There must have been, because this location is already closed. Grr.

So we head to Best Buy. We find the ipod display and compare. I've already compared prices because my purchasing pleasure will be seriously impacted if I find a better price later. But Apple rules the world, so the prices are all the same everywhere. Should have bought it during the Xmas sales. The helpful sales associate asks if we need anything, and I tell her I'm just deciding which one to get.

Is it wrong to base your electronics choice on the color selection available? Surely not.

So she proceeds to hand us a sheet of paper explaining the warranty they have available, for $15.99, that covers everything but theft. Apparently, Apple's genius plan of world domination involves not selling replacement batteries. You have to buy a new ipod. Great. I'm about to spend $160 on something you can't pop a new battery into--like every other electronic device on the planet. Starting to lose that buying high. She leaves, and I decide.

Enter second helpful associate. He spends the entire time he's unlocking/relocking the case telling me to get the warranty because Apple's customer service is crap and they never answer the phone, and his conked out after a year. Great. So I'm basically doomed to spend $160 every year on continually dying ipods. This isn't sounding so great. And don't I want anything else? No case? Nothing? Just this $160 piece of crap? Ok...

The ipods have to be delivered by a sales associate to the checkout, but a manager person makes our associate wait until another customer has made their decision so he can deliver their ipod to the checkout with ours. Finally, our guy says he'll return for theirs and delivers ours to Customer Service, but not after a shouted discussion all the way from the ipod case to the CS desk about 'Why can't I just take this to a register? It HAS to be Customer Service? Why?' as he's walking backward to the desk. He goes to leave us, but the Customer Service lady is wrapped up in a return by one of the surviving members of Lynyrd Skynyrd, judging by appearances, and sends him to the checkout. Grrrrrrr.

Oh, lord. I want out. I'm done, I don't need it this badly, I'm ready to bolt. If Wayne hadn't been with me, and I could have lied about where I'd been, I would have walked.

We get to the checkout and there are 5 people in line with two cashiers. They open more registers, but the lady with our ipod gets moved to a new register. It won't accept her log-in, so we wait some more. Finally, she rings it up. Again, we get the spiel about what a piece of junk this is, the key will start sticking, the battery will die, so I'd better buy that warranty. NONONONO. Just give me the damn phone. And, yes, please put the four-inch square box into a tiny plastic bag. Aarrgh.

We get home and I have a peaceful twelve-hour lull because it has to charge and I have to go to work.

Today I am all fired up to work on this thing. After my breakfast of champions, I hunker down to the computer. Four hours later, I have an iTunes account with 'A Prairie Home Companion' on my account. But not on the ipod. Instead I have an album by someone I've never heard of in a style I don't like. So I'm listening to PHC on my computer and the ipod is in the floor, and FatCat is scrabbling around with the earbuds. Hence the most expensive cat toy ever.

I will spare you the gory details of downloading iTunes, finding podcasts, swearing about how much music costs, trying to download audio books from my local library's site, and the emotional eating I've done (that's why it took four hours, those brownies aren't gonna bake themselves).

Poor Wayne. I've texted and called him AT WORK about this damn thing. I feel too stupid to call anyone who actually knows how to work these things.

I know how it will go: "Oh, it's so easy, just doubleclickdragexpandeditclickaccept. Then go to Gobbledygook, click on Computerese, drag down the Whatchacally Box, and wait until it's combustionized (that always takes a while), and you've got it! Just repeat all that for each and every thing you want on the ipod. It's so easy! My four-year-old niece did it last week, so of course you can. No really, you can. Ok, stop crying...Uh, got another call, gotta go!"

The high point of my day was making "I hate my ipod" the answer to my security question on my iTunes account. Which will probably send the Apple SWAT team to my house to reprimand me and take away my ipod. Which would be fine at this point. My cats have plenty of toys.

Ice Storm

2009-01-27T14:26:00.003-06:00

Ok, so I said that my next post was going to be about reading aloud, but weather intervened. We're in the middle of an ice storm here in NE OK. Not as bad as last year's, yet. As I was madly rushing around yesterday, I thought of a list of things to prepare for/with/against.

First of all, watch the news. At least listen to the weather channel while you're cooking breakfast or check the Yahoo extended forecast. I had NO IDEA there was bad weather on the way until my mother mentioned it on the phone. Ice storm? Whaaaa...That was Sunday evening. So I only had Monday morning to prepare.

Second, stock up. Monday is my grocery shopping day anyway, so this wasn't too much of a stretch. We actually could have gone without shopping this week, with the state of our stockpile. However, last year power was out for WEEKS. I wanted to stock up on some fresh milk and produce to get us through. (Plus, I found a great deal on Embrace razors to use my coupons on, so it all worked out.) I also grabbed a couple of things that would be easy to prepare with no stove/oven, as ours is electric. Hot dogs, granola bars, lunchmeat for sandwiches.

If you don't have a stockpile of canned goods, bottled water, and toilet paper, I suggest you start one. There's a great thread over at afullcup.com that has pictures, too. Having non-edible supplies like lamp oil and ice melt will help you avoid the long lines and scarcity that occurs when people are running around the day before the storm.

Third, do any errands that electricity effects. For me, this is pretty much all of them. I limited myself to the WM trip and the dry cleaners, as the ice was starting to fall during my drive. My workplace never lost power last time, so I still had to be clean and presentable and in uniform, even though we had no light, heat, or clean clothes. The dry cleaners holding my clothes hostage was one of the last places to get power restored. Learned my lesson there. We filled up both vehicles to the brim with gas in case the gas stations lost power. Make sure your prescriptions are filled and your first aid kit is stocked. You'll be stressed enough without your blood pressure meds and band-aids. Make sure you have plenty of cash on hand. Last ice storm, the drug store opened without power, but they were accepting cash only.

Fourth, do any chores that electricity would make impossible or onerous. I washed every stitch of clothing in the house. Every bath towel, sheet, and sock was washed, dried, and put away. Now we have at least a week's worth of clean EVERYTHING. I ran the dishwasher twice, so that every cup, bowl, and fork would be clean and ready. Run the vacuum, clean out the fridge, organize. Make areas safe to bump around in the dark with a flashlight. Put things where they normally go so that you can find them even with no light. Make sure all cell phones are fully charged.

Fifth, put all your emergency supplies in an easily found, safe place. I gathered all my candles, flashlights, extra batteries, and lanterns on the coffee table. There is plenty of natural light in the living room in the day, and the coffee table is still easy to access in the dark. All of these things are normally in drawers or in the back of closets, scattered in different places around the house. I gathered all the extra blankets and throws from the back rooms and put them on the couch.

Sixth, find something to do while the power is out. Gather up your board games and decks of cards. String a white sheet to make shadow puppets. Get out your musical instruments. If you're without power for any length of time, stuck in a cold house surrouded by dangerous roads, you'll want some entertainment.

And, finally, and ice storm is a great way to start reading aloud by the lamplight. Ta-DAH!

More money saving tips from the Queen! Or, for our Oklahoma readers, Read Y'All!

2009-01-21T11:48:00.006-06:00

You know, Nettie, that Wayne and I have been trying this whole frugality, plan-your-money thing for about two years now. I'm a member at Debt Proof Living, and I read Get Rich Slowly and I Will Teach You To Be Rich about every day. I also love Wise Bread for sheer volume of tips. I was reading some blog the other day (love the segue from super-specific to very vague?) and it mentioned that one of the things they do for cheap entertainment is read aloud.

Well, duh. Doesn't everyone?

I guess that's a no. Wayne and I have been reading books aloud for a while now. I know the starting point was going to see the first Narnia movie. On the way home, I was trying to express my mixture of feelings to Wayne; basically I liked it, but I was really upset about the whole fox character (not in the book!), even though I love Rupert Everett. In an effort to explain, I whipped out the boxed set I've had since I was about eight, and read the particular passage. No fox.

After that, I decided we should just read the whole thing to really see where the movie people did good, and where they deviated from the text, which is a huge no-no with me. We ended up reading the entire series.

Then we moved on to Harry Potter, which was such a huge success that I once read a segment aloud into the cell phone propped on my chest. Wayne was out of town, and couldn't wait to find out what happened next. He's a dedicated listener. (Which is the arrangement we have--I read, he listens, we both comment.) If it wasn't such a stalky-fan thing to do, I would write J.K. Rowling a letter about how she inspired my no-reading husband to plow through a book once. It was Deathly Hallows, and he couldn't wait for our appointed reading time (bedtime) to move on. I took a picture.

How is buying all these books to read aloud frugal?

1) Well, we didn't buy most of them. Like the Narnia books, I already owned a lot of the books we read. My parents were big on books, and read to us every night. My brother only likes Hank the Cowdog and certain civil war books. I loved girl books--Laura Ingalls Wilder, Anne of Green Gables, etc. We always got a book or book set at Xmas and birthdays. So I'm well-stocked.

2) The public library. There are umpety-teen library branches here in our fair city. Our library website is great--you can order a book from any branch and it will be delivered to the branch of your choice within days. I usually choose the one closest to my house and the one closest to my job. The request feature is my favorite. I read about a new book online, hear about it from a friend, etc., go online to the website, request it under my name, and voila! It will appear on my branch's holdshelf.If someone else has already requested it, the site will show what number I am in line. (Currently I'm 10 of 16 for the waiter rant book, but that saves me $15 on a new hardback that I'll probably only read once anyway.)

I've always got some books on hold, some on request, and some waiting for pickup. Every time I go into the library, I can drop off my old books and head straight for the holdshelf. I grab my holds, step over to the automated checkout, and be done in a few minutes. I still spend my time browsing, but I can cut down on errand-running time this way.

3) Paperbackswap.com. Love this site! I can post the books I don't want anymore (even hardbacks or audiobooks), and trade them for new-to-me books. All I have to pay for is postage (and I'm sneaky like that and ask for postage for gifts), which averages out to about $2 per book. There's about a two-week turnaround, but it's worth it to fill out a series or get books for gifts. I've gotten some brand-new books this way. If you're ordering for a gift, there's a nifty little message box where you can contact the sender and make requests, like "good condition for a gift" or "no smoking/pethair/dogears", whatever you're allergic to.

And for those of you who are squeamish about gifting a 'used' book--haven't you ever 'browsed' a book at Barnes & Noble before? Or read the whole dang thing right there in those comfy armchairs? You're not likely to get a virgin book that has never been read. And really? Like you can tell. And does a book lose any of its charm for having been read once?

4) Gifts. My family is a big fan of practical gifts. And yes, we include books in that category. (Honestly, I've read my copy of Anne of Green Gables way more times than I ever used my practical black rain boots.) This is our gift-giving mantra

Something you want, something you need, something to wear, something to read.

5) Used book stores. My local used book store accepts your old books for cash or credit. So I can walk in with a bunch of old books and out with a bunch of new-to-me books. And I'm supporting local business.

So now you know how to get the books. Next time, boys and girls, we'll talk about how to actually get to the reading part.

Cooties

2009-01-18T21:34:00.007-06:00

Yeah, I'm sick. I have a semi-cold. Not really bad, just annoying. Actually, I'm pretty good at being sick, as it entails lots of lying around, reading, drinking lots of fluids, and sleeping. All my normal hobbies, only now I don't sound so lazy.

So the only thing I'm pissed about is that it's my day off. What a waste! When I could have called in sick to work and had an extra guilt-free day off. Damn.

And I was so going to my parents' house today. Not really to see them, or my annoying brother, but his decidedly wonderful offspring, my only nephew. Who is the cutest, funniest, smartest, most amazing 5-year-old on the planet, and couldn't be any more perfect if I grew him my ownself.

Some of his favorite things, in no particular order:

--Playing hide and seek (during which he hides, then hollers, 'OK, come find me now!' and giggles maniacally at his genius hiding spot, usually under my parents' bed)

--catching grasshoppers to keep in a plastic habitat, let them go, then catch them again (obviously we wouldn't be doing this one today, as it is fahreakin' cold)

--my parents' cat, named technically Spider. (When we first got him, he was so teensy tiny and his little black hairs stood up all over his back and...actually, I think my mom had a dream that she named him Spider, so we did. Our one brush with the New Age. He has been called Panther since my brother and I taught him to jump up and cling to our outstretched arms with HIS outstretched claws. Super cute when he was a teensy ball of fluff, not so funny when he reach 10 lbs. He got so good at it, he would spring up at you any time you reached your arm out, like in the middle of the night, reaching for the faucet to get a glass of water. Panther screams supposedly sound like a woman, and they can attack people, so it all ties together, see? Oh, and he's solid black and a minion of Satan. So, Panther is appropriate.)

Why does my nephew love him so? I really have no idea.

--Dr. Pepper. Because my mother has yet to beat her fifteen year addiction to the stuff (for the previous ten years it was Cherry Coke), and can always be seen can in hand. She has even allowed him to have a donut and Dr. Pepper for breakfast. Which drives my brother crazy, and makes me worry about orthodontia.

--Yogurt. Again, with my mom. She has nothing on that couple in the commercial about all the different flavors of yogurt. Except that hers aren't lined up neatly, but squirreled away amongst the cow vaccinations, Diet Mountain Dew (my dad's vice--see how I come from a long line of addicts?) mysterious things in knockoff Tupperware, and the occasional baggie of thawing calf fries.

--Deer Hunter, a computer game where you...well, hunt deer. Last time I was home, he even postponed his usual lavish shrieking welcome to finish 'gettin this deer'. Sniff.

--Play-Doh. Which his amazing Aunt Queen bought him gigantic quantites of for his birthday (and his father displayed amazing paternal savvy at hiding half of before little guy noticed they were gone). His mother had to buy another supply for Xmas, only two weeks after his birthday. He has created some surprising original works, such as the pile of 'yellow coyote poop' on my mother's kitchen table. Genius use of color and texture.

--Me. I am the bestest aunt ever, as I will play hide and seek and white trash gymnastics* forever. (I have sometimes taken TWO naps on an 8-hour visit. If we could harness five-year-old energy, we wouldn't need Boone Pickens' windmills.) Some of the most heartwrenching phone calls I've ever had were his little voice piping over the line "Are you comin to Grandma's right now?" when I'm on my way to work. Or the forty-seven phone calls I get in the hour-long drive to Grandma's--"Are you here yet?" And seeing his little face pressed up against the screen door when I do arrive, and hearing "She's here, she's here!" (No male has ever been that excited about my arrival. EVER.)

*Somersaults on the bed until Grandpa makes us stop ('cause it's his bed), somersaults in the kitchen floor, holding his hands and letting him 'walk' up my body until he reached my stomach and he's in a little ball, then flipping him over until his arms nearly wrench out of his sockets. Safety first!

So you can see why I'm pretty bummed, and have spent the last three hours reading other people's blogs. Then I realized that I haven't nattered along on mine for a while. And, embarrassingly enough, MY blog isn't even saved to MY favorites. Hm. Sad.

Spaceballs litter box

2009-01-02T12:22:00.003-06:00

Yay! New poo box!

Which actually isn't a box. It's a black plastic sphere on a black plastic base that looks a LOT like the stormtrooper costumes in Spaceballs. Only black. 'Cause a beige litter box? Meh.

So Christmas morning actually came to my house on New Year's Day. I went running into the laundry room in my pajamas to see if Santa had left a little present in the litter.

YEEESSSS! The cats get it! One of them used it! I get to push the button that makes it go all the way around and sift out the poo and drop it through the waste ports into the nifty little drawer underneath! Oooooh. Aaaaah. And I squatted there on the coldcold floor and watched the. Entire. Cycle. Did I mention that I had a pounding headache from the night before and had to hold myself up by leaning on the shelf above the poo box? Yeah.

Wayne was not so excited as I was, and managed to describe my childish delight in the worst possible terms. He'll be excited when he has to clean the damn thing. He will be. (Shaking my fist menacingly.)

And I am the best wife ever because my husband is snowboarding down a mountain in Colorado as I type. One of my coworkers mentioned that he really wanted to go snowboarding this weekend, but he didn't want to go by himself. So I had Wayne call him, I ordered plane tickets and a rental car, drove them to the airport in the middle of the night, and he better damn well have a good time.

Isn't it amazing how guys can do that? Wayne's met the guy before, he's not a complete stranger, but he doesn't hesitate to jump on a plane with this person and crash at his buddy's house for a few days. And spend four days completely together. Just to go snowboarding. Which is my idea of a horrible time, sliding around in snow on a freezing cold day with hundreds of other idiots all bent on doing the same insane thing...which is why I'm curled up a home with hot chocolate.

You are my sunshine...

2008-12-27T15:52:00.004-06:00

I realized today that you can substitute 'butthole' for 'sunshine' in the song, and you've got a whole new tune! Especially when I tell you that 'butthole' has been my new term of endearment for the cats lately.

Yeah, it's been that exciting around here.

Christmas went fine. We both went to my parents on Xmas Eve, then had Wayne's fam over for Xmas Day. Wayne has his bigass tv taking up 3/4 of the living room, and I have my robot litter box on the way!!

A robot litter box? Yep, Nettie, I'm getting me a fancy poo machine. It looks like something from the Death Star. The cats go in and and do their thang, then it waits a few minutes, and BANG. Vaporizes the poo!

Kidding. Actually, it rotates completely around and sifts out the business and deposits it in a drawer for 'easy removal'. We used Wayne's Xmas bonus for this marvel, mainly because he's the Head of Poo Removal at our house. I'm in charge of Quality Control, which means I nag him into cleaning the boxes when the smell gets to me.

And I got a new phone today. Mainly because I dropped the old one and it came completely apart. In a bad way, not a snap-the-battery-back-on way. Like wires dangling. And then I snapped the dangly wires trying to put it back together. So off we go to the Sprint store. I tell the nice lady I don't care what the phone does as long as it's free. So I have a shiny red phone. Squeeee!

So then Wayne decides he needs a new phone, and uses his other bonus to get himself a shiny red phone (copier!) that has a pullout QWERTY keyboard and all that jazz. Whatev. I was mostly excited that they were playing the "Mama Mia!" DVD behind the checkout so I got entertained during all the boring hookup stuff. Gold star to Sprint for giving me what I really want--Meryl Streep in a bell-bottomed jump suit!

So, yeah, I'm way more excited about a fancy litter box than I am about my new phone.

"Please don't take my butthole away....."

Fictional Characters You Would Have Sex With, If They Were Real

2008-12-18T12:11:00.006-06:00

OOH, Nettie, I forgot to mention the latest water-cooler talk. Actually, there's no water cooler involved, just Statia and I in one of our marathon phone calls. Here's the rules--they can be in print or on screen, any time past or present (or future).

Me
1. Harry Potter
Obviously, the grownup 'Half-Blood Prince' Harry, not little tiny 'Sorcerer's Stone' Harry. Remember, 17 is legal in the wizarding world!! Hehhehheh.

2. Oliver Wood
As I explained to Wayne when he pooh-poohed my choice; he's seventeen, a wizard, quidditch team captain and has an Irish accent!! Not a bad-looking bloke, either.

3. Sirius Black
Can you tell we've been watching the HP movies lately? After all that teenage sex, a man would be a nice change. A man who's a wizard, handsome, and rich. And the fact that he's been in prison for over a decade means he's probably got some pent up....emotion.

4. Mr. Darcy
Not Colin Firth (although that swimming scene in the movie might put him on another list), but actually Mr. Darcy. You know once you loosen that cravat, anything could happen.

5. Jamie, from the Outlander series. Again with the accent, only this time with a kilt. And muscles. And a good bit of fight in him, too. Hey, he's gotta have somebody to do while Claire's in another century for all those years.

6. Charlie Weasley. Long red hair, earring, leather jacket, dragon expert. What's not to love?

Statia

1. Wanderer, from Lord of the Rings. Although there has been some disagreement about the real name of Viggo Mortenson's character, it's my blog. So we'll say Wanderer.

2. Legolas. 'Cause if you're gonna have an elf, make sure it's a warrior elf. (Elven sex, or elvish sex? You decide.)

3. Edward, from the Twilight series. Seventeen, but with the wisdom (and experience) of centuries, handsome, rich, and a vampire who can't have sex with you because he could possibly kill you with the force of his...emotions. Swoon!

4. Fred or George Weasley. (Not Fred and George Weasley, as I originally assumed. Don't they do everything together? .)

Honorable mentions:

Male boss: Cheetara. "And I would totally misuse that sword, too."
Male coworker: Mystique and Storm. "Mystique could be anybody you wanted her to be." Excellent point.
Female coworker: Matthew McConaghey's character in "A Time to Kill". McConaghey himself is a little too dirty and crunchy granola, but his intense lawyer character was very sexy. Didn't hurt that he was constantly shirtless and sweaty, remodeling his house.
Excellent grasp of the fine point of the discussion, I think.

Feel free to comment.

Hiya, old buddy!

2008-12-18T11:37:00.002-06:00

Ok, so I haven't visited with you in a while. Ok, a loooong while. Sorry, Nettie! Let's just take up where we left off, and forget about those nasty recriminations. Mmkay?

So today started off with a bang. Actually a prolonged gagging, horking, and a splash. Not me, Nettie, I'm fine! Fat cat decided to hoover up her special treat of 'salmon filet in sauce' (What a delightful name. I'm guessing 'salmon organs 'n offal' didn't have the same delicious ring.) ,while I was enjoying my own delightful breakfast of Frosted Flakes (the real thing, Nettie, not a knockoff--love those coupons).

I'm just debating a second bowl when I hear it. The whistling of an immanent tornado, the squeal of a braking car, the wail of a siren--none of these things can make me cringe more than gagging. I promptly put my hands over my ears, but guilt made me glance over to check that she's not dying. Damn you, guilt, add my morning to a list of things you've ruined!

That nanosecond was the exact moment the half-digested salmon came spewing forth.

Linda Blair has nothing on my cat.

Let me remind you that I have a finely tuned gag reflex. The Stradivarius of gag reflexes. It takes the merest whisper of discomfort to give me my own matching discomfort.

**Amusing sidenote--well, it's amusing now, some twelve years later. My college roommate and I lived on the 11th floor of the dorm. She and another friend, both aware of my touchy stomach, trapped me on the elevator and made gagging noises for ELEVEN floors. In a Cold War-era elevator, which equates to probably three hours of downward travel. I was so incapacitated with nausea that upon the doors opening, I staggered outside and collapsed on a convenient shrubbery. I never recovered. Well, about dinnertime I did. Slightly. **

Back to the present. I must have bellowed something unsympathetic after the first rush, because fatty turned her back to me and continued to heave on another, heretofore unsullied, patch of carpet. Cream carpet. By this point, 'earmuffs' still firmly attached, I am whimpering like a toddler, intermittantly hollering NONONONONO. Deluge finished, she skitters off. I cautiously lower my hands. In an effort to collect myself before the inevitable cleanup, I focus on my bowl of milk-sodden cereal flakes. Remember, my tummy is full of sodden flakes, consumed prior to the fracas.

I realize that the remains in the bowl bear a disconcerting resemblance to the remains on the carpet.

Deep breath. Hold. Hold. Think happy thoughts. More vomit to clean up is NOT A HAPPY THOUGHT. It's ok. Rubber gloves. Paper towels. Carpet cleaner. You can fly you can fly you can fly.

Do you ever think, "This is NOT why I went to college"? I don't know what bearing that has on my cleaning chore, but it popped into my mind. As if a college degree bars you from unpleasant cleanup. "Sorry, honey, you're going to have to clean up Junior's diaper blowout. See that diploma?" That would be an awesome marketing campaign, if they could actually make it true. On second thought, a LOT of the things they say about college doesn't necessarily happen. Like "you'll get a good job immediately after graduation" and "student loan payments are small".

As soon as I tackle the salmon filets in sauce, I'll get right on that marketing campaign.

when in rome...

2008-09-10T14:25:00.005-05:00

Nettie, as you know, Wayne and I have been trying to be more money-concious the past year or so. We have our money envelopes, our retirement funds, and we'll soon have insurance through his new job. Just when I got all the money figured out, along comes Murphy.

Although this time we seem to have gotten Murphy's successful cousin. Or maybe Mrs. Murphy. Wayne's college is sponsoring a trip to Rome in 2010 (which sounds so science-fictiony--oooh, flying cars and living on the moon!). They are actually going to Greece on a ten-day cruise next summer, but ain't no way we can get the money together that quickly. Which would be really cool because we would fly out the day before my 30th birthday, which means I could conceiveably be on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean for my big 3-0. Dammit.

Anyway--ROME! And Florence and Venice, oh my! Museums and cathedrals and guided tours amongst people who don't speak English! I know that might sound like hell on earth to some people, but it's my vision of a rewarding afterlife. The best part is that Wayne can get college credit for the tours, etc. (Tuition is included, as is airfare, hotels, and most meals.) That nine hours of credit would actually work out to be the last nine hours he needs, as he is scheduled to graduate in May of 2010. He could do the whole graduation thing, then we could fly off to Rome, where we would celebrate his degree and my birthday....My birthday in Rome, holy crap!

So now we have to figure out how to pay for all of this. I could work more... Nah. I don't want to kill myself slowly for the next 18 months to enjoy myself for 10 days. That would be way too much pressure on the trip. I would be walking along some plaza and be thinking 'For this I worked all those extra shifts?!?'. Nope.

Just gonna squeeze a penny til it screams. (Not pinch, because that seems like harassment. Just a loving bear hug-like squeeze.) So here's the plan:

1) Statia and I were already planning a garage sale at the end of September, so those funds will go toward Rome.

2) I just received the check for consigning my wedding dress (a whopping $30!).

3) The savings bonds my Mema bought for me in 1979 and 1987. The '79 ones will be fully mature next July (like me, hopefully :), and all together will be ~$600. As we have to make payments in $500 increments to the tour company, that will be just dandy. Plus, my Mema would have loved to go to Rome.

4) Selling my used books at the bookstore instead of trading them for credit. My favorite local bookstore offers a 25% credit for trading in books, or 10% cash. I've always taken the credit, and now I have the highest credit of all her customers. Hm. Maybe it's time to winnow down the bookshelves and make some cash.

5) And I'm spent. Now for the edge-of-reason ideas like selling plasma or hocking my class ring. (It was really cool in 1995, but now notsomuch. Faux emerald and cubic zirconia, anyone?) Any ideas?

I've thought about selling our aluminum cans for cash, but the nearest pay-to-recycle place is all the way across the city, and our tiny amount of cans wouldn't justify the gas out there. Besides the above ideas, I've thought about selling some of my vintage clothes/accessories on Etsy. I even have a stamp collection from my childhood that I've been ripping apart to trade books on Paperbackswap. Hm, sell my stamp collection AND the books instead of mailing them out....

If anyone has anything to add, please let me know. I'll even consider medical testing at this point. I'm going to Rome!!

Whoa, Nettie!

2008-08-19T05:33:00.000-05:00

It's been weeks, girl! I would love to say that it's because my life is this crazy social whirl and I'm too busy to post...but my life is too quiet even for a blog. Except that I might have to kill Wayne.

Does it ever make you homicidal when your husband/roommate/significant other swears they cleaned 'the whole house' and they LIE?!? I realize that most people have more to complain about but it really pisses me off when someone says they did every last thing and um, you didn't? First off, it's real risky to be telling someone with OCD tendencies that you did 'everything'. We're gonna find *something*. Second of all, just say you 'cleaned house'. Don't leave crumbs all over the back of the sink and the mirrors dirty. (Because? Seriously? I can still see the toothpaste splashes all over the damn thing!)

I think my husband has selective sight. He doesn't SEE the floor around the toilet, therefore he doesn't have to clean it. Last week we actually. cleaned. the. bathroom. together. (I know!!) He still managed to 'mop the floor' without actually moving the wastebasket or getting around the toilet. I went off the gather more cleaning supplies and I came back to a wet floor, so I just assumed, ya know. An hour later, I saw the band-aid wrappers and dust bunnies behind the wastebasket and behind the toilet. Which are two areas that I personally feel need as much disenfecting as possible.

So now when dear hubby tells me he 'cleaned the whole house' I have to steel myself to notice the good and skip over the bad. 'Cause he's kind of like a little kid, really. You talk about his great use of color and his imagination, not that his crayon portrait of grandma really looks more like the Saggy Baggy elephant. And I have to lie to myself that it's not so bad, millions of women would love their S.O. to clean at all. Because if you can't lie to yourself, Nettie, who can you lie to?

Little House in the Ghetto

2008-07-15T12:32:00.001-05:00

I don't know if I've told you before, Nettie, but we live in da ghetto. Not the Guh-het-to with drivebys and hookers, but we're one block over. We are the last bastion of flowerbeds and painted trim before you get to the boarded up windows and bulletholes. I was reading the front page of the paper (calm down, Nettie, it was AFTER I read the comics), and there's a nifty little map with a pretty red dot right on top of our house (is a veryveryvery fine house [although if the two cats are in the yard, I'm in deep shit with Wayne]).

Upon further inspection, it's a story about crime hotspots!!!! What the f....? Apparently our very fine house is smack in the middle of some very fine crime. There have been 19 murders in our neighborhood in the past nine years. Although-- that's only two a year. Hm. Still not good odds. The story went on to say that crime is going down in these hotspots due to increased police presence and neighborhood involvement. What's a poor Queen to do? Since I'm not a policewoman (gunbelts make me look hippy), that leaves neighborhood involvement.

Sigh.

This is the girl who refuses to answer the doorbell or meet my neighbors. Wayne borrows tools, takes turns mowing our neighbor's lawn, and knows how much everyone in the area paid for their house. I scurry into the garage when I see someone walking down the street. I don't really do social. I have this habit of just saying whatever's on my mind? And people don't like that? So how do I combat the encroaching ghetto without going all Jodie Foster on the gangsters?

I go all Laura Ingalls on their asses!!

I am the proud new owner of a clothesline. (Take that, and that, and that, you murderers!) I went to Lowe's and bought myself a purty new clothesline and started using it. Yes, there are dishtowels, socks, jeans, and Wayne's unfortunately checkered work pants dangling in the breeze.

And is it in my backyard? Hell, NO! It is attached just to the left of the garage door, from the wall to a tree on the property line. No posts, no digging, just a retractable housing box in tasteful ivory plastic.

When the first load of laundry was done, I put on my grandmother's pink apron, filled the pockets with clothespins, and hefted the laundry tub out into the front yard. After I hung the clothes, I grabbed my bright yellow broom and swept the front porch and driveway. Just you think about driving your ghetto wagon in my neighborhood, Mister! I'm bringing thrifty back!

I have tomatoes ripening on the windowsill, pumpkin vines growing up my house, and clothes on the line. Now all I need is Pa digging a well and we are so set.

Registered to vote

2008-07-15T09:50:00.000-05:00

Well, actually, re-registered. I never *actually* exercised the right after that first time. Guess it didn't take. Nettie, you know that I'm normally not very political. I believe that by the time someone actually makes it to a high level of public office, they no longer have any opinions or ideals of their own, just a carefully amalgamated checklist of hot-button issues.

However. Being firmly childless by choice and pro-choice, I wanted to at least be informed about what I was choosing NOT to do. I went to barackobama.com and johnmccain.com to see how the front runners are pandering. I was appalled to find out that John McCain wants to REPEAL ROE V. WADE and FILL THE CABINET WITH JUSTICES THAT WILL SUPPORT PRO-LIFE. Oh, my dear Whatever Above.

He wants to tell millions of American women that they cannot chose what to do with their bodies? He wants to look me in the eye and tell me that because my birth control failed, my health is not stable, my relationship is not stable, my life cannot handle raising a child, my family is already complete, I don't want children--too bad, you don't get to chose what is best for you, the biological contributor, the other people in your life, and that unborn possibility. Because he adopted a child from an Indian orphanage, I should have to carry an unwanted child to term and then give it up to someone else. Last time I checked, there are already hundreds of thousands of unwanted children in this country. Not counting the million of unwanted children around the world.

Also last time I checked, there were SIX BILLION people on the planet. We are NOT an endangered species. When there are SIX BILLION red pandas, SIX BILLION white rhinos, when there are SIX BILLION snow leopards, when every single person on this earth has enough to eat, a place to live, and someone to care for them....well, I *still* don't want to raise a child.

And NO ONE can make me. This country was founded on the notion of religious freedom (admittedly, by a bunch of people who wanted to be free to make other people worship their way, not t'other way round), including freedom FROM religion. We are free from having other people's judgements forced upon us.

Well, we are right now. But that freedom will be taken away if John McCain becomes President.

Whew, Nettie. That soapbox just attacked out of nowhere! I was online for a LOOOONG time yesterday, but I found this amazing website at imnotsorry.net. It's stories from women who've had abortions and are not sorry. They didn't see it as murder, they saw it as the CHOICE it was meant to be. They wrote about their reasons, and how their life (and the lives of their families) were bettered by the decision not to have a baby. Beautiful, powerful stuff.

It got me all riled up about how someone can tell me that I can't. I am happily childfree, and will do everything I can to stay that way. My Webster's defines cancer as "A malignant neoplasm" and neoplasm as "An abnormal growth of tissue". To me, an unwanted pregnancy is exactly the same as a cancer, a tumor. It is a growth of cells that cannot survive on its own that has the possibility of killing me if it's not removed. (I'm not being melodramatic about the 'killing' part either--women still die of complications of pregnancy and childbirth.)

I have applied to Rock the Vote to get a button on this blog so that you too, dear reader, can get yerself all registered up. If I haven't figured out the technicalities yet, just hi yourself on over to rockthevote.com. It's supersimple, as the internet gods always intended life to be. You can just fill out the form, print it, and mail it in. Apparently they send you some nifty membership card that gets you into the finest high school gymnasiums and VFW halls in your state on election day. Oh, and you get to decide who's running the entire nation. How cool is that?

Well, bless my heart

2008-06-20T10:25:00.000-05:00

Got my sew on at 2 a.m. yesterday. I seriously just went to the sewing room (yes, I have an entire room full of crap to tinker with, jealous?) to make sure the iron was off before I went to bed. I had sorted through all my scrap fabric and resolutely placed all but the vintage stuff in the yard sale box. (I know, Nettie, but I've seen the error of my ways.) I noticed that some of the 'scraps' were actually yardage, and that's not really 'scraps' if you can make a whole something out of it, right? Then I remembered a coworker who volunteers at a children's shelter had requested anything we could give, as the shelter was over capacity and short on supplies.

As I am a HUGE fan of instant gratification and problem-solving, I started a new project at 12:30 a.m. (Disclaimer: I work evenings. I usually get home about 11 p.m., so 2 a.m. is when I try to go to bed...so not as insane as if I had to work at 8 a.m. Point is, the sewing machine sucked me back in when I was just trying to put safety first. Damn your evil mindgames, Brother XL-3010!!!)

I dragged all the fabric out and started matching sizes and colors. I even washed the fabric, cause who knows how long it's been in that cardboard box in the closet? Some of the scraps were from my mother's maternity clothes.

Yes, hoarding runs in the family.

So I've got fabric lengths washing, drying, and spread all over the room. Wayne is fast asleep, and blissfully unaware of the crazed actions being carried out just across the house (read that in a TV crime-docudrama announcer voice. Did I mention that I'm awake late at night and TV is CRAP then? Oh, you inferred. You're a smart cookie, Nettie.)

Out of all the chaos, I manage five blanket and pillow sets. Yeah, I matched fabrics and filled bobbins with all those weird-colored spools of thread that were filling up a drawer (honestly, sea foam? What godawful outfit did I use this for originally?) and sewed for two wee hours. I was actually SWEATING, I was so into this. Normally, the queen does not sweat, and will avoid any activity that is rumored to make oneself do so. But it's for the CHILLENS! Actually, I only finished three blankets and two pillows, but I have the others all sorted and pinned and ready to go.

It was so fun! I had three different floweredy fabrics that I matched all up, some scraps left from making curtains for Wayne's Simpsons themed-room, even an embroidered cowgirl wallhanging from my childhood that I repurposed. I swear my scrapbag was cosmically connected to the great Craft Goddess, because I just kept pulling out fabrics I could actually use. There was some red corduroy I have never seen before in my life, but it was perfect for the pillows. (Having spent lots of time around children, I know the importance of texture in a lovey/blankie/binky. At least one surface needs to be nubby/satiny/velvety for maximum comfort. It's just the way the world works.)

I even found a use for the red fabric with stripes of hearts, cats, and sheep. Total countrykitschcrap that I would never have in my house if it weren't for the immunity of the scrapbag (article 54, subsection G, paragraph 2: Any fabric that wouldn't normally be allowed in the house is allowed in the scrapbag. No matter the heinousness of the pattern, the unpleasantness of the texture, the stains, the rips, the tiny size, any and all fabrics are allowed because you might need it some day. )

And the reason I had yards of this stuff? Because my mother lovingly sewed it into a pinafore dress for my first grade Christmas pageant. Yes, over twenty years ago she got a great deal on YARDS and yards of this fabric, and made me a dress out of it to wear with white tights and saddle oxfords. I think she actually had more left over than she used in the dress.

Reason I remember it so well? I was picked to be one of the narrators, and the others were SECOND GRADERS. It was a high honor for a first grader to be chosen and I was the only one. Bwwwahahahahaha! Let's just say Queenie here has never had a problem with the talkin.

Back to point: I finally went to bed at some ungodly single digit hour, and woke up with a crick in my neck from hunching over the sewing machine. (Luckily, I know how to alter patterns so that I can make housedresses to fit my old lady hump I'll have from all the bad crafting posture.) So I prompty retired to the couch, where I did the handsewing, tacking, and pillow-stuffing while watching my fa-vor-ite show, A Haunting. Nothing like having the bejeesus scared out of you while surrounded by pins, needles, and scissors.

Now I have to get off the computer and finish the other three before Saturday when I have to turn them over to her.

I promise to have pictures as soon as I find that damn cord!

I didn't forget

2008-06-13T12:11:00.001-05:00

I crafted yesterday! Two days ago I went through all my sewing/crafting/world domination supplies and sorted. Note that I didn't say that I got rid of any, I just took stock. Instead of buying any more supplies, I actually (brace yourself, Nettie) used the supplies on their intended project. I know! Wow. I'm about to go back to the fainting couch, but I had to let you know.

I did buy beads. My name is Queen and I'm a craft-aholic. Also a clearance-aholic, because they were packages of beyootiful beads for only one dolla. I wouldn't lie to you, Nettie. So I brought those poor unwanted beads home and made a purty necklace, as I'm sure the crafting gods intended. I actually had all the supplies I needed for the necklace! I'm gonna have to do this sorting thingy more often. And I found some earring backings (findings?) so that I could finally turn these tiny vintage brooches into earrings. Since I'd already backslid with the beads, I didn't go buy actually wire pliers, but rooted around in Wayne's toolbox and found some rusty wire cutter. A word of advice--if you're going to use the improper tool, use it in a safe way. I found that the wire cutters worked wonderfully, except that they sent the shredded brooch backings pinging all over the living room from the force. Solution? Turn the damn brooches over so that the backings you are removing merely embed themselves in the coffee table instead of scattering craft shrapnel all over the room. That's the lesson for today, boys and girls!

Jeepers, Batman, I made a blog!

2008-06-08T10:44:00.002-05:00

I've spent the last two days bloggity-blog-blog-blogging. That's what I call the random clicking from link to link, from blog to blog, until you've gone so far that you can't get back to the original article/blog/video/whatever the reason you got on the web in the first place. After two days of reading blogs--and I mean TWO days, I had to make myself get up and do other things like shower and eat--I thought, I can do this! This will be fun! And with the price of postage going up, I can still contact my friends with all the witty quotes and crazy stories they've come to love (or at least not marked 'Return to sender').
At first I was skeptical. Who wants to read about a twentymmfffmmf year old married woman with two cats and mad spelling skills? But, dear Nettie, I have found the home of all nerds, where geeks go to die (or at least post regularly), where any dork with an obsession can share it with the WORLD (said in maniacal cackle worthy of an evil villain with a super weapon)! Bwahhahahahah!

Ok, for today's thrilling adventure. Backstory: I drive a 1994 Ford F-150. It's big, it's brown, it's loud, and it's in really good shape, mechanically. Physically, it's got a few dents and dings. One of my old roommates backed into it, I hit a parking garage column the day I got it, you know. It's a fourteen years old, dammit! Show me ANY fourteen year old that doesn't have issues. Anyway, my husband HATES it. He drives a 1999 Honda Passport. Guess who was still paying on their car when we got married? I have never had a car payment (insert smug, superior smile here). I paid cash for both vehicles I've ever owned. Yes, I've owned TWO cars in the over ten years I've been driving.

Gah, see, I have this issue with sticking to a storyline--mine are more 'story webs' as I physically cannot leave a detail out, unless I forget. But I'm going to try to do better for the sake of my dear readers.

Back on track! I don't love the truck or anything. It's really reliable and safe and until the gas gods started demanding bigger sacrifices, it was cheap to drive. When we moved to a new city, I drove the Honda to work and DH drove the Ford. His job was way close, and mine was farther out, so the gas mileage was the deciding factor. Then we bought our house (yay) and it switched, so we switched cars. For some reason, he's been driving the Ford for the past month, but I wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. Last night he tells me, really earnestly, that he's got to have the Honda back, that the gas is killing him and he can't drive the Ford anymore. Mmmkay, why'd you start driving it in the first place, dingus?

In the past month, he's broken the shifty-thingy (it's an automatic, so is it the 'gearshift' if it's on the column and not on the floor?) so that it dangles at an alarming angle (dangles at an angle, dodah dodah dum....) and you have to start it in Neutral and use the emergency brake to park it. Great. (We have an awesome mechanic, but we have to really plan our visits because he's all the way across town and we both work evenings, but at different times.) So he's been dealing with the dangling thingy. And he mentions it will probably need some power steering fluid. Oh, look a the manly mechanical man, with his under-the-hood terminology! That's like windshield wiper fluid, it's not gonna tear anything up if we put off replenishing it, right?

So I get in the car to go to work, figure out that Neutral is between Reverse and Drive, the two gears I'm going to need most, and go merrily on my way. By the end of our street, something is wrong. Either the caribou migration is passing through and its sickliest members are following me, or there's an amorous walrus in my truck bed. At the stop sign, I check. Nope, neither. I try to turn left and pinpoint the problem.

Have any of you ever driven a 1953 Allis-Chalmers tractor? Much like that.

For my non-agrarian friends, it's like trying to physically push the wheels into alignment with my bare hands. And something to do with the engine reallyreallyreally hates me for doing it, and is voicing its displeasure. I have to throw myself onto the steering wheel to make any turn. There are twelve turns from my house to work. I counted. I had the time, while trying to wrestle a ton of Detroit steel.

Because tact has never been my strong point, I immediately call my husband and demand that he get his ass of the couch and go buy some power steering fluid. I pointed out that just because he didn't like my truck didn't mean that he could murder it. Which is what it sounded like, all the way to work. Then I have to park on a hill. Great.

I got out of work, manhandle the groaning truck through our labyrinthine parking lot (in full view of a group of my Mexican coworkers, who are all carheads, have nicer cars than me, and think it is hi-fucking-larious that this blonde American girl drives this giant, loud truck) and make it home. My DH is not there, but there IS a bottle of power steering fluid actually sitting on the counter. I was happier than if it were a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. Not that I've ever actually called and demanded that he go buy me champagne, but now I know it will work.

I get up first thing this morning (my 'first thing' is never before 10, just a note to those who like to call at 8 and ask 'whatcha doin?' because the answer is usually 'contemplating your murder' if you call that early). Overcoming my inherent laziness, I marched straight to the garage for my maintenance manual. (Lest this give you the idea that I actually do this kind of thing often--the only reason I know that I HAVE a maintenance manual is because I got tired of stabbing my fingers on the fishhooks my brother left behind when he sold me the truck, and I cleaned out the glove box. Lo and behold, there was the maintenace manual! With an alphabetical index and everything!)

I look up 'power steering fluid' and there it is! Page 354! That must mean it's something hard, if it's that close to the end. That's how crafting instruction manuals are laid out, so it follows, right? Undaunted, I find the picture (love pictures of mechanical thingies, even better if they are multi-colored and have numbers corresponding to step-by-step instructions and clarifying arrows).

It's a really straightforward drawing. I try to orient myself. There's the box with the three arms growing out of it. There's the belt and all its pulleys. There's the power steering reservoir, right on top! And the book says that its cap is yellow! Hallelujah, I can do this. I'll show my husband how it was so EASY, and why didn't he just do it in the first place? I am the Maintenance Master!

Then I open the hood. Which involved opening the garage door and backing the truck halfway out into the driveway, because our garage is compact car length, not Ford F-150 Long bed body style length. (I am still in my pajamas, by the way. Lime green cheerleading shorts and a turquoise tank top. Luckily my across-neighbors are uber-religious and go to church every Sunday morning. Oh, well, they've known me for six months, they probably pray for my soul anyway.) I pop the hood and jump up on the lip of the engine compartment. I have to sit side-saddle, like some ladylike Victorian equestrian. I look for a yellow cap. There's the metal box with the arms...there's the yellow loop! Wait. Yellow LOOP? I need a yellow CAP. There is a cap to every damn kind of fluid except power steering. Windshield wiper, brake, spinal...no power steering. After the incident with the chainsaw gas in the tank of my Grand Am, I am really leery of pouring things into my car. I don't even like to pump my own gas, and I KNOW where that goes.

Well, shit. Have you ever noticed how the more detailed an instruction manual is, the less likely it is to match your equipment? I mean, every little knob and doohickey of my engine is laid out exactly in porportion and to scale, and NO YELLOW CAP. It's the only thing that's NOT on the damn diagram. So now I have that oilydustycarick all over my hands, a full bottle of power steering fluid, and a severe drop in self-esteem. How can I not figure this out?!? The internet will save me! It always knows the answer! I'll come inside and google 'Ford F150 power steering fluid diagram'.

Hmmm. Have you also noticed that the more specfic you are with google, the less accurate the answer is? GAHHHHHH. Ok, I tried to resist the internet, but I can't. Then I get to the bloggity part, and accidentally hit the big X in the red box, instead of the back arrow. I am logged out completely, and I don't know the address of the last page I was onnnnnnn.........AAARGHH. Shit.

But there's this 'create your own blog' button. What's the worst that could happen? I'm already on the computer for sickening amounts of time checking other people's blogs, why not my own? Because I REALLy need another never-ending project...(why doesn't Microsoft come up with a 'sarcasm' button that changes the text so that everyone knows you're being all ironical, like when you're yelling in ALL CAPS? That's an innovation I could actually use.)