Oy!
I've decided to post
ITP Updates to another action-packed blog
so I can just post Scribbles here,
because the two just clash here to me
like zebra stripes and...
well, zebra stripes clashes with
Just About Everything...
zebra stripes and candycanes?
zebra stripes and pink unicorns?
Zebra stripes only goes with khaki.

Anyway,
I'll also stick the link
over to the righthand side.
Oh you care, you know you do.

Tomorrow, chil'ren,
I have to go away until Wednesday
to the magical land of candycanes and pink unicorns
"where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies"
(ok, not an LSD trip but to the zebra-striped hospital),
but I wanted to wish you the
Happiest New Year Ever
in the History of New Years,
Huzzah!

Remember how I said
I just couldn't picture myself in the hospital?
Just say "yes" to humor me. Anyway,
I could've avoided all this with the
cosmically-double-jinx-reverse-ward off I did,
but it was foiled by my aunt, unwittingly.
For Christmas, she bought me a sketchbook
I resisted in a bookstore
and got me a pair of silky pajamas.
No, I didn't ask her for those.
I said, "How did you know? You scare me."
And she said, "You scare ME."
Man.
How many people have told me that so far in life.
Katherine, help me count.
Remember the entire bar in Connecticut
we got to sing "Grease" songs,
male and female singing parts, as well?

Ron, you really should read my blog
so I could wish you a Happy Birthday early.

So Tara, you'll have to tell him I wished him one.
Give him The Look, too, for not reading.
Give him one to grow on for me,
one that will require Burn Cream afterwards.
And make him wear a pointy, sparkly party hat.
And do tell Mr. President about that cake IOU,
and I hope y'all have a big ole blast
on January 2nd!

Ey up, Bushra!
Package received in Memphis -
thank you in advance!
Will rip it open and smile as soon
as I get back to Memphis.

Can't think of anything else right now,
but will see you in a few.

Oh, you care.
You know you do.

I wish you a Merry Scribblemas,
and don't even get me started
on the happiest New Year.

What's up with me and dogs with afros...
off to a rough start in the new sketchbook.

I'm not kidding,
go bake these cookies.

We just made those "Hidden Mint Cookies"
(damn, they need a photo)
I was going on about the other day,
a recipe from Paula Deen.

(The more I see her on Food Network,
the more she cracks me up.
Because basically, that's all I'm doing today --
watching people bake and cook.
Well, what else can I do since I'm left with
no "Frasier" reruns?
I've never watched so much tv in my life.
I feel funny. But anyway...)

One cookie is a meal. So have two.
We used regular ole Pillsbury Sugar Cookies
and Keebler's Fudge Shoppe Grasshoppers.
But if you don't like mint,
try the Caramel.

Gettin' it out of the way,
An update from this embedded reporter in the ITP Warzone:

Ok, I'm proud to say, with fresh green-apple breath, that I'm still feeling fairly well, my fairy faes, since I got that platelet transfusion this past Monday. My pre-transfusion counts were 13k (boy, did I need some lipstick that day or what!), and my post-transfusion count was 69k (which translates as "a beautiful thing, please kiss a research chemist today").

For those who don't know the players, normal platelet counts should be anywhere from 150k to 450k platelets per microliter. When I started this on November 16th, my routine exam found I only had 41k. Over the next 4 weeks, it continued to fall to 25k, then 18k, then 13k which my doctor actually saw as a nice twist, but still, not good.

Today, they really expected my body to have blown through the platelets already, and for my count to be around 10k (time for a transfusion). Normal platelets in a properly functioning human body only last 7 to 10 days (so eat your peanut butter, children!). But for some reason, it may be that I am really stupid and don't know it so don't tell me, I knew my counts would be good -- and they were, at 42k. Thank you, God. I can't do math conversions for the rate of loss over 4 days, but my tinkertoy mind thinks 42k's better than 10k. So, hand me some crayons and glitter.

What's next? Back to the doctor on Wednesday. He'll either say (1) my stem and T-cells have decided to play nice together, that my beautiful house by the river is actually built on a toxic wastedump, and this was all one huge environmental misunderstanding, and that my marrow is producing platelets again; or he'll say (2) my borrowed platelets have cycled out, and it's time for a transfusion, then to the hospital. I don't want to jinx anything, but I just can't picture myself in the hospital. It's not that I'm not scared, I just can't see it. Know what I mean?

I know what I'll do:
I'll cosmically-double-jinx-reverse-ward this thing off myself. I do this all the time by *being prepared*. Try it sometime if you haven't before.

I'll buy myself a good book, a new sketchpad, a silky set of jammies with sushi patterns on them, and then juice up the pink iPod mini with all my CBC Radio 3 podcasts so I can force myself to sit still for 4 days of ATG via IV drip. And as soon as I ready myself, buy all that swag and get prepared, my doctor will scratch his head at my next bloodwork printout, at my miraculous recovery from this idiopathic, stop-n-go, Andy Griffith's "Man in a Hurry" episode.

Don't get me wrong. I'd loooooove that to happen. Thing is, this may not work, (1) because I announced it, and (2) because I already bought myself a good book and my mom gave me a sketchpad early for Christmas. And I'm absolutely wanting some silky jammies with sushi prints on 'em.

I said I'd keep these updates brief, didn't I? Damn. I'm not a liar. I just need a good editor.

Which reminds me: Tara, if you're reading, there's a package in the mail to you and yours. And yes, I made them with my own hands. I did, too!

Product Review, Product Review:
Holy Mother of Pearl Drops,
it's Fructodent!

Ok, ok, so what with the
last-minute holiday wrappings,
hurried cookie bakings,
and occasional family meltdowns
over "who used the last sheet
of tissue paper in the house?!" and
"are you really moving out over this?!",
I don't have proper time to tell you
that the vanilla flavored paste
is impressively full of the guilt-free,
antioxidanty-goodness of vitamin C
yet a "little weird" with the aftertaste and all.
I don't know what to make of it,
but at least it doesn't stick around long enough
to make me think about it.

But I will tell you that
I'm in total love with the green apple gel flavor.

Oh, you care, you know you do.

The green apple gel flavor
gives you a fresh feelin' that lasts and lasts.
Uh huh, it does, too!
Honestly, I was pleasantly surprised.

Need to try the Mint and Strawberry next...
the Chocolate and Mint just sounds dangerous.

I haven't asked how my breath smells
to anyone around me,
but I haven't lost any friends yet,
so "score"!

Read up on it here at Cool Hunting,
and try a tube of Fructodent
if you can find it,
and shove it down someone's stocking this year.

Need to post a product review soon, about this crazy toothpaste I found called Fructodent.

Well, my 7-year old soulmate Hannah found it for me on a shopping spree the other day. And I'll get right on that soon. But my mother is going to kick my butt into the next zip code if I don't help her mail off some packages today. I'll get to the toothpaste. But until then, I know ya'll are busy wrapping up festivities anyway, and hopefully enjoying the company of your best friends and families, and in my case, friends that have chosen each other as family. Thank ya, God, for these people! To all of you out there, you know I love ya. I'd even let you win at Monopoly, you mean that much to me.

So, I hope you are all well and having a wonderful season. I don't know about y'all, but I can't wait for the new year. That's the damn truth. And I will drink champagne, so you better, too.

I was thinking, if you haven't done so yet, regardless of anything you have going on, stop it, and add "baking cookies" to your list. Make sure you bake lots of cookies. Regardless of everything else, they make the world smell better. I wish one week could be designated to baking cookies and nothing else.

In fact, it doesn't have to be fancy. Here is an easy cookie recipe for you to try called "Hidden Mint Cookies" (what, clicked link and no photo? well, they are easy, and good) from Paula Dean, Southern cook extraordinaire. Her suuuuuutherrrrhnnnn draaaawwwwl used ta git on m' last nerrrrrve, but na-yow siiince Ah've been back in Mis'sippi fer a cupla weeks, I tawwwwlk jeeeeest laaack herrrrr!! Yes ah dew! "An' yew can kiss mah behind on th' capitol steps an' Ah'll geeve yew two weeks ta draw a crowd if it ain't so," says my mother's neighbor across the street. An' y'knowhuuut, I theenk I kiiiinda liiiiike eet!

So falalalala, an' ennnnjoy-way, sugahhhrs! xox - bny

ps: An' if yer feelin' reeeeeeal darin', try these Magnolia Lace Trumpet Cookies. (Worth a click for the photo alone. They made me squeal when she bit into one on tv. It was a good squeal.)

pps: Keeping up that southern drawl is hard. I promise to only do it every now'n'then, you'uns.

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:















I went to the doctor yesterday and got a cuppa platelets, to go.

My New Year's Resolution is, for the rest of my life so other people can feel this good, to become a healthy platelet donor. Oh, and to floss more. Flossing is good.

Update: After checking my bloodcounts again yesterday, my platelet levels were just low enough for a platelet transfusion, so I took it. It was a long, crawling weekend since last Friday, and this I needed. Test results are finally coming down to a pinpoint of at least what to treat - ITP caused by aplastic anemia. Doctor thinks my T-cell lympocytes have lost their minds and switched into kill-mode and are now taking it out on the stem cells, which aren't allowed to function properly and produce cells that produce platelets, which causes the anemia deep within the bones.

This is a good example of what unchecked, out-of-control cells can do to the healthy cells around them - when there is no teamwork, you cannot make a system work.

It'll take 3 months of cyclo-something or other to figure out if this is what it is. Yes, this whole idiopathic scenario is one of those things that even the most experienced hematologist thinks, "Well, damn." The doctor drilled down with another bone marrow on me yesterday (I got Ativan, my highly-recommended new best friend), so I hope to know more next week.

Sometime next week, I'm going into the hospital to get 5 days worth of medicines that'll hopefully kick the platelets into production again. I'm way past stir-crazy, patience is not my virtue, I want to be doing something, but I'll do it. And I hope none of this information makes you want to hurl so I can keep people updated. Look at it like this: These are just interesting tests run on the eternal labmonkie who's not quite sure she wants all these beautiful drugs wear off!

Santa needs to swing by with an upgrade, but

...scanner works well. This is good to know since I'm still staying with my mom in my old hometown to visit a really good doctor. He's the hematologist that kept my dad going with his Chronic Lympocyctic Leukemia for 20+ years. And that is a remarkable considering patients diagnosed with CLL usually get a life expectancy of only 10 years, max. Also, I credit that longevity to my dad's will of iron, steel, and a little duct tape. "Never give up, never say die. And hand me a Bud Light, would ya?"

Anyway, not to get heavy in the slightest, but since some of you know, I'll give updates where I can. That kind of personal stuff embarrasses me, so I'll keep it uncharacteristically brief. But I've developed some idiopathic blood disorder called ITP where my white cells are high enough, but my red blood cell count is down and my platetets are either being killed off by a mutation or just not producing at all. I had a bone marrow done last Tuesday that didn't yield the information the doctor needed.

Can I just say here, children, they corkscrewed a chunk out of my buttbone. And now, I can relate totally to a corkscrew and a cork. So, be kind to your wine next time. Or, buy the screwcapped version.

Good news is, they say it's not lymphoma or leukemia. Maybe it's aplastic anemia. In my overactive mind, I've now successfully internet-diagnosed myself with everything from the monkey pox to radon poisoning to wheat allergies to prostate cancer. That's what not knowing does me. If you think you know what it is, oh please don't tell me. I love a good surprise.

Anyway, my posts are not meant to bum anyone out, because if you know me, then you will hear me laughing at the end of each dose of medicine. Read these posts with a smile at the end, like usual.

Forget all that. Mostly, I will try to post stories about the things my mother and her friends say and do because, quite frankly, these steel magnolias absolutely kill me. These women are hilarious. These women keep other people going with laughter. And butter cookies. And other tasty snacks.

If I disappear for a week, I'll be back. It's hard for me to keep up with anything electronic between the tea, the steroids, and Christmas already?...plus blocks of reruns of "Will & Grace", "Frasier", and "The Golden Girls". You heard right: "The Golden Girls". I know, I know. Someone, shoot me! I never watched it before, at the very least mocked it in the 80's,but right now, there is something really comforting about it.

I promise, the above will be the most embarrassing confession I will reveal to you, ever.

I hardly ever watched tv before. But now, it's there. Interesting experiment. Now, I watch Montel Williams but only for Sylvia Browne, and also watch some other interesting chick named Lisa Williams, I think. Fascinating psychic woman with the craziest hair ever.

Ok, one of the most embarrassing confession I will reveal to you, besides that "Golden Girl" one...

I also watch a crafting show with some midwestern woman named Carol. Oh yeah. I said it. And I totally enjoy it. For 14 years, I worked in an industry-full of people who'd make fun of that show over a *working lunch* of a tiny cup of over-priced lentil soup with a crustina to choke on, but it's made me use my hands again. Made lots of things with beads, ribbons, charms, and antique buttons. Which is exactly why I needed to get some distance from that industry-full of people who'd make fun of that show over a *working lunch* of a tiny cup of over-priced lentil soup with a crustina to choke on. Isn't life funny? Or is that irony? I'll go look it up after I buy a packet of irridescent glitter.

Can hear me laughing and smiling? I know you can relate, too. Gotta go get more beads now! xox ~ bny

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

Subhead:
My mom's scanner doesn't suck so bad after all...
more on that later.

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

Happy "Authentically Creative, and Not for Posers" Monday!

What am I doing?
I'm trying not to eat all the French Vanilla Cool Whip.

I know, I know.

Nothing special about Cool Whip, right?

Trust me, it's never meant anything to me before

either. Kind of a superficial topping for desserts

that probably don't need toppings to begin with,

but in this case?

Fine, leave it all for me then,

being that French Vanilla is a seasonal flavor.

I don't even like Cool Whip,

but this...this tastes like coconut cake.

They don't need to make tv commercials for this.

They just need to walk door-to-door and

make people try a spoonful, just one spoonful.

Besides the Frito's Scoops in the house, too,

along with Jalapeno Cheddar Doritos

(thanks a lot, Ron),

I don't know how I am managing

to leave any of this for any one else.

I think it's the proximity

of the three to each other.

It's creating a confusion shield

with just enough interference

so I can't choose between any of them

and can't hear anything
but static when they call to me at night.

Lucky, lucky me for that.

Crikey. It's Christmas already!

Now what am I doing?

Crashing through the holly tree

in the front yard as I try

to string the lights around it.

Considering I have thrombocytopenia these days,

this is probably not

the smartest thing I've done lately,

but it could be one of the bravest.

I'm thinking of wrapping myself in tin foil

like a baked potato, not only for protection

but also because the neighbors have come to expect

this sort of thing from me.

Wish me luck and send me platelet transfusions.

On second thought,

just send me French Vanilla Cool Whip instead.

And bring some chili cheese dip from my Fritos.

And some rare brisket for the anemia.

What the hell, it's a party!

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

"Untitled, but Bjorkish"

How did I get so busy just catching up?

Maybe I'd catch up quicker
if I wasn't so distracted
by bb-blog and swissmiss.

Oh hell, why fight the urge,
I love 'em.
And after a bubble bath and a devotional,
what are Sundays for anyway?

Enjoyyyyy.

Okay, I'm home.

Back in the office now,
but now, it's Friday.
So, I asked the boss for a half-day off.
And since I'm my boss now, I said "yes"
because I'm such a nice boss.

In fact, I think I'll give myself a raise.

And charge a bunch of
personal travel charges to the company,
call it new business,
and do all my *holiday shopping* online,
during regular business hours,
between pretentious yoga fad-du-jour classes,
and walk around,
gloating to everyone in the company,
my captive audience,
how I have one-upped them all,
and finished my shopping
before they all have,
(but to be honest,
it's easy when it's for,
like,
only two people actually)...

Nah, wait wait wait...
I know I'm way-hay more decent
to stoop to that crooked behavior.
That sounds exactly
like an ex-boss I had.
But still, to this day,
I can't really call her my boss,
because out of every year I spent there,
she was not the boss of me.
And she knew it.

But I will stop to compliment myself
on what a truly golden asset I am
to my own company.

My company will also pride itself
on never, ever using PowerPoint,
will donate a bare minimum to start
of 10% income
to a few charitable causes
starting with causes that feed the hungry,
will recycle,
will value its employees
(No, really.),
will conserve energy and resources,
will not act like something we are not,
will not sell something we don't understand
or love,
will be able to explain our name
and our beliefs,
will fill up bird-feeders and take care of strays,
will allow office dogs
(even if they make an oopsie-poop in the hall),
will not refer to dog duke as oopsie-poop again,
will meet like-minded people
to form lasting, working relationships
versus grubbing up "clients"
for The Money and
the shameless schmoozefests,

(Basically,
my company will do things exactly the opposite
of how I've been made to do them
the past several years.)

and,
instead of desperately threatening them
to prove my authority,
to leverage them into respecting me
or please Dear God please just like me,
constantly scaring them into working
for me because the market is small
so where else will you work if not here,
I will motivate them
because they motivate me.
And will hope they like me
because I don't suck.
Because at my company,
no one will suck.
My company will be good company.

And everything we make is good.

And everyone who works there is happy.

And so far,
I'm the only one who works here,
and I meet all the requirements, above.

Man, so.
So much for taking the day off.
Time to knock-off early instead,
to make something cool.

And, to give thanks to God
that I am finally home.

Damn. No scanner.

But.
I'll get back next Tuesday with a Scribute.
Try not to cry tooooo hard...Mom.

I'm away from my computer until then,
but I hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving,
or just a bang-up, smash-up, wonderful day.
Unless I can't stand you,
and in that case,
you 4-6 people know who you are.

The rest of you are gold.
No. Platinum.
Enjoy!

This was another Scribute, just untinted.

...

Is it really Thursday already?

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:



To be fair,
Ron came up with that thought, not me.
But I do agree.



Oh look,
people are suing Borat all over the place...
now the good people from Glod,
I can understand.
But the drunk frat boys? Please.
That just reinforces the useless point,
now they know how it feels
to be a girl at a frat party.


Thanks for the links, Scottshead!


Newsflash:
Two more links of interest on Borat,
just in from our embedded journalist in Glod.

And the voting results are in.

N State Senate District 29:
60 of 60 precincts reporting (100%)

Ophelia Ford (Democratic): 29,954 votes
Terry Roland (Republican) 11, 428 votes
Me (Aries): 1 vote

Thanks for the write-in voting support, Ron!

At this hour, we're not sure of
just how many Ophie supporters are deceased,
so to be fair, I may still have a chance.

Oh, I'm sorry. I just couldn't resist that one.

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:



(This Pip did. Aw, mannn.)



Three Blind-Drunk Mice

This is research I would gladly fund.
And, I'd bring them a nice cheese plate to go with it.



And finally, Happy November everyone!
Ok, so I'm several days late to wish you that.
But I've been a wee busy, aiiight?

But never too busy for you. Awwwww.
I knew you'd understand.

Hope you made it through the Halloweeners.
This year, I actually enjoyed it.
This year, I didn't get the usual suspects,
the 16 year-olds about 5' 9", sporting
napped-in t-shirts and droopy-drawers,
lazily holding out crumpled pillowcases
and with little or no effort,
booming a testosteronic "trikk'o'treeeet"
into my living room as they scope the joint
for anything plasma.*

If you think I'm being harsh,
not me. I have witnesses.
In my book, unless there is
an overactive pituitary gland involved,
trick'o'treaters should not be taller
than the adults handing out the treats.
I'm just sayin'.

*Oh, and looking in my joint for plasma?
Boy! You and me both, kid!
So deepest apologies, and here,
have two fun-sized Snickers instead.

No.
This year,
I got actual trick'o'treaters.
Babies dressed as tigers,
and Hello Kitties,
and ninjas, and
the scariest creature of them all,
brides!
I got sweet little kids who asked nicely and
didn't violate my candy bowl
faster than a clawed, naked mole rat
could dig tunnels to a blinding sugar-high,
like the very first and very last
"Memphis Halloween" I had
which broke me and my friend
that night of ever again extending a candy bowl
ripe with free, assorted chocolate
to the t-shirted zombie teens.
Never again, we vowed,
with our blushed cheeks and doe eyes.
No. That scared the red wine buzz
out of us both that night
after the second crushing whirlwind
of squealing, fighting albeit younger kids
(eek, did I just say "albeit"?)
ran from us after they beat our door
like it was a police raid/drug-bust operation,
then pillaged our candy buckets,
and ran, leaving us pale,
paler than normal,
with nothing
but a few crushed nougats.

It reminded me of the first and last time
I fed an unappreciative billy goat.
First and last, people!

It was a well-fought struggle,
and even though they gave it a good try,
they did not physically rip the bucket
from my sweaty hands
as they ran away screeching
"mine mine mine!"
down the sidewalk off,
slugging each other into the bushes,
all the way to the next apartment complex.
Heavy on the complex at this point.

"Www-ELL! Turn off the lights
and pull th' blinds, Mable,
we're off duty as of nnn-NOW,"
my first and beloved gay friend
(we'll refer to him as Disney Scott)
ordered me to do
as he lit up a menthol 100
and took a solid, exaggerated,
exasperated drag from it,
resulting in an impressive half-inch ash.
"So much for quitting smoking tonight!
What in the name of God's Fresh HELL was that?!"

It was about this time I'd also wondered
for the second time that week why had I taken
the extra effort involved to move myself
and my sleeper sofa to Memphis, too.

The first time, I was visiting
the local WalMart in West Memphis, Arkansas,
just across the river
from my apartment.
And I drove home too stunned to cry,
thinking only of the stern-looking menfolk
with "shiny-beady catfish eyes"
(as described by my second and beloved gay friend),
wearing sleeveless
down-filled hunting vests as shirts.
I prayed the banjo music I was hearing
was only an autonomic nerve reaction
sparked by the chemicals involved with fear.
And maybe these men weren't so stern,
but it was just the unified eyebrows
that made them look so serious.


Oh, this post just sounds too scary to continue.
I should bring it back to a positive note,
but I am out of coffee,
and you've fallen asleep reading this.
Well, in retrospect, the kids towering over me
without costumes and slugging each other
into parked cars was terrifying,
which I guess is a vital part of Halloween...

Nevermind, on to more important things.
Off to store for more coffee and chocolate milk,
and apparently, I need to take a shower and vote.
Right after Ron tells me
who to vote against instead of vote for.
Ew.
I'm not good at this voting stuff.
It's all too scary.

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:



Aw.
That's almost nice enough
to print out and hang on the refrigerator, isn't it?
Unless you have a stainless steel one.
Then you're crap outta luck
on hanging anything cool on that useless hunka.



HaPpY HaLLoWeeenNNnie
to all you Halloweeners out there.
Yes, I said "halloweener."
It's raining here, 70% scattered showers and all,
so there's about a 30% chance of trick-o-treaters,
the way I figure it.
And about a 90% chance of me
eating up all the halloween candy
before the little ghoulies even get here.
Then I'll just be forced to rummage
through the guest bathroom drawers
for something to give them,
like dental floss, or Kleenex.
Or...Wint-O-Green Lifesavers...
Uck. Why are those in here?*

No, I am joking,
I won't eat up the Halloween candy.
However,
if it were Halloween corn chips instead,
we'd have a real problem.


*Oh, I know why.
These are the leftovers from The Experiment.
If your bathroom is dark enough,
and you chew Wint-O-Green Lifesavers
with your mouth open,
the Lifesavers will make sparks.
Why in the bathroom?
So you can see yourself in the mirror, silly!
And, so you can barf
right into the handy-dandy toilet
after you make yourself sick
chewing a handful of
Wint-O-Green Lifesavers.



And finally,
since I didn't waste any time making
caramel corn popcorn balls to give out
to the kids,
knowing the paranoid parentals
would just confiscate them and
send them off to a lab for analysis,
or the ungrateful monsters,
in protest of not getting
a sackful of fun-sized Snickers,
would turn them into
useless weapons of corn destruction,
pelting each other
in my front yard
soon after I closed the door,

I had time to find a better treat for you.
Subscribe now to the free
series of 3 podcasts
from Ricky Gervais, extra-dreamy Steve Merchant and
Karl "orange-where-a-brain-should-be" Pilkington.
Enjoy!

Je t'aime, CBC Radio 3!

Ok, not the most original headline, eh?

Again, not the most original subheader either,
playing on that Canadian theme.
But I'm a giv'r!*

*A truly Canadian term explained by Peaches
that you, too,
would know and love if you listened.

But I mean it. I really, really, really do.
If you aren't listening to
CBC Radio 3 online
or better yet by podcast,
then I am going to worry about you.
We might need to have a sit'n'talk.
I'll give you a moment to reflect.
Then get your backbacon to the website
and subscribe.

New Firefox 2.0
to be released today,

and

New regular feature:
I don't know what to name it,
but it's a
"Tuesday Morning Tribute Scribble"
or "Scribute to Tuesday Mornings."
Or "Scribbling from Home."
Or "Home Scribblin' "...
Or, I don't know.
Something. I'm working on it!
But anyway,
this one is dedicated to the officedog
sleeping on my feet.
While he does offer many advantages and perks
to this new freelance position,



He does. He really, really does.
He's pointing at the cat,
but we both know the truth.



And finally,


the helicopters choppin' around the skies
of my neighborhood just reminded me
that a manatee was found
in the Wolf River harbor near my house.

Sad, I know!
That poor little thing.
I want to go toss him a cabbage.
I might. I have one. It's a rare occasion for us both.

Sadder still, Ron said,
"When they first heard about it, the authorities said,
'Manatee?? Noooo. Dead body? Probably."

To that sad-but-true cross-section, I said,
"Then that'd make it a casualtee,
or a fatalitee, instead."

"Amelia Earhardt, Jimmy Hoffa, and my Sony Cybershot."

"I don't know where it went...it was right here on the floor of the car, right here by the maps... I don't know where it is...it's not in my purse... I don't know. I just had it..."

That's all I could say to Ron
when he asked me to produce the camera at the pet cemetery.
Oh no, dear God, no.
Not my sweet, beloved Sony Cybershot -- lost.
Where the hell it is at this exact moment, I have no idea
I have a Sony Cybershot-shaped hole in my soul right now.
What's left of my tattered, blistered soul anyhow. Boohoo.

Maybe I kicked it out of the car when I got out,
I told him, at that estate sale at Rosemark.

Ron scrunched his face up at me and said.
"How do you kick a camera out and not know you kicked it out?"
A virgin, I thought, to shit luck and certain disaster.
I scrunched my face back at him.
"What do you mean, how? When you drag a dead leg out
of a Honda parked in a ditch on the side of a hill,
all you can think of while you are doing it is,
'don't fall over, don't fall over, don't fall over',
and it's really easy to lose focus."

That was the most beautiful house I have seen in a long, long while.
(I'd show you a photo, but y'know, no.)
Two-story and grand, with a green, winding staircase
running up the center as its twisted, green-planked spine.
But the house was damp, past stone-cold,
and the wooden floor felt spongey under me,
worn Oriental rugs obviously triaging a crisis together.
I had a nightmare a few weeks ago about a beautiful, rotting house
almost just like this. Remembering this blindly,
I chose my path carefully and hoped to God
I wasn't the first to fall through the floor into the spidery basement.
Not today. We're going for catfish, so I hear.

This house had to be a truly gorgeous thing
at its prime about 100-something years ago.
But now, it was comprised mainly of softened white beadboard
and a glowing blue-green, mutant, pulsing, jelly-like substance that
apparently
only I could see with my x-ray vision,
thriving and multiplying and teeming
in the cracks of the solid plaster walls yet aching 2 x 4s.
From the smell of the dampened wallpaper,
I'd have to guess this surely toxic mold
feasted and mutated over the years,
drawing its surely toxic strength
from a steady supply of mentholed, nicotine fumes.
"That's what got her, " I thought. "That poor, sweet thing."

Ok. Not everyone who dies is a sweet person. I just assume they are, in my mind. That's the first thing I think of when I go to an estate sale: Who died last, the husband or the wife? How did they go? Are they still alive, convalescing in a home? Maybe this is a good thing.
Painting ceramics. Playing cards. Thinking good thoughts.
Then that usually depresses me, so I assume the best and hope they both just moved to the country where they are quietly raising goats together in a smaller, more manageable house, one with solid floors and new walls, and things like that.

Looking around, I didn't see many things
that belonged to a man anymore.
Mostly, in the front rooms,
I'd seen pairs and pairs and pairs of white gloves
with tiny tea stains,
and afghans, and tiny size 5 1/2 shoes,
and Christmas ornaments and
carefully crocheted "women-stuff."
Mostly pink things embellished
with rhinestones whose silvering had eventually worn away
and turned to clear glass instead
held down with dulled, metal claws.
"But pink is pink; pink is cheery."
I recite to myself over and over and keep walking,
like whistling in the dark.

I weaved around to the kitchen because
that's where I always end up
especially in these houses.
That's the heart of a home to me anyway.
I searched the refrigerator for a pulse.
There were a bunch of magnets,
mostly from a propane delivery service,
with nothing under them anymore,
a coloring book page
was hanging on the front of the refrigerator
with "We love you, Nani, me and jeff too"
and a bird scribbled in with blue circles,
a cloud scribbled in with brown,
and only one photo left of a tanned grandfather kissing the cheek
of a wide-eyed grandchild in her Easter dress.
She had no idea, but he did.
The photo had a digital imprint in the bottom-right corner dated 2003.

"Someone really liked chickens,"
Hannah said as she poked a glass rooster in the beak.
"My grandmother collected glass hens and chickens like this," I told her, taking up for the weird chicken obsession with little or no explanation best I could, "I have no idea why. Must've been the thing to do at the time, I guess."
Then I wondered what people would be saying about my crap
if and when it were up for sale one day.

"How many cameras does a person need?" they'd ask.
"Would you take 25 cents for this cup full of rosaries?"
"Who's 'ELO' and 'Pete Shelley'?"
"Is this a voodoo doll?"

"I love this house!" Mamie breathlessly mouthed to me,
as she easily bounced the floorboards in the foyer,
rattling and pinging the sitting room windows
enough to make me see broken windowpanes and spiders.
I could see in her eyes that she'd already rennovated this place
from the peeling, gingerbread eaves to the ooey, gooey basement.

"Only $134,000," I said, taking a flyer from the bookcase
moved temporarily to the porch. Temporarily. I hope.

Back in the Honda on the hill,
"My sinuses are goin' crazy now...are yours bothering you?"
Ron asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and twisting his face up a bit.
Mamie said, "Yeah, I can't breathe now. I took my Claritin-Ds
this morning and should be spittin' cottonballs by now.
Think it was that house? I could fix that house."
"Oh, ya think? All I can taste is old books and musty mousetraps now," I said, "Yeah, it's definitely the house. But damn, wasn't it beautiful?"

"Yeahhhh, it was beautiful," she sighed, a million miles away.
"I could do things with that house. That is a crime how they've let it go.
I just loved those bouncy floors!"

There ya go, I thought. That's the spirit - true optimism. Never give up and never say die. And, you're crazy. But it's that rare, good caliber of crazy that I admire. Not that garden variety howling freakshow crazy or other.

Speaking of: My camera, my camera, my camera...

To put this into perspective, I lost my job the other day, and not one tear. But last night, I cried my eyes out over my poor, lost Sony. Thank God I'd transferred all the photos from it the day before. Honestly, thank you, God. Oh, and thank you for all that other stuff, too.

"Who wants to go to the pet cemetery?"
"Me me meeee," Hannah kicked the back of Ron's carseat. "Wait. Why are we going to the pet cemetery," it dawned on her after the words "cool" and "cemetery" vaporized from her fresh, non-toxic, bouncy little mind.

"So I can take a picture of Kitty Kat...'s garden."
Ron didn't feel like explaining cremation to Hannah.

"Oh. Ok. And after that, catfish," she said.

Get back to where you once belong.

Poor, poor Paul McCartney and that crazy Ms. What's-Her-Leg...

Oh, admit it. She asked for that one.
At least I didn't say
she got down on her knee and begged for it.
I don't feel like universally jinxing myself that badly.
Although I did see some unspeakable photos
of her doing something very similar.

Hey,
remember that
"swab yer cheeks for DNA" project I did?
Just got an update email, and, yes,
my large group deserves
more attention and exploration.
I'm game, let's go...
where's that dang FTDNA kit number...



Hello,

My name is Rebekah and I am the administrator
of the of the H mtDNA Haplogroup project. I am contacting you
because your mtDNA test results match the low resolution,
HVR1, results of one of the H Project's members.
I would like to invite you to join the mtDNA Haplogroup H project.

Haplogroup H represents much of Europe yet the amount
of demographic detail available from scholarly journals
is still limited. Many of us feel that this large group deserves
more attention and exploration. The project is working towards
finding the geographic origins of the H sub-clades and
discovering our shared heritage.

You will need your FTDNA Kit ID and User Code.

Participation in the project is completely free and
results are public. Whether you join or not please
contact myself or the project Co-administrator,
Laura, with any questions or concerns you
might have about the H clade.

Thank you for your time.



Sincerely,
Rebekah A Canada
H Project Administrator



This project is just fascinating to me.
You know you care, you do.
If you don't care,
I may swab you to see if you're made out of wood.

You smell that?

I smell sweet, middle-class roses
blooming on a chilly October morning
right outside my own plantation shutters.

Pink cream, silky softness, with ruby-red scalloped edges,
I remember why I planted them now.
Because they are rich and authentic and beautiful
and not a belabored, unnatural thing.

I sit back every year and watch them bud and blossom
more beautiful than before, year after year;
the roots reach deeper strengths below them,
and the blooms grow sweeter and more divine.
I structure them with prunings, strip away
their spotty leaves to encourage new growth,
and give them all they need without shading them
too much or too long.
And then my favorite part,
I step away and let them work.
Because they know what to do
best for all the rosebuds on the bush.

By the time I turn around and notice again,
they take my breath away with all they have become,
so cleanly fully-nourished and fully-bloomed.
Delicately rimming the scalloped edges,
the watery beads collected over the night
reflect rainbows and refract prisms,
into the purest liquid jewels.
Each rose sits atop a stem, gently swaying
under its own shimmering crown.

With a hot cup of tea, touch of cream and honey,
a strong hug and two kisses from a good man and husband,
I can see every leaf on the cherry tree now.
Finally, again.
Backgrounded by a
velvety bright blue canvas and
over-inflated, cartoonishly grand clouds
that always make me smile from
the inside out.

For once in a long time on a Monday,
my smile is not forced, and my sigh is content,
and I will not miss the throat-clutching fumes of
purple Kool-aid on a Monday morning.

I will worry about the people
being handed the Dixie Cups, however.

When people tell you to believe in
someone you know is wrong,
remember that nothing feels better
than being yourself,
on your own,
growing a real work of art
at home where the real flowers bloom.

And no, I didn't PhotoShop in the sparkle.
God did.

Oh, great.
Not only have I spilled my PG Tips,
but now Scrotum V. Detoxed
is also currently offering us all an invitation to

th e wo'rlds best phar macy...

I just don't know what to believe anymore.

A friendly message of hope
from Budd Colon,
CEO/VP and Chairman of Spam
at C.L.I.C.K.H.E.R.E.com:

"Hi!

If your love affairs leaves you and your chick displeased
you have to take some immediate action
with our inexpensive medical drugs.

Get hold of them at our online shop.
We also price highly your coolness and anonymity."


Thankfully, someone who values my coolness and anonymity.


And Puppet J. Snakebites
is currently offering us all an invitation to

th e wo'rlds best phar macy

just in case you're interested in ruining your credit history
and a few major organs while you're at it.

Note to myself: You totally forgot.
That's why you stopped leaving the IM running idle at night.
It grosses you ouuuuut before your coffeeeeeeeee.

Trivia Night update: Big Jim Slade wins.

When I say things like "we won first place",
I actually mean Ron, Susan, and who(m)ever else is present
with a real education and working knowledge.
But I do know one thing for sure:
I always enjoy tater tots and bar napkins.
Most days, that is really all I need to know.

"What President is pictured on the $100,000 bill?"
I didn't even know there was a $100,000 bill.

"What bird can fly upside down?
It depends on how hard you throw them, I think.

When the first round categories were announced,
I thought I might be able to actually play this time,
being that they started with the topics "Beer" and "Candy",
and that I'm high on steroids for my whinging, aching back.
(New and improved pain
with 157% blinding pinched nerve action!)


"In America, beer from the tap is spelled 'draft',
but how is it spelled in the UK?"

Isn't it sad I got excited that I knew,
and that everyone at the table pretended for my sake that they didn't?

and

"What insect is pictured on the front of Bit O' Honey bar?"

Again, it just made me heady to get off to such a strong start.

But that rich mixture of tots, napkins, pens, meds, caffeine,
sugar, and inexpensive bourbon,
just set me up for over-confidence and
"The Mighty Fall" with the question:

"Over 200 years ago, three immigrants named
(someone, someone, and Gustav)
opened up the first major department store in New York City
(something tater tot something).
What was the name of that department store?"

Hint 01: It's not Macy's,
and Hint 02: Stick with your husband's gut reaction,
unless you enjoy unnecessary guilt.

But again, with a pen in one hand and a tot in the other,
I will always have a good time. And on steroids?
Where do I begin my newfound love for Prednisone...

Let me get back to you with that later,
after I finally accept that I cannot fly,
don't remember much of yesterday
except for bright lights, the vacuuming of walls
and the spit-shining of floors,
and after I stop triple-checking to see
if I'm wearing my skin inside out.
It's a good ride.

"God's Fudgefactor"
or His "Phonin' One In On a Friday" Idea:

The Virginia Oppossum, or The RatBatMouseKitten?

What's the difference, what's the use?

It's just a thought.

A happy song for you today:
"Fidelity" by Regina Spektor.

St. Patrick's Day Jell-O:
I have no idea what I was thinking either.

However, never underestimate the versatility of green hi-liters.
Easily, this could've been fluorescent blue, pink, yellow,
or orange instead.

Somewhere, deep down, I'm sure it really matters.

Jonathan Yuen

A friend of mine asked me if I ever thought
of taking my life and making it "just so small,"
and she used her hands to show me --
grabbed an imaginary space in front of her,
about the size of a beach ball,
fingers stretched out, hands shaped like stars,
pushing the air between them smaller and tighter
down into a small, manageable space about
*this big.*
Asked me if I knew what she meant at all.

I said "I think about that every time I pack my bags
and get in a car."

(wysiwyg)

Happy @#$&in' Monday!

(No, really!)

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmm
about to whip sumbody's aaaaaaass,
ohoho
aaaaaahhhhhhhhhm
about to whip sumbody's aaaaaaass...
ohhh if you don’t leave me alo-ne
you gonna have to send me home
'cause ahhh'm
about to whip somebody's aaaaaaass."*



*Ron says,
"That song replaces 'Punk Rock Girl'
as the best song ever written."
I'm still debating that, but at least both songs
are securely lodged in my mind now.
Which makes Monday feel like a Tuesday to me, if nothing else.



File this under "Always the Last to Realize":

The soundtrack to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
will make your brain feel *mu-u-uch better*
any day of the week.
Fortified with Jon Brion,The Willowz, Beck,
Polyphonic Spree and a touch of ELO...
combined, they have the power to make you forget
that Jim Carrey had anything to do with that brilliant movie at all.



Speaking of, next up for Eternal Sunshine director is
The Science of Sleep.
Given me anticipation-insomnia already.
Or that could be too much PG Tips for the day. Already?

(is it wrong to daydream so fondly of a Saturday on a Friday?
does it make Friday feel insignificant and fat?)

(...anyway...)


Here's an interesting link on Presidential doodles.

(Quick: Someone in PR tell Georgie Bush they said "doodle" and not "drool.")

Early post for Friday.

I figured I'd post this now to give you the weekend
to learn it by heart for Monday.
But feel free to apply this to any work day after that, as needed.

Ray's whipass.mp3

Thank you, Ray. "Stay strong. Peace."

(And here's plenty of remixes if you need 'em.)

Is it really Thursday?
Already?

Hm. Guess I'd better put the kettle on.
PG Tips, anyone?
I'm offerin'.
Hope to God I get my Gromit mug soon. Found it on eBay.
His nose turns red when you pour in the hot water for tea.
(I think I should've filed this monologue under the next subhead...)

I caught myself drawlin' baaaa-yad this mornin'.
Noticed it when I made the word "should" have
four syllables, with the "d" being the fourth.

Usually, that means it should be Monday.
I should consider myself lucky Friday's so near.



File this under
"Oh come on, you know you care, you do" category:

I'm going to my first hockey game tonight.
I'm not playing, but I can't say I won't participate.
I do like throwing things.
Sadly, I just had to look up who's playing who.
Unless it has a red maple leaf on it,
all teams just run together for me.

and

I think I might just start posting
all my scribbly meeting doodles here for awhile.*
Those ones I do in the margins? Yeah.
You know you care.


*Anyway, think "gapingvoid"
except not brilliant.



+++

And just when you think my day's truly pointless:

Automatic Slim's had an evil strawberry cake.

Don't worry. Michelle and I threw ourselves
on that pure butter grenade and killed it for you.
You are welcome.


Being that the waiter
looked exactly like Jason Bateman,
I bet every day is a nice one,
but we wished him another anyway.

I break my leg to get to the tv for this commercial from Citibank.
Then I break the other leg to catch Jim Gaffigan...
("hhhhhhot poccckketttts")


Damn, fresh out of legs now.
Oh well.
Enjoy!

:)

It's official.

Apple is trying to kill me again with redesigned desirables.
Look at the Shuffle.

It looks much cuter as a brushed metal
potato chip bag clip than the pack of gum it once was. I'm serious.
And look at the new Nano. It looks like a cross between
the dearly departed Mini and last year's Nano.
Isn't it cute? It's a "Minano."
No, that sounds like a dance or a fruity drink.
See, that's why I'll never be working for Apple marketing.
That kind of thinking will have me working at a daiquiri bar eventually.
But really, is that such a bad thing?
Frozen margarita green:
That is the actual color of my parachute.

Therefore,
I really should get one of the neon green Minanoes to match.

I guess Kazakhstan has some oil reserves or something?
Oh, George. Georgie Georgie George.
Something's coming to me, something about
freedom of speech which a country was founded on...?
...something something...
Nope, gone. Must've been either an acid or Vietnam flashback.
They all run together. Sorry about that.

So wait, slow down, what is all this...
Ohh, it's about relationship-building...
I'm all about peace and stuff myself,
I'm sure you are, too, right,
I mean, you know, I think you said that somewhere, right?
I'm sure you never lose perspective.
But uh...yeah, see...
Hey, I know what --
why don't you just call in Dr. Phil,
let him handle this stuff for you instead?

Hey, don't get mad at me. I'm just trying to help.
Honestly, you've just embarrassed the whole family already,
and Canada won't take me, so just sit down.
And ride a bike to work or something.
Do something constructive for a change.

And don't give me that look either, young man...
Oh. That's how you look when you are thinking?
I'm sorry, my mistake.

(Wa wa wee wa.)

(Well, I could do this all day...sunlight...bright...clouds...time...)

All You Need To Know Today:

OKGo is still brilliant.

"Here It Goes Again"

Product Review, Product Review!


Granja San Francisco Blossom Honey
The taste is very light, very good, but honestly
the most exciting thing
(and trust me, this is actually exciting if you are the freakshow known as "Tidy Girl")
the bottle says "No drip" and can you believe it,
they aren't kidding.

Oh, you care, you know you do.

In a word: Yayyy.
Which means,
"For once, I got my money's worth with a product claim
that turned out to be 100% accurate."
At about $6.00 for the 12.3 ouncer I got, it wasn't quite a giveaway,
but it's worth it to Tidy Girl for the dripless bottle alone.
And, that an advertiser didn't lie in my face, again,
was worth 50 bucks.
Jaded?
No, just a wisened ex-ad making consumer-cow sick of takin' it.
Moo, baby.

So here's one, giant thank you to Spain's Number 1 brand
classic honey.
And for once, I'm not talking about Pau Gasol.


"She's not really that funny. But let her think she is."


They also have Eucalyptus & Linden and Rosemary & Lavender blends.

That first one sounds awfully medicinal, don't you think?
But the Rosemary & Lavender?
Well, YEAH, I do HAVE to get it.
How many times do I have to tell you,
regardless of what the neighbors say,
I'm not made of wood.
Dammit. Where's the credit card...




Next up:
Products from Eyes Lips Face

Despite conflicting media reports,
it doesn't take much to make me happy.
(Damn you, Star Magazine!)
Anyway, so I've been waiting like a preteen
in a new pink training bra to try something neato from ELF;
but sadly, I needed the heat to die down here
so it wouldn't melt my elfen goodies.

If you know what I mean.

Yeah, what I mean is:
"The heat will melt your dreamy nougats in transit,"
a sad fact.

But luckily, when global warming hits,
it won't touch the acclimated, hardened, well-seasoned me.
So what? So, I can help you with handy survival tips
from my experience with intense heat is what.
Unless I don't like you.
And in that case,
you can sit on an ice cube and die for all I care, jerkface.

Ooo, she's obviously sugar-buzzed on too much honey.



Lipgloss cellphone charms on a magenta RAZR?
Well. I guess they're just trying to kill me.

Actually, I can be strong and walk on by that action,
and just customize my own compact...
"Combine your favorite eye, lip & face shades with
our Magnetic Lock-In System..."
(Did you just hear me squeal with the untarnished enthusiasm
of a sixth grader high on Bonne Bell Dr. Pepper flavored lipgloss,
complete with a shoestring lanyard to wear it around the neck?...
It was more of a rusty squeak, actually.)

Note:
If you've tried the ELF products, especially the lip glosses,
please don't tell me they're waxy or crappy or grainy.
Just let me live a few more days in my blissful ignorance.
Or is it ignorant bliss?
See? Why you did it I don't know,
but you may have only assumed I was smart.



And finally,
This Week on Episode Three of "Tidy Girl":
Oddly enough,
Tidy Girl did not super-vaccuum the entire house as usual
on a Saturday.

But,
never one to resist the urge to purge,
she did rummage through
the super-secret stainless steel refrigerator cave
to deftly rid her world of any fresh
(and in that case, probably expensive) foods
on the verge of turning evil and supervillainnous.

Undaunted in her quest for freshness,
she did saute one salmon fillet
(fresh cracked peppered and pink sea salted)
in extra-virgin olive oil,
and finished it off with a dark honey glaze
with chopped scallions,
then,
pan-grilled six various chicken sausages
(the most interesting one being the tastiest,
the maple with blueberries, surprise)
then,
reduced three chicken breasts
and one bunch of green onions and sea salt
into a decent mini-stock worthy of a soup
or a brown rice dish
surely to come down in a fit of boiling rage,
then,
finished by ripping the chicken to shreds,
dousing it in a hot and spicy mixture
of barbecue sauce and
"some really hot sauce she got at the Asian market"
the one with the rooster on it,
the one she can't ever remember the name of,
but she really likes.

She also made cornbread with oregano,
grated asiago, and parmesan, and some other cheese left unnamed.

So much for her feeble attempts at vegetarianism...ness.

While the fish and chicken took it hard for The Team,
at least no cattle, goats, or sheep were harmed during
"The Cleansing through Fire" apparently.*

She also took two megabaths that involved many magazines,
three books, and two bath bombs from Lush,

Black Pearl and Think Pink.

Lush, have I told you lately how much I love you?


*Did I eat it all?
Please. I'm not insane like that.
Which just means, really,
"Anyone up for leftovers?"

Also, fair warning,
I feel a severe case of cupcakes coming on.
Red velvet, I bet. With cream cheese icing and sprinkles.